#so glad control of this account rotates from team to team

[omgsamwellsports]

"one in four, maybe more" more like one in two, buddy it's you

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Nine

A/N: OH...HEY. Let’s all pretend that I didn’t just have like a three week creative crisis and just dive back in, shall we?? (I’M VERY SORRY.) 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian arrives on Nevarro to meet with Navina again, hopefully to trade information that could be valuable to them both. But before she joins him he receives a call with some concerning information. When she does finally get there, things come to a head. Quickly. 

Warnings: Language, violence 

Word Count: 5k

Nevarro. 

A dry wind blew across the arid lava fields, his cape whipping behind him as he focused the lens of his visor on the horizon. He had already scanned the other three directions before setting his gaze East. So far though, there was no sign of a ship or speeder anywhere. Another harsh gust of wind tore through the open landscape, accentuating its emptiness. Nothing. He sighed, changing the lens back to its default setting. Crusty flakes of ash covered clay tumbled over the cracked ground and clung to his boots. The Mandalorian hadn’t been waiting long, and Navina wasn’t late yet, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was wrong. Where is she? 

He shifted his weight, leaning against the lowered ramp of The Promise. Pulling his comm device from his pocket, he pressed the speaker button to check that it was still operational and was met with a crackling static sound that proved it was. She just hasn’t tried to contact me. Tucking it away again, he told himself that it was only because she hadn’t landed yet, not because she was involved in any sort of trouble.   

His concern hadn’t come from nowhere though, and it wasn’t entirely in regards to the woman’s safety. She can take care of herself. The prickling feeling in the back of his mind had more to do with what he didn’t know about her than what he did. And there’s a lot. Shortly after arriving on the volcanic planet, before he’d even had the chance to check in with Cara Dune, he’d received word from Boba and Fennec back on Tatooine. Curious as to what would warrant the call when he’d last seen Fett only a few days prior- Fennec had been out on one of her missions- he answered quickly, pressing the button to activate the holo screen on the ship’s main control switch. 

The blue light flickered and took shape, projecting the man’s image there in the cockpit. “Fett,” the Mandalorian greeted him with a nod. “What is-” 

The man’s gruff voice cut him off then, waiving the need for any pretense, which the Mandalorian appreciated. “I’ve got something you need to hear, Mand’alor.” Fett tilted his chin down, his stone solid gaze trained directly at the holo as he spoke. He continued without waiting to be asked, Fennec stepping into view beside him. “Got a hit on that name you asked about. Harsa.” 

He blinked, Navina’s face flashing in his memory as she told him her father’s name. That was fast. “I thought you said you hadn’t heard the name?” He tilted his head as he asked. 

“I hadn’t,” Boba confirmed. “Still haven’t.” What? “It wasn’t me who came across it, and it isn’t the father, Gavil.” 

Head moving back and forth he felt nothing but confusion. “I don’t understand.” 

“I came across the name Harsa on a syndicate raid, Mando.” Fennec’s clear tone filled the space as she clarified. “Ixon? The scum I was… interviewing when you were here last?” He nodded and she raised one eyebrow, a look of self-satisfaction still lingering on her face at the way she handled that quarry. “He gave up the location of a Black Sun hideout on Corellia after some light persuasion.”  

“And?” He still wasn’t sure where this was headed. 

“And when I got there, the place was mostly abandoned. Found a few ledgers, stolen credits.” She scoffed. “Cowards run like rats in Coronet City.” 

They do. It had been a long while since the Mandalorian set foot on Corellia or Coruscant. His bounties kept him mostly within the Outer Rim, and he didn’t miss the crowded streets or the types of people they were filled with.

“I was lucky enough to catch one of them though, one of their poor excuses for bounty hunters.” She clicked her tongue. “No accuracy, no skill, and as it turns out,” she grinned. “No loyalty.” That’s why they don’t work for the Guild. “One I caught? Duros. Sang like a little bird. Told me everything I wanted to know. Including who he was working with and what he’d been hired to do.” 

Though he was glad to hear that she and Fett were making more progress in cleaning up the galaxy’s garbage, he was still confused about exactly how this raid related to Navina’s name. “Fennec, I’m not sure if I-“ 

“Just wait,” Boba’s serious, gravelly tone was back. “We wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t worth the trouble.” 

He knew that to be true. While Karga enjoyed talking just for the sake of conversation, and Bo-Katan’s routine check-ins could be used to set any clock, Boba and Fennec only made contact when absolutely necessary. Which is almost never. He leaned back in his seat, clenching and unclenching his right fist atop his thigh. “Go on.” 

“Turns out this fine gentleman I spoke with had orders to plant a tracking device on a target so that his partner could hunt them down and take them out in a different location. Team job,” she explained, her eyes suddenly looking down as she fumbled with something off screen. Looking back up, she raised her hand, a bounty puck lying flat in it. “This was the target, Mando.” 

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open as he watched her activate the holo puck, Navina’s image flickering to life, her name listed in several languages below her rotating likeness.  

“Not the Harsa you were looking for, Mand’alor.” Fett inclined his head towards the puck in Fennec’s palm. “Someone’s looking for her though.” 

“Any idea who?” There were endless reasons as to why someone would hire an assassin or a bounty hunter, he knew that first hand. But if he knew who it was that wanted the woman dead, he might be able to reason out the why.

Fennec let the puck go dark and lowered her hand. “Well, you see that’s where things get very interesting.” They were interesting enough already. “Ixon isn’t- wasn’t- a very high ranking member of the syndicate, so he didn’t have any names for me.” Not surprising. “But what he did say?” She folded her arms over her chest. “It was a Mandalorian that hired Black Sun.” 

“A Mandalorian?” Not even the helmet could hide the shock in his tone. Aside from the fact that paying someone else to do their killing for them was not at all the Way of the Mandalore, it was as unnecessary as one of his kind hiring a personal bodyguard.  “Why would a Mandalorian need to hire an assassin?” They wouldn’t. Navina may be a skilled fighter, but the simple fact that she was not entirely covered in beskar put her at an extreme disadvantage when it came to fighting someone that was. Especially if she didn’t even know it was coming. 

“An excellent question,” Boba nodded. “And one I think you know the answer to.” 

“Discretion.” Whoever it is doesn’t want anyone knowing it was them. Most people contracted their dirty work out because they were incapable of doing it themselves, but he knew that there were others who were just seeking to keep their own hands clean. A sudden thought materialized and immediately took the form of a question. “Are all of our people accounted for there?” 

He needed to know if this was an isolated incident; if Navina had garnered this target on her head because of choices she had made, or because of who and what she was...and who she knew. He needed to know if the rest of the covert, the rest of his kind, were safe or if whoever was hunting her down was also tracking other Mandalorians. Perhaps most importantly though, he needed to know if he had to be suspicious of anyone within the covert’s walls. Mandalorian history was full of infighting, different sects and cells with varying beliefs and loyalties often waging war on one another to claim more power and reputation. I won’t let that happen under my watch. 

“Just talked to the princess herself, Mand’alor.” Fett grumbled, his upper lips pulling into the snarl it seemed he reserved specifically for Bo-Katan. “According to her, everyone is safe and she’s called for a full sweep of the facility to be sure there are no threats to your growing hive.” 

Relief washed through him, and he was glad not only that Bo-Katan and her people were there to keep the others safe, but that at least for the moment it seemed that this was more a matter of personal vendetta against Navina Harsa and not against Mandalorians or their allies in general. It was short lived however, Fennec chiming in once more to remind him that the tracking device was likely still active if Navina hadn’t already been found and killed. “If they haven’t found her yet, Mando… she might be leading whoever is looking for her straight to you.” 

He had ended the transmission thanking Fett and Shand for calling with the warning, hoping that Navina would arrive soon and that he’d be able to find and disable the tracker before it caused trouble for him. Or costs her her life. Though his first thought had been that she could be a danger to what he was trying to do for the Mandalorian people, his next line of thinking went in another direction. What if she was targeted because she’s meeting me? What if just knowing me, talking to me was what… Another fact about Mandalorian history that he had learned since becoming the owner of the Darksaber and the title that came with it, was that while the majority of Mandalorians accepted the wielder of that sword to be their rightful ruler, there would almost always be outliers in opposition who would see a different Mand’alor on the throne. He sighed, wondering if it would get worse once they had actually begun to retake the planet, when the throne was even more tangible and real and tempting. One thing at a time. 

Scanning the landscape one more time, he tapped the button on the side of his helmet to cut through the hazy fog that hung low over the volcanic ground. At first he saw nothing, but then a wave of air was displaced overhead, and looking up he saw a small ship, maybe half the size of The Promise, beginning its landing maneuvers. That must be her. Tipping his head back, he watched as the craft wobbled upon entry into Nevarro’s atmosphere before the reverse thrusters were engaged, the hull of the ship leveling out, its descent slowing as it got closer to the ground to give him a clear look at the vessel. Dank farrik.

He was immediately reminded of the Razor Crest after he’d trusted the Mon Calamari dockhand on Trask to repair it following the crash landing on Maldo Kreis. Not that I had much of a choice then. Couldn’t get off the platform the way it was. He wondered if there hadn’t been similar circumstances for the woman and her ramshackle ship. There were outer panels that flapped where they lifted away from the rivets that were supposed to hold them in place, shoddily executed patchwork and second hand replacement parts making it almost impossible to imagine what the ship may have looked like when it was new. If it ever was. Cocking his head to the side as the engines powered down, he wondered if it wasn’t something that Navina or her friend had cobbled together themselves from spare scraps of retired ships. 

There was another disturbance overhead, the hot air moving as though another ship were trying to cut through to land, and he shook all thoughts of her ship’s provenance and original model number away. He needed to stay vigilant, be on the lookout for whoever it was that was following Navina. The airlock hissed as she lowered the ramp on her ship, the steel plank stuttering jerkily as it dropped then freezing its motion with a grinding sound just shy of reaching the ground. 

“Kriffing piece of-” He heard a metallic thunk that he would have wagered anything on had been made by her boot striking the mechanism that operated the entrance ramp, the door groaning on its fastenings as it plunged down to close the distance. “There.” Swinging her braid with a huff, the woman appeared in the opening. She wasn’t wearing any of her armor, her bulging bag slung across her body. He did notice the sunlight glinting off of the kal at her waist and recognized the shape of the blaster strapped to her thigh beneath the gray shawl she wore though, the woman seeming to put more stock in being well armed than well armored. In her case, it made sense, and he realized that if she did know someone was after her, she would only stick out more if she was wearing the beskar helmet and the thin plates she’d collected over the years. 

Hopping down from her ship, a cloud of ash rising as her boot soles hit land, she waved one arm and called out. “Hey there, Mando.” Turning, she hoisted the ramp up manually and gave it a forceful shove to slam it shut. 

In the same instant that the hefty door clicked to lock, the enhanced audio receiver in his helmet picked up another distinct noise; the nearly silent sound of a ship entering the atmosphere. The tracker. Snapping his attention skyward, he adjusted his visor lens and located the incoming gunship. It’s weapons already charged from what he could see, it would be within shooting range in a matter of seconds. Eyes flicking down to the woman still struggling to close the ramp, he realized that she hadn’t noticed the very imminent danger that she was in. And he didn’t have time to warn her.

Acting on instinct alone, he lunged forward extending his left arm and deploying the whipcord from his vambrace. She turned to face him as the cable wrapped around her body, eyes widening in shock as the restraint tightened to trap her arms against her sides. Sorry. 

“What the-“ 

Her assumed string of swears and expletives was cut short by the zip of the line as he swiveled his wrist, the mechanized cord reeling itself back in. Overhead, a dark shape hovered above the clouds. Navina finally glanced up as the hum of the attacking ship’s guns announced their intent to fire. The expression on her face as she looked back down at him was a mixture of confusion, anger, and fear, adrenaline pulsing from her that he could almost feel himself. Hang on. 

Again, there was no time to warn her before he acted, punching his fist hard to pull Navina as far from where she stood as possible. She nearly flew through the air to close the distance, the Mandalorian whipping his body around just in time to stop her momentum by throwing his arms wide and catching her in them. The instant he had a solid grip on her, he bent his knees and pushed off from the ground, jetpack igniting and lifting them both out of harm’s way just as red blaster fire streaked through the sky to hit the ship that she’d been aboard only minutes before. 

He didn’t look back, focused instead on locating the enemy, already grabbing for one of the thermal detonators attached to his belt. But he didn’t need to look back to know the exact second that the enemy’s blast hit, her body stiffening noticeably as the explosion engulfed her ship, the sound of her incredulous gasp close to his ear. He didn’t need to see it on her face to understand what she was feeling. I hope there wasn’t anything… He recalled the moment he had found Grogu’s ball in the rubble where the Razor Crest once stood. I hope nothing she cares about was destroyed. 

Shaking those thoughts from his head, he rose higher until he was close enough to one of the ship’s engines to toss the detonator into the turbine. Reaching down, he unbuckled another two of the spherical explosives, shoving them in after the first before diving back towards the ground. He hadn’t been able to retaliate right away when Grogu was abducted and his ship, their home, decimated. But I can now. His weapons ignited, tearing the engine to shreds and causing the ship to drop like a lead weight, falling hard and gaining speed. 

The heat at his back as they plummeted was satisfying, but his thoughts quickly returned to the woman in his arms as they both touched down on the ground. Bracing for the impact of the destroyed ship’s impending crash, he tucked her head against his shoulder. Tilting his head down, he shielded as much of her with as much of himself as possible, widening his stance to lower his base as the ground rumbled underfoot. Charred debris rained down, a few smaller pieces bouncing off of his armor like fiery hailstones, and he kept her sheltered until he heard and felt them stop falling. As soon as it was clear, he released her, stepping back once he was sure that she was steady on her feet. 

“Are you hurt?” He knew that he needed to check the ship’s wreckage to see if the assailant was still alive. But he wanted to make sure that she was physically alright before he did. 

Mouth agape and expression completely stunned, she took a breath and then another, staring at the space where she’d landed her ship and seeing only a burnt out crater in its place. “I...I’m...no.” She answered, blinking rapidly before giving him a quick shake of her head. “You… how did you-” 

Now’s not the time. Without another word he pushed off from the ground again, flying through the smoke plumes towards the torn and twisted remains of the enemy ship’s cockpit and main hold. Looking through the windshield, he saw the slumped form of a man in dark goggles, the tell tale tattoo marking him as a Black Sun member visible on his neck above the collar of his shirt. From what the Mandalorian could tell, the man was still breathing, simply unconscious, and the lack of movement among the rest of the wreckage paired with the absence of a second body in the co-pilot’s chair led him to believe that this was a solo operation. It usually is. He could count on one hand how many times he’d hunted with a partner, and he knew that most bounty hunters and assassins worked that way, too. 

Finding the hatch to open the cockpit, he tried to peel it open but it wouldn’t budge, the hinges bent and damaged in the crash. Swearing under his breath, he drew his blaster and shot three times at the lock until the door fell inward. Kicking his boot down through the door, he opened it fully, dropping into the ship to extract the man who had just fired on Navina. In another circumstance, he may have let the man suffer the consequences of his actions and let fate decide whether he walks away from the flames. But then he’d be loose on Nevarro. If this trouble was somehow linked to him, which it was, because Navina was only there to meet with him, then he owed it to Cara and Karga and all of the people there to clean up his mess. And I’m sure Fennec will have questions for him. Slinging the tall but thin man over his shoulder, the Mandalorian climbed back out through the opening he made for himself, jumping from the top of the wreckage. The jets strapped to his back roared to life and he ascended as a fuel tank exploded right below him. That was close. 

His next priority was checking that The Promise hadn’t suffered any damage. The blast seemed to have been a direct hit, so he wasn’t overly concerned. But it’s my only way out of here and it’s… He frowned as he landed. It’s not home but it’s… He sighed. It doesn’t matter. The ship was fine, far enough away that it hadn’t even been hit with any rubble or debris. Good. He dropped the man he was carrying in an unceremonious heap, an audible crack coming from his arm as it made contact with the hard ground, ignoring it as he turned back in the direction he’d left Navina in. 

She was walking cautiously through the field of burning metal, her face streaked with soot and her blaster drawn. As soon as she saw the man crumpled at the Mandalorian’s feet, her face pulled into an angry scowl. “Kriffing scum!” 

She coughed as she inhaled the thick smoke, and he realized that if not for the filter in his helmet he would be having the same difficulty breathing. We should get inside. She stumbled closer, and he could see the shake in her hand as she pointed her weapon at the figure on the ground. Don’t- He was about to reach for her to stop her from shooting the man, despite how badly he knew that she must have wanted to. She didn’t make him do that though, opting instead for a swift, hard kick as she stowed her blaster. Lifting her eyes up to the eyeline of his visor, she shook her head. “How did you kn-” 

Another cough cut her short, and he flipped open the cover on his vambrace, tapping in the code to unlock and lower the ramp. “Go inside,” he shook his head and gestured at the black smoke. “You shouldn’t breathe this in. Go.”  

He stooped down to lift the unconscious assassin from the ground, hoisting him over his shoulder again and followed Navina up the ramp into the main hull. As soon as he was in, he punched the switch on the wall to seal the door behind them. The air circulation system kicked in with a whoosh as the airlock clicked shut, and before he said anything else, the Mandalorian opened the locker where he kept three slabs ready at all times. Shoving the limp man into the frame of the slab, he held down the button that released a gust of super chilled carbonite to freeze his captive, then shut him away in the locker for transport to Tatooine. He’ll answer for what he did. He was certain that Fennec would squeeze every drop of information out of him and then make him sorry that he ever agreed to work for the Black Sun.

“Hey.” The curtness in her tone made him wince as he turned to face her, but it was understandable. “Are you going to tell me how you knew that was going to happen?” She crossed her arms defensively and he could tell that she was trying to keep her composure. 

“I was tipped off by one of my people.” He nodded at her. “I had asked about your father, but they came across your name instead.” Pulling a device from the cabinet below the weapons locker, he went on. “Found a bounty puck on you in a syndicate hideout, and found out that someone had you followed.” Switching the small object on, he pointed it at her bag. 

Pulling the satchel away from him, she stepped back. “What are you doing?” 

Lifting the device, he explained. “This will find and disable any tracking devices on you so they can’t send backup.” She still seemed hesitant, and though he wanted to be sympathetic and give her time to process what was happening, he knew that they didn’t have that luxury. “Look, I just saved your life and I don’t even know who I saved it from.” Or why someone’s after you. He recalled the way that his subconscious had convinced him to trust her the last time they were together, and though he still didn’t understand why, he felt himself leaning into it again. “So you’re going to let me check you for tracking beacons, or I’m going to make you let me.” 

She swallowed, not out of fear but frustration, glaring up at him, then begrudgingly held out her bag. “Fine.” 

He swept the device over it, the thing beeping loudly over one of the pockets. “There.” 

“What? There’s nothing in-” She dug her hand into the pocket, then froze, pulling it back out with a tiny silver circle between her fingers. “Dank farrik, what the… how-” 

The Mandalorian took it from her, dropping it on the floor and crushing it with the heel of his boot. “Someone must have slipped it into your bag while you were distracted.” He raised the scanner once more, making sure that there weren’t any other trackers or bugs planted on her person. Satisfied that there weren’t, he stowed the scanner back where he took it from and straightened up to face Navina again. 

The anger and defensiveness were gone, the woman instead displaying concern. “I need to contact Firo.” She shook her head. “That… The Flare, it… that was his ship and I…Osi'kyr! Firo. I need to make sure he’s… that he and his family are safe. What if-” 

“Alright.” He held up his hands. “Alright, you can use my holo screen. It’s in the cockpit.” She pressed her lips together and nodded, clearly worried. “It… my contact? They told me that it was only your name that was on record.” If that makes you feel any better. 

He didn’t wait for her to respond, simply nodding at the ladder that led to the ship’s controls. She climbed wordlessly with him right behind her, and within seconds he had the holo up and running, allowing her to make contact with her friend. If I thought the kid was in trouble I’d… need to see him, too. There were things that The Mandalorian needed to ask her, but he knew that nothing would be accomplished until her mind was put at ease over the people she cared about. 

Once she was satisfied that no one else would be in the crosshairs meant for her, she apologized again to the shaggy haired, amicable man that he had seen pick her up on a stolen speeder when last he was on Nevarro. He insisted that he didn’t really care about his ship, that he was just glad that she was safe, his relief genuine. Ships are replaceable. He looked around at the switchboards and panels that surrounded him. People aren’t. His eyes fell to the vacant seat that was still waiting for Grogu to occupy it. From what she had told him last time they spoke, she knew that all too well. 

As she wrapped up her call, she visibly relaxed, no longer on the verge of hyperventilation from smoke or worry, but still a little on edge. Rightfully so. Someone just tried to- a Mandalorian tried to have her killed. One of my... The idea felt wrong to even think, but he had to ask. “Navina?” Her sharp eyes locked with his, again giving him the feeling that she could see through his visor even though he knew that was impossible. “Do you have any idea who would have,” he sighed. Just tell her what you know. “It was a Mandalorian. The person who put the hit out on you? They were… Do you know why a Mandalorian would be after you?” 

To his surprise, she actually let out a dry laugh. “Mando, if I kept track of everyone who… everyone that I made an enemy of I’d never get any sleep.” 

He was sure that she was right, but it wasn’t what he’d asked. “That wasn’t an answer.” 

She frowned, rubbing at a smudge of black ash on her forehead. “No, it wasn’t.” Looking down at her lap, she let out a breath. “I…” she clamped her eyes shut. “Yeah. There are a… a few Mandalorians who might be...who want me-” 

“Tell me why.” It wasn’t a command, regardless of how it came out. “Please, tell me why. I,” he paused, wanting to be sure of his word choice so that she would understand his line of questioning. I want to make sure that no one that I am responsible for was responsible for this. As the Mand’alor, it was his responsibility to uphold peace and hand out punishment to those that would threaten it. But she doesn’t know that I’m… He wanted to trust her like his brain was telling him to. But he didn’t want to be wrong, not at the expense of the rest of the covert. She hasn’t sworn the Creed. “I want to be sure that no one in my covert, my Tribe, was behind this.” 

She opened her mouth then shut it, furrowing her brow before smoothing it out again, and he knew that she was trying to be just as careful in choosing her words as he was, the two of them playing a precarious game of strategy as they got to know one another. “I’ll… I’ll tell you about the Mandalorians I’ve…” She sighed, her eyes landing on the signet on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you about the Mandalorians I’ve made enemies of, if you tell me something. Like last time.” 

He thought for a beat before answering, something in the way that she was eyeing the Mudhorn crest that he wore giving him pause. But that’s how this works, right? Give information to get it? “Alright,” he agreed. “Go ahead.” 

As though she’d been practicing the question since the second she pulled away on that speeder three weeks ago, it rolled right off of her tongue to fill the quiet cockpit. “Are you in possession of the Darksaber?” 

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @becs-bunker​ @commanderlola​ @greatcircle79​

[valkblue]

Being a Behavior technician requires a certain amount of dedication to the job — the rigorous type, bordeline rigid. That’s what is expected to be at peak efficiency regarding analysis protocols and diagnostics for host service and calibration.

For that, Vivian thinks she might be the worst tech in her department. 

— masterlist, AO3

Chapter 1 on 12

Chapter wordcount: 2,486 Story status: Complete Rating: General Warning: people swear a lot, technobabble counts as swearing as well (believe me)…

Author’s notes: This is the first time I post a fanfic online. A real big one I mean. Not just crackfics... I’m emotional. I don’t know what the schedule will be yet because my queue is acting up, but everything should be out regularly, or something that looks like it. This first chapter is an intro to the main character and what she does, and I hope you’ll enjoy this story and its characters all the way!  Also, I really want to thank @pheedraws​ and @something-tofightfor​ for their heartwarming feedback on the whole story. Thank you SO much!!

Have a good time reading, and my askbox/messages are open! 💙

— Chapter 1

Now wasn’t a good time to yawn…

And yet, Vivian had nothing else to do but wait right now, wait while the progress bars slowly filled up on her tablet screen.

Now wasn’t the time, simply because some of her colleagues were passing through the hallway, behind the glass panels of her cubicle, and among them was the head of Behavior department — incidentally, her superior.

No doubt they were all about to grab a bite at the restaurant and Vivian held back an almost envious mumble; she was starving! But before she could go eat anything, she had to finish with her last subject on her morning schedule; host ID#DH410829420391, named Mildred.

And Mildred was back at the lab on account of a negative report about her response time during interactions with other hosts but also with guests. A lag that only happened in character mode, not in analysis. So, Vivian started with refreshing her lexical base and improvisation engine. It took some time to check the entire tree but as of now, it was done.

"Can you confirm if the update’s complete?"

"Confirmed," Mildred answered right away, her voice flat and her look vacant.

"Back in character mode."

Mildred seemed to wake up and blinked once before focusing her attention  back on Vivian.

"Mildred?"

"Oh, I’m sorry," she answered with a hint of a shy smile. "I must have drifted off, I believe… The working hours at the farm are ungodly sometimes!"

The response time was more than good, now. The improvisation too.

"I was wondering if there’s a lot of clients at the farm these days," Vivian asked.

The answer was not long to come.

"Certainly! Our cattle sure gives the best milk there is. No matter what the competition says!"

"How many green bottles are standing on the wall?"

Questions and procedures were always more or less the same to determine which bits of code, settings or values could cause an issue or start to glitch like crazy!

But today, for Mildred — and Vivian — everything was back in order, and each/both of them could soon return to the the usual course of their scheduled day.

It was about time for Vivian to take a break, if she was reduced to that kind of wisecrack…

A glance at her wristwatch, even while her tablet displayed a more accurate time than the watch hands, and Vivian concluded her analysis. She folded the tablet, slid it back in her jacket pocket, and left the large glass room after one last embarrassed look at Mildred she was leaving there, naked in the dark. Vivian didn’t even fight down a shiver. It was actually freezing cold in there!

She comforted herself with the thought that Mildred didn’t feel anything in this state, disconnected, and that a team wouldn’t take too long to come get her, do her hair, dress her up and put her back in rotation in no time. Barely as much as Vivian had for her lunch break… and that was just enough to go all the way up to the hub restaurant. But the bosses here didn’t care much about how long the lunch breaks lasted, as long as the work was done in time.

So, Vivian didn’t hurry to get to the elevator she shared with two co-workers who only interrupted their chitchat about hockey results for a vague greeting.

At this hour, the restaurant was a bit more crowded but it still wasn’t too hard to find a seat in the large and relatively peaceful room. The whole vibe in it was corporate though, even in that staff only room; every dish were stamped with the park logo and name — from the bottom of the plates to the salt shakers — and a flat HD screen displayed a bunch of Delos branches ads that looked much weirder without sound.

After a while, one didn’t really pay attention to all this anymore… A few months was enough to make it all part of the landscape and for the mind to simply stop noticing it.

And Vivian had been working here for three years, now.

However, she was still bothered by a few details sometimes, such as the huge white walls that spanned all the way up a balcony floor and a domed ceiling or the fact that the stalls were lit with a pale light under which the food turned to a sickly colour.

Hopefully, under the less saturated lights of the main room, the Caesar salads and the turkey-tomato sandwiches were back to a more appetizing hue.

Her tray loaded with a potato-corn salad, a big glass of water and a piece of bread, Vivian walked towards the tables, eager for her potatoes to lose their blueish glint. Just shy of the screen, she recognised a familiar face, Margaret’s, another Behavior tech from her team. Both were on friendly basis now, where it was possible to enjoy some time together and to laugh a little, even if it took them a whole year to finally break the ice.

Margaret waved at Vivian when she saw her pick her way across the room, inviting her to join them — them being Margaret, and three other guys from their department.

"Did you hear the latest, Vivian!?" she blurted. "I’ve been told that Damon Dyers is in the park, at this very moment!"

"Damon… Dyers?"

Vivian didn’t even hide her puzzlement while sitting in front of her.

"The actor," one of the three guys — Luke — pointed out. "Marge was just exposing how she’ll mooch the control room techs for a footage…"

"Listen, if you were as thirsty as I am about this guy, you’d understand!" Margaret replied.

To that, he quipped:

"My husband would be pissed!"

All chuckled in approval before returning to their almost emptied plates, while Vivian had barely touched her own.

"Can you imagine," Margaret daydreamt, leaning back in her seat as in a comfy armchair, holding her Pyrex glass like a snifter of bourbon. "Damon hunting down Escaton in the hills…"

Vivian scoffed; she could imagine, indeed.

At the table, Charles, Thawal and Luke didn’t pay any more attention to them, carrying on with their chat about retro gaming. Vivian would probably have preferred to be part of that conversation; not that she didn’t know shit about movies and their actors, but more like aside from a few exceptions on which they got along swimmingly, she didn’t have much taste in common with Margaret. But she listened to her friend anyway as she kept going after a sip of sparkling water:

"How am I not supposed to be hot on the idea!? I’ll deadass find someone to bootleg me some footages!"

Vivian smiled out of politeness, not saying much, as always. Her mouth was full anyway.

"Oh, by the way!"

Margaret took another swip of her glass before putting it down on the table and leaning towards Vivian.

"Apparently, they’re going to burden us with a whole new bunch of hosts in two or three weeks," she said, with all the serious she could muster. "I heard that from Elsie. Narrative must be trying to compensate for something, if you know what I mean…"

Vivian knew very well.

"We barely have time to light a fag between two sessions already and they plan to add another hundred on our backs!?"

She snorted disdainfully.

"Don’t know what they’re spicing their coffee with but it isn’t doing them any good."

"No shit," admitted Vivian, a bit testy at the idea. "Unless they also plan to hire? Did Lowe say anything about it?"

Margaret shrugged.

"No idea, I haven’t talked to him in a while."

She patted her blazer pockets then sighed softly; Vivian understood her attitude as relief, and a craving, even a need to light a cigarette.

"You should ask," Margaret pointed out with a smile a tad clenched in the orbicularis muscles. "You like him, right?"

Vivian approved; she admired his thoroughness, his love for details… A lot could be learned while working under his care and Vivian found him both spirited and friendly.

Margaret didn’t quite share the feeling, however; in her own words, he was giving her the heebie-jeebies.

"Anyway, I’m off," Margaret stated with an even greater impatience in her voice. "I gotta light one before the crazy afternoon waiting for me!"

She gathered her cutlery on her tray, adding:

"Not giving up on the idea to come across Damon fucking Dyers, though! At least in video recs. Wish me luck!"

Vivian nodded and Margaret put her tray away on the sideboard before hurrying to the exit.

Her colleagues had changed topics next to her, and now they were talking about cars, motorcycles and mechanics. As she didn’t know much about that topic, not as much as in computers, she listened only a little without taking part.

Then, Vivian finished wolfing down her potato salad and her glass of water; she would soon return to her shift and examine a series of hosts, the characteristics of which she overviewed on her tablet from her timetable’s folders. It was simply routine checks, and Vivian liked that kind of sessions; it was like meeting with a friend, just to catch up with them.

But for now, she would take a few minutes to get some air and natural light on top of the hub before diving back into the high tech depths of the Mesa.

At seven in the evening, closer to eight, Vivian was glad to be back to her on-site apartments. Once again, she had grabbed a snack at the restaurant but the room was much more crowded than it was at lunch and came close to a headache before reaching "home". She could have dined here, cooked something on her induction hob but she was so tired — or lazy — that, tonight again, she still choose to eat at the restaurant over having to do the dishes!

Now, she was getting out of the shower in her bathrobe and throw herself on her bed.

Living like this, it was like being a teenager all over again, back at her parents’, or at the dorm… but once she closed her apartment’s door, Vivian was totally free to do whatever she wanted. As long as it didn’t involve wrecking the place!

But now, even if she wanted to, Vivian wouldn’t have had the strength to break any chair, nor even to make a mess of the bed… About that, she was actually planning on laying there, and falling asleep in her bathrobe while watching a movie or reading any book she had available on her personal tablet. A tablet that was nothing close to the one she was using every day in the Behavior department labs, but a tablet anyway.

She swiped the covers without any real interest; in all honesty, she was feeling too tired to read. Even something she had already read. And she cringed a little when the minimalistic cover with her automatically signed name appeared.

Yeah, even too tired to read her own words!

Besides, it wasn’t great literature at all — a fanfiction. Two, to be precise. Both about the hosts and their narratives as she could have written about a movie, book, or video game’s characters.

Vivian grumbled, letting her tablet fall flat on her stomach, and she stared at the white ceiling before closing her eyes while nibbling her lips. She had written this almost six months after she started working here, taken over by all the motivation, excitement and creativity around her!

She refocused on herself since but, in the meantime, she wrote these. And even though Vivian considered herself to have a fertile imagination, she still commended herself about how better for everyone it was she hadn’t applied for a job in Narrative…

Rising her tablet up again and tapping on the lit screen, she entered the file and skimmed through it, trying to ignore the grammar mistakes she stopped committing since; and mistakes aside, her stories had nothing exceptional, totally influenced as they were by her mood and the not-so-new-but-still-trendy storyline — Escaton’s and his bandits, essentially…

Over a very short time, when Vivian was still more or less trying to fit into the life of the facility and social circles of her co-workers whose names had yet to be caught, she had heard so many comments, appreciations and reviews for this narrative that she looked into it first.

After all, the park afforded Lee Sizemore, renowned author who made a big name for himself with a "hot and grimy" historical saga, a few years back before running out of puff under his editor’s pressure. And a juicy offer by a video game studio to adapt it. 

She understood; everybody, whether staff or guests, was more or less hyped by the brute force brought by Hector Escaton — virile and dark male figure — to the relative tranquility of the park’s starting point.

And Vivian had been no exception.

If her first story was only about made-up characters to explore the pleasing and well rounded context of Sweetwater, her second, on the other hand, was more audacious, altering shamelessly the story from what its authors had surely intended; victorious over the town after killing the sheriff and all opposition, Escaton and his gang enjoyed their plunder at the Mariposa where Hector fell for one of the saloon girls.

That being said, Vivian remained very proper — maybe totally prudish — in these sort of narrative fantasies of hers; nothing turned freaky or utterly violent…

All she did was throwing a few sentences on her writing app for some evenings, when inspiration struck or simply because she urged herself to follow through with what she started. All on her personal tablet. She knew better than to write that on anything system-tethered. Imagining that a bored somebody could just hack into the system all the way up to her personal data… and end up on that giddy nonsense, made her wants to puke!

Not to mention that it might also be forbidden. Even though she never planned to, she knew she couldn’t share it with anyone, nor anywhere. Not as a park employee. If the guests were writing critiques and other reviews online about their stay, herself couldn’t talk about it from the inside. Confidentiality and shit…

Her texts would remain secret, and her silly fantasies with them. In any case, it wasn’t as if she intended to try anything for herself, and even less with Hector Escaton, all the more since he wasn’t even part of the batch her team had in charge. And also, rumor has it that fantasies aren’t always good when act upon!

With a lazy tap, Vivian quitted the reading app and dropped the tablet on her sheets before burying her face in her soft pillow. She let out a deep sigh in it, relaxed, and in fact, she fell asleep almost right away.

[boomstyle]

Sonic Boom: Friend or Foe

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters and settings of Sonic boom. Oh, watch out for OCs!

Roboken War

(Force field cage)

Well, that was just as quick as it's. Now, where are we?

Tails and I reach the cage in just a zip. I thought Lyric will just put mind control device or at least send them far away from our reach. Well, I guess Lyric may not be as smart and cunning as I thought after all.

Speaking of cunning and smart, I can't stand a breathe anymore. I wish we can get out of here. Wait! We can't. Lyric closed the entrance of the central power station with a force field. I guess he's smart and cunning after all. Ugh...

While I was desperate to get out of the room, Tails was busy tinkering on the force field cage. Hurry up Tails, the gas is getting stronger. Now, I feel nauseous.

"Tails, would you mind speed it up a little?", I asked Tails politely.

"Sorry, Sonic. This may take a while. I can't find the key just yet. It must be somewhere up here.", Tails explain the technical thing but I am not sure what. What I really know is that I am gonna vomit for real.

(45 minutes later)

Ugh... What's taking Tails so long?

"Aha... I found it. The key to the force field was at the upper edge. Just gonna rotate it to the right and here it goes.", Tails was busy tinkering.

"Once I open the secret key, it will be easier to disable the force field."

"Yeah, Tails. Just pretend I don't hear it!", I replied in a cool manner. Not exactly a cool manner though, I was being slightly rude. If Amy heard me saying this, she might just taichi me or whip me or worse hit me with her so-called "legendary hammer". What's so legendary about her hammer? It's just a regular oversized hammer.  Sometimes, I don't understand why she's super obsessive about her hammer. If she loses her hammer, she could have just fought in hand to hand or use her enerbeam whip or sword. I mean, she's athletic and has amazing martial art skills to top it off so she didn't really have to bother the whole team to search for her hammer or be like "My hammer is my whole identity. It's a gift from fate.". Tsk...whatever.

Yep, Archie Sonic Boom Issue 3 (HammerSpace). You got it. No need to beat the bush like that, Amy. I feel really bad for Sonic.

I was drowning in confusion until Tails snapped me out. He didn't exactly snap me out, more like bringing me to reality.

"Done it! I've taken out the force field from here.", Tails said in excitement. Team Cyborg is released from the cage. Now, time to open the forcefield!

"Oh, finally! Now, how do we open the forcefield barrier, Cyborg me?", I asked in desperation and relief at the same time.

"Right here!", Cyborg Sonic replied. What? The forcefield entrance key was literally close to us but I see nothing.

"Where? It's just a freaking wall?", I scolded him out of impatience. Ugh, I can't take it anymore. The gas...(cough)...

"Just do as I said!", Cyborg Sonic instructed.

"Fine! Just gonna touch this...(surprised) wall (slowly)", I am stunned. I can't believe it. They're right. Just gonna press the bottom and it's done.

"Yay, we did it! Teamwork rocks! Now, let's move it!"

Just as I thought our business is done from the moment we escape from the central power station filled with gas and traps. I was hell wrong. I heard an invisible siren tone with a beaming red background while we ran away. Talking about disco light, this is worse.

*Lol* (Remember when Dave fool himself in "Next Top Villian", Sonic Boom Series Season 1.)

(Siren Alarm Beam Tone)

"Ugh... Come one! We just escape from it.", I complained.

"Sonic, our escape caused the siren to beam. So this is expected.", Tails calmed me down.

"But we just get out like a few hours ago.", I argued. Technically, it's been 45 minutes but it feels like hours already.

"Are you guys done with your blabber, Sonic?", Cyborg Amy shouted. Ooo... She's just as scary and temperamental as Amy.

"Fine! I'll shut it."

"Good. Let's keep moving! We didn't have all day."

Okay, okay, Amy! Is it necessary for you to be so demanding? Just chill out, Cyborg Amy! Regardless, she's right. There's no time to waste. If we don't get out, we might as well got caught by Lyric. Yep, we did.

"Where are you going right now?", Lyric asked.

"You think you can escape from me, Sonic. Think again!"

"Rise my armies! I command you to finish them once and for all!"

"We can call your robot quit in just a zip, Snake-head.", I deride Lyric confidently.

The infected robots shoot lasers at us as instructed. Tails and I started off dodging their attacks while Team Cybonic launched their special attacks. Well, more like duplicates of our attacks. Hehe...

Just as the battle started, my gangs came to my aid. Oh, just in time but where's Shawn? I mean, the East bender faker. Yeah, he must be planning this whole thing. I bet but regardless, I am glad that my team to the rescue. As I dodge a laser, I spot FriendBot along with Amy, Knuckles and Sticks arrive at the scene and prepare for combat.

"Anyone need some backup?", Amy asked.

Amy, Knuckles, and Sticks charge down and destroy some robots. Sonic dashes towards Amy.

"Amy. I'm glad you're here.", I started a conversation but Amy just shrugged me off. I wonder what's bugging her. Surely, Shawn must have manipulated her. Now, that she ignored me as if I didn't exist. This is just not like her.

"Oh, so you're just gonna ignore me, your boyfriend. Alright, sure. Go ahead."

Oops, did I just said b-word out loud? Not that I care or whatever but we're totally busted right now.

"Hmph... Like I even have one...", Amy shrugged me off.

Oh, is that it? You're just going to going to act negatively out of character toward me. That's it, I had it enough of your rudeness. This is just not you. He's literally turning you into a cold-headed girl. I know she can get temperamental, snarky, rude, or slightly selfish at some point but this is way too far.

"That's it, Ames. I had it enough. If you want to break up, just say so. (punch and kick robot nearby) No need to buzz over me like that.", I confronted her.

"You're saying I got too far. Well, that describes you, Mr. Hedgehog. The way you treated Shawn was totally unacceptable. And besides, you're not so good after all. You're snarky, reckless, messy worker, impatient and impulsive.", Amy talked back.

"Like you have the best personality, I'm sick of your bossy, demanding, and overbearing attitude behind your mature act.", I argued her back.

"I was doing it for your good. You could get a little bit too far with your prank games, jokes or worse run head log in trouble. So I have to step in AS THE MOTHER FIGURE OF THE GROUP(shouted and smash the robot)", Amy defended.

"Yeah, like I need one.", I grunted.

"That's the problem with you. You act as if you're the coolest top speedy hedgehog ever but you're not thoughtful. The way you badmouth and suspect Shawn when you yourself were the one who introduced it to the whole team explains it. You're saying you're responsible for him but what I got is empty promises.", Amy berated me while she was busy beating robots near her just like I did. Speaking of which, what she said reminds me when I introduced Egg man's so called brother without even consulting the whole team. She's kinda right at this. I should have been more considerate and premediated next time. The way I just invite Shawn and Steve Eggman in the group without much consideration indicate my impulsiveness. Looks like I really realized how impulsive and unthoughtful I have been but still, she's literally overreacting just like usual. Thus, why should I be blamed for it?

"Oh come on, why do I get blamed for it? You're literally falling your heels over him anyway so why should I have to get the portion of the blame?", I threw the blame on her. I admitted I am being impulsive and inconsiderate considering how I just invite Shawn in without any consultation.

"Responsibility, Sonic! You can't just introduce someone and suddenly come up with a conclusion that his guy is bad when YOU CAN'T EVEN PROVE IT!", Amy reasoned with me. In some way, she's right but she just didn't understand the issue here. Shawn is...

"Yeah, you're right. I don't have proof but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. You know why? HERO!", I am enraged and boastful, yes and I don't care.

"That's it! I can't take it anymore. You, sir, are impetuously boastful and arrogant being. Have you even take my feeling into account when you said that? it's like you don't consider me a girlfriend anymore. You know what, let's break up!", Amy leashed out on me.

"You wanna break up. FINE! Who wants to be with a Bloodthirsty and indicative hedgehog in a cute and friendly package?", I said.

"And who wants an egomaniac, reckless and immature guy in a speedy hero PACKAGE?", Amy retaliated. She's going super angry and yep, this is good and bad at the same time.

"HAYAK(smash)... (spin hammer attack other robots)... (pull the further robot near her with enerbeam rope) HAYAK (smash, smash, smash until every infected robot disintegrated)... (stand in her ninja-style pose)Ha... Time to take on, Lyric."

Just as we broke up, Amy turned into a temperamental monster. Then, she started to crash all of the infected robots in just a zip. Sticks, Knuckles and Tails as well as our cyborg duplicates are unimpressed. Wow, I was surprised they're not shocked at our break up and Amy's sudden temperamental combat.

"What a lovely couple indeed? I suspect that the alien overlord must have spelled them apart.", Sticks said.

"To be frank, this robot apocalypse has sent Amy mad too.", Cyborg Sticks said. Well, she's partially right. The robot apocalypse really sent Amy crazy after the break-up. Not the best answer you've got, Cybonic Sticks but you sure have Sticks' paranoid DNA with you. Am I okay? Why do I agree with Sticks' paranoid statement now? Oh no, if this happens again, I might need to consider seeing a psychiatrist.

"I don't know Sticks but surely, the secretive skinny couple has finally come to a devastating breakup. If Sonic and Amy were the one, I may be gigging out in shame.", Cyborg Knuckles replied sadly.  

"Yeah. Not cool, Sonic. First, you deny that you dated Amy and now, you just let Amy cut off the relationship.", Knuckles said while holding his clenched fist.

"Well, this gets little it out of hand. let's just help Amy fight off Lyric!", Cyborg Sonic said.

"Yeah", Team Cybonic and my gangs except Knuckles and Amy agreed.

While they're battling Lyric, we're in the middle of a pointless argument because of Knuckles. This is the first time we ever battle each other in the middle of a war.

"Knuckles, don't get me started!", I ordered. What the heck is wrong with Knuckles? Sure we kept the relationship in secret and just broke up but this is not an excuse for Knuckles to just burst up like that.

"Do you think I'm not smart, Sonic?", Knuckles asked.

"What? Not, it's not that... It's just", I tried to persuade him but Knuckles cut me off.

"It's just that I'm not smart enough to figure it out that you're dating.", Knuckles straightened his point. What? I don't mean to hide our relationship just to shame you. It's just that it's not a good time yet. If Eggman and other villains know about our relationship, the worst scenario is that the whole team and anyone related to us would be in a threatening situation. Seriously, Eggman may not be you know the victorious one but he's surely dangerous when unexpected. And besides, the group will be awkward if everyone knows we date.

"What's up, Sonic? Scared of me?"

"Knuckles. this is madness. You got to snap out, man. That snakehead was literally your battle.", I persuaded while trying to dodge his punches. I don't want to attack him. He's my friend.

"I've heard you said enough already"

We battle with each other until we heard Amy, Tails, and Sticks as well as our duplicates got smacked down in the middle of battle.

"Guys! Oh no!", Knuckles and I gulped.

"At last, I finally got to end you after a thousand years.", Lyric smirked while approaching us.

"I guess it's the end of Team Knuckles", Knuckles said. Team? Oh, forget it! I'm not going to argue. Besides he's right. It's the end of Team Son...ic.

"Lyric, I said I will find you", Shadow appeared. Uuu... Looks like the edgelord will end the robot apocalypse. He must have a reason as to defeat Lyric. He will not just be here to save us but anyway, it's our lucky day.

Shadow punch out Lyric and take out his technopathy. As the result, everything was back to normal except that all Roboken's army got dismantled, and yeah, things get messed up when Shawn approached in.

ugh... Finally, it's nearly the end of the book chapter. Sorry, I got too personal with the Sonamy relationship and rivalry between Knuckles and Sonic but I just can't help it. Anyway, How do you think Shadow and Shawn were able to come in? What will be the consequences afterward? Find out in the next chapter.

[ultradiplr]

#1 Fan

Plot: You catch the eye of your favorite baseball star Siebren de Kuiper before a game~

Tags: Sort-of-Sexting, Age Difference. Semi-Public. BJ. Overuse of the smiling emoji. Reader radiates big bottom energy, but is otherwise gender neutral. Sigma is a… Fuckboi. lol

A/N: I have no self control and even though I have like five other things I’m working on right now @sketchingshow ‘s Baseball!Sigma has given fuel to a new fire.

Xx

You look at the clock over the ticket booth and grimace, looking down at the digital ticket you had pulled up on your phone screen, mentally face palming at how you had gotten 12:30 and 2:30 mixed up. You sighed and walked up to the qr scanner, verifying yourself, and walked through the rotating metal pipes of the entrance, figuring since you were already here you might as well check in. It’s not like you could go home and wait considering it took you an hour to get here.

Oh, the things you were willing to put up with so you could see your favorite baseball player Siebren de Kuiper in his last season.

There were a bunch of people here already, staff and fans alike, though mostly for the home team, so you weren’t that anxious at being so early. You walked through the entrance hall, taking a few photos of some of the player posters hanging, and out through a vomitorium that lead into the stadium. You looked out over the empty field, bright and green and surrounded by high walls of seats, and took a quick selfie with the vast expanse of the stadium behind you, at least being this early meant no one knocking you down or being in the way for a cute photo. 

You wandered down closer to the field, taking in the smell of freshly cut and watered grass, and took a load off in one of the more expensive seats. The home team was currently practicing before the game so you didn’t really care that much about watching them, content to fiddle with your phone until somebody told you to move. 

For a while you browsed some videos and looked through your social media when you got an alert. Siebren de Kuiper had posted an update on his profile. You tapped the notification and simultaneously had your heart drop into your feet and your stomach rise into your lungs when you saw something you never thought you would,

A picture of you, sitting alone in the stands wearing his name and number, boredly looking at your phone with the caption, 

“Not seen much nowadays, an eager fan. Lol. -Siebren.”

Your face was instantly set ablaze with embarrassment, too embarrassed to glance up and see the teams trading off field time, not sure how you’d react if you actually saw him looking in your direction. God, you wanted to die, but at the same time you felt like shouting out loud and dancing. You didn’t know what to do, you’ve never been noticed by a celebrity before. Should you leave a comment? Reshare it? Screencap it, print it, and hang it on your wall? Well, maybe not that, but what! Oh god this was so cool and crazy and oh god, you looked so weird in this pic! Was that what it looked when you sat down? Such poor posture! Ugh and you looked so tired! Would it be weird to try and doll yourself up or-

You shake your head and pinched the bridge of your nose, you were overthinking this. What would a normal person do in this situation? You typed out a quick comment. “Haha, that be me!” No, no too childish. “Wtf, that’s me!!!” Too surprised. Hmmm...

“Lol that’s me!”

Normal and friendly. Exactly how it should be. You were proud of yourself as you submitted the comment, marveling at it under his picture. You were nervous at him seeing it as you scrolled through his feed a little, mostly selfies of him with his team, over filtered pictures of his home life, and reshared posts about space facts and dumb baseball puns. It was honestly kind of adorable and underappreciated, if the low amount of likes meant anything, the man was as wholesome as they came and no one seemed to appreciate it!

A new notification popped up as you scrolled, a reply to your comment!

You tapped it and felt your heart flutter, Siebren de Kuiper had liked and replied!

“Thank You for your eager support then! :) - Siebren.”

A wide smile crossed your face at that, god that was adorable! You typed out a reply without thinking,

“Always a pleasure! <3” 

You giggled when you hit confirm, insides all warm. This was so cool. Like, literally, this was the coolest thing ever. You glanced up to the field, face burning when you noticed that he sat not too far away from you, sitting in the dugout a little diagonally from you, tapping away on a smartpad. Most likely browsing his own stuff. That was cool. He was cool. And handsome. And nice. And funny. And smart. And- okay your brain was going haywire. 

You needed to take a walk before you began to hyperventilate. You stood up and walked back into the entrance hall where miscellaneous vendors had set up, mostly baseball paraphernalia for the visitor’s team since the home team had it’s own gift shop in the building. You browsed a bit to distract yourself from the excitement. 

You were looking at a new version of the shirt you were already wearing when your phone buzzed with a notification.

“New direct message.”

That was odd, you never got dmed. You quickly opened it to find that you got a message from a random, empty account you weren’t following named Sigma14, weird name.

Where did you go?

You always forgot to lock dms to private, shrugging, you typed out a quick reply.

Sorry, Wrong person!

You were flipping through your settings to find the right configuration when a new reply came through.

Oh, I’m sorry!

I forgot this was my personal account!

It’s me, Siebren!

Your heart stopped and heat filled your body again, but your rational mind was rightfully unconvinced.

Yeah, sure you are.

Just send me the virus link

lol

You typed out, but waited for a reply this time, not knowing if you’d prefer to be let down with this being some weird scammer or actually get a real reply. Both seemed equally upsetting but for different reasons and on different ends of the spectrum. 

Here’s Proof!

He sent a few pictures. The first was of him, smiling into the camera with a thumbs up while sitting in a dugout, his face sweaty and his greying hair a little mused, then the next was a picture of the field you were just in, the name of the stadium clearly seen, and the last was a picture of the seat you were sitting in with a red question mark and arrow pointing to it. 

See!

He added after. You hugged your phone and squealed quietly, suddenly bursting with energy. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. It was really him!!!

akdjfldjsaf!

it’s really you!!!

I’m a huge fan!!

You typed out excitedly. 

Haha

I noticed!

Thank you for supporting me!

:)

So where did you run off to?

You took a photo of the shirt table you were standing at, glad that it was still pretty empty so no one seemed to mind you loitering around the table. You framed two different shirts with his name and number on it in two different colors, home and away.

Just buying some merch.

I need a new shirt

Lol

Which one do you think I should get?

You smiled when the texting bubble instantly popped up, feeling bubbly at the knowledge he was paying attention to you and not practicing.

Firstly, You have excellent taste!

And secondly, I don’t know…

I think I’d have to see it on you!

That last message almost killed you as you stood with your mouth open, if you’d been an omnic you were sure you’d have overheated and combusted. What the heck! What the Heck! Was he? No. Was he? No, surely not! He couldn’t have. That was… that was.. Did he just ask for a pic? You were blushing hard and silently staring at the words on screen before the typing bubble came up again.

Goodness!

I’m sorry for that last sentence!

I didn’t realize how that sounded!

I hope I did not upset you!

You let out a breath reading his reply, nerves calming. Of course he didn’t! Why would world famous baseball star Siebren de Kuiper want to get a pic of you in his jerseys? You were sure he could have actual models if he wanted. He didn’t need you! Oof, that was harsh, but true.

asfadaafsd haha

it’s alright!!!!!

I didn’t think anything of it

I think I’m just going to buy both, they’re both nice

You quickly replied, not wanting him to think you were upset at him. And you weren’t. Surprised, yes. But not angry. You mean, you’d totally send pics to him if he wanted, but you were sure he’d never want that. Right? 

They are!

And I’m sure both will look great on you!

:)

Your hands flexed on your phone as you gripped it a little tighter, looking at the two still unpurchased shirts. You picked up the shirts up, buying them and went to the nearest bathroom. You take off your shirt and replace it with the away shirt, leaving it a little unbuttoned, and snapped a mirror selfie, and looked at it on your phone. Cute despite the bathroom behind you. You did the same with the home shirt. 

You sat on the toilet holding your phone tightly as you debated actually sending them. They weren’t very explicit but still, the implication would be carried if he really meant anything the first time around. If he meant anything. Which he probably didn’t. So these photos wouldn’t be too bad to send… right?

You bit your lip and hit send. Waiting anxiously for a reply. Your heart was racing as you waited, feeling your blood pressure rise when the typing bubbles popped up.

:) :) :)

I was right.

They do look good on you!

You erupted in a fit of giggles, nerves a little on fire, god this was the craziest thing you’ve ever done. He wasn’t finished as more texts came in,

Would you like to get them signed?

:)

Holy fuck. Was he flirting with you? He had to be, right? Well shit, you couldn’t pass this opportunity up! You quickly typed out a reply, fingers shaking a little.

Would you?!?

Omg that would be amazing!

His reply came in instantly,

Come by entrance five in ten minutes.

I’ll gladly sign you.

:)

You actually yelled laughed, face burning like a stove, and pumped your fist in the air. Yes. Yes. Yes. You left the bathroom insanely giddy, wearing the white home shirt, and went to look at a map of the stadium. Entrance five was the farthest from the main entrances, and from what it looked like on your phone, a part of the stadium that was going to be completely empty. You chewed your lip as you made your way over there, nerves on fire. God you hoped this was going the way you wanted it and you hadn’t just misinterpreted everything.

About twelve minutes later as you sat in the empty hallway flipping through your phone and trying to distract yourself from your racing thoughts, he walked in through the stadium side. You got up instantly as his large shadow stretched across the floor. God, he was tall. Seven feet if you remembered correctly, two feet taller than you, and broad, insanely broad, arms like pythons. He looked a bit sweaty in his baseball uniform, an outfit that hid very little on his hulking frame, and smiled at you apologetically.

“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He said coolly as he walked inside.

 He stepped up toward you gently, a kind smile as he held out a hand. You grasped his hand with both of yours, his hands were large, insanely, fuck, he was so much bigger than you, your mouth watered a little. 

“It’s no problem, I was happy to wait!” You said nervously and a little quickly, “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He repeated in his slightly accented voice, warm and absolutely lovely, sounding a lot different than what you were used to from watching interviews. “A lovely name.”

You laughed nervously and looked off, embarrassed, “T-thank you.” you stutter out as you dropped your hands to hide in your pockets.

“So, make this out to Y/N then?” He asked, pulling a pen out of his pocket and looking at you softly. God, your heart was a puddle.

“Uhh, yeah, I guess.” You said and he hummed in agreement.

You were going to hold out a piece of your shirt out for him to sign, but instead he stepped a little closely and bent down, putting the tip down just under your shoulder. You didn’t miss the glimmer in his eye as he bent in close, holding you still a little with his big hands, and wrote delicately on your skin. You held your breath, biting your lip as the hulking mass of him was so close to you, making your head swim.

“To my loyal fan Y/N,” He said as he wrote, his tone having gone down a notch, making your skin erupt in goosebumps, “Siebren.” He signed, eyes locking with yours as he stood back up.

You laughed breathlessly, leaning on the wall behind you for support as he didn’t move back much, looming over you a bit. 

“T-thank you, I, uh… thanks.” You said, biting your lip a little and fluttering your eyes.

He smirked as he leaned on the wall above you, caging you a little, though leaving enough room that if you really wanted to leave you could. He was giving you a chance to stop, maybe saving face if he also misinterpreted, this was all up to you.

You chewed your lip as he looked down at you expectantly. Your hands shook a little as they rose and gently rested against the rough fabric of his uniform over his chest. He continued watching you, eyes darkening as you hands wandered over his abdomen, feeling him up a little. He was so firm and a lot more ripped than you had thought. This man was a damn brick house.

You hesitated a little as you got lower, looking up at him for permission as your fingers got to his waistband. He smiled, his hand not propping himself against the wall raising to grasp your smaller ones and gently pushing you lower himself, right over his half hard on.

He huffed hotly as you made contact with him through his pants and you couldn’t help the little whine that escaped your throat. You felt him up, mouth watering a bit at the feel of the size of him, only half hard it was already bigger than the length of your hand. You groped and stroked him through his pants, pulling a few groans from him for the effort, but as he got harder he stopped you.

“Enough of that.” He said a little strained, voice heavy with lust as he patted your greedy hands away.

He stood up a little, no longer leaning over you for a moment as both hands went to undo his belt as your hands rested on his large thighs, you mind momentarily filled with the image of you straddling these thick slabs of meat. When he finally pulled himself from his pants, just as long and thick as you always imagined.You licked your lips and looked up at him, his face red, sweaty and eyes looking at you hungrily, it made you shiver in excitement. Fuck, you wanted him to come undone.

Without any prompting you bent down and kissed his cockhead as you slid onto your knees, earning a breathless word in dutch. You didn’t know what it was, but it sounded endearing and it stroked something inside you. He had to bend his knees a little and haunch over you, leaning his head against the wall, the height difference a little difficult while standing, but it made it all the more hotter in your opinion.

You lavished his hard cock with wet kisses and gentle stroking, going off the amazing noises he was making to get a feel for what he liked as you licked him sloppily. His dick was so hard and hot and beautiful His tasted a bit salty but he smelled really good, like grass and dirt and... chalk? It was a strangely arousing combination.

You smiled up at him as he stared at you, eyes half lidded and face red, looking a little angry and a little delirious. So handsome. Like a wet dream. You trailed a line of kisses from the underside of his base up to his tip, eyes locked with his as your lips got closer to his head, and when you did, you opened your mouth and laid his head on your tongue.

He moaned loudly, his hips canting and slipping through your hold into your mouth a little, dragging another moan out of him as you enveloped his head with your soft mouth. A hand dropped from the wall above you as it weaved itself into your hair. Your tongue swirled around his head, humming with please as he choked a little at the feel and gripped your hair a little harder.

He began to circle his hips a little, his cock slowly leaving and entering your wet mouth, getting a little deeper as he went. You just took it, drooling and moaning as he got deeper and deeper and pulled out less and less. As you got most of him in he stilled to a halt, breathing hard as you swallowed around him, looking at him with eyes full of hot tears with the stretch. Fuck, the feeling of him so deep was glorious, but he hadn’t hilted, and despite the fact he looked about to bust and you were not that sure if you could, you began bobbing your head a little to get farther.

His strangled moans where music to your ears as he didn’t stop your endeavor, burying his head in the crook of his arm against the wall as his other hand still had a tight grip in your hair. Your throat was getting raw as you mouthfucked him and you knew that you were probably depriving yourself with sufficient oxygen, but you didn’t care, the desire to please him much too large. 

Finally your nose met the pubes on his groin and he held you still against him, every muscle on his body pulled taut. He was mumbling something, but it didn’t sound like English, or dutch for that matter, just pure breathless gibberish as you felt him pulse in your mouth. You focused on breathing and relaxing around him, brain too scrambled to do much else.

Everything felt so good, your nerves were so sensitive and every little sensation made you shiver in desire.  The feeling of your shirt against your chest, of your pants against you groin, of his fingers in your hair, of the feeling of his thighs under your hands, it all felt so good. Fuck, having him in your throat was turning you on so much it felt like you were going to cum from this alone.

Slowly he began to rut into your mouth, using your mouth as his own little fleshlight. Fuck, it was so hot. H was breathing so hard, his thighs twitching under your hands. He was saying something now, dark and needy, spoken like demands or praises but you couldn’t understand him, couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the squelch inside your head of him fucking into your throat.

Your eyes lulled and you just moaned around him, feeling the drool spill onto the front of your shirt as he fucked you to delirium, choking you repeatedly on his cock. Suddenly he held you tight to his base and said the first words to break through the haze of lust since you started, 

“Swallow.” He said through grit teeth, like you had any other choice.

The feeling of him twitching in your mouth and spilling his hot cum in the back of your throat triggered your own orgasm, and without any direct stimulation your body was wracked with a full body shiver. Your body flinched against his hold as you felt the thick liquid get forced down, but he held you steady, and before he was finished, he pulled out quickly to squirt the last of himself on your slightly swollen lips and drool covered chin.

You would have been angry if you weren’t so out of it. He hummed with please as you stared up at him through the tears in your eyes, tilting your face up to him so he could see the copious amount of cum on your tongue.

“Swallow.” He said softer than before, out of breath.

You obediently closed your mouth and swallowed, opening it again to show him and he smiled widely, petting your head. 

“Goed, goed.” He purred and it made you bristle in happiness in your post orgasm state.

You stayed like that for a while, him petting you and whispering kind words as your mind slowly booted up again. As he got himself presentable again and you cleaned yourself, he helped you back onto your feet and you checked the time on your phone. 2:15? Geez, time really flew by.

You were about to alert him of this when his hand met your lower back as he lead you back toward the entrance hall, “Yes, I know.” He said with a wink.

You were confused until you actually got out and saw through the large glass windows of the entrance the sheets of rain pouring over everything. There was an alert on your phone from the ticket holder, 

Delayed Game.

You looked up at him and he smiled smugly, “It seems I have a bit more time before the game.” He said with fake surprise.

“Do you have anything else you’d like to get signed?” He asked, hand still on your lower back as he lead you into the more private area of the stadium.

The fire of desire was lit again and you smiled up at him, “I still have two more shirts.” you say innocently.

He hummed and you felt his thumb rub lightly over your lower spine, 

“Well, then, let’s find a pen.”

[danandthereader]

Hi! I firstly wanted to say that I absolutely love your fics! Second, I have a request... what if the reader was playing video games with Dan and he kept trying to distract them by calling them cute names and acting all lovey-dovey? Bonus points if they're recording for the grumps channel!

A/N: His there, lovely ! Thank you so much for the compliment; I’m glad that you like the fics. Can I just say that this is a totally cute prompt and I am so happy to finally be able to fill it ? ♡ I love getting to write Dan as Not So Grump, if that makes sense, especially when he’s being ultra lovey-dovey. Thank you so much for sending it in, and an even bigger thanks for your patience on me filling it. I hope you love it as much as I loved getting to fill it; heart you !

GAME OVER

To say that the Grumps recording room was comfortable was giving it just a bit too much credit. Honestly, the placed with sort of packed, one wall entirely covered in shelves that housed their extensive videogame collection and the rest of the room dedicated to recording equipment and various systems to play them. Yet in this room, with its worn couch and shoddy A/C and shoulder-to-shoulder atmosphere, you couldn’t help but feel welcome. It was just you in the room - Dan and Arin were both taking five just outside - but you stayed to take in the silence, only broken up by the laptops humming.It wasn’t often that you got to really take in the fact that you were part of this now - not like the boys were, of course, but you always got to help out with something, from editing to queuing up and posting videos - mostly because your days always flew by in a blur. Now, though, just for a moment, you could really appreciate it.

Just then, the door opened, revealing the two stars of the show, looking ready to go, followed suit by Ryan. “So, we’ve got a couple different ways to spend the rest of the afternoon,” the editor began. “We can bag a few episodes of Zelda, Monopoly for Versus, let’s see…” He was listing things off the top of his head. “Oh! There’s also Sonic…” You let out a tiny huff of amusement, that current series having particularly entertained you each time you’ve watched it. It seemed to remind everyone that you were there, and Dan turned to you. “What do you think?” Sweet of him to include you in the conversation; you smiled a bit. “Sonic’s always a big hit,” you replied easily. “Or… Hm…” You were lost in thought as well. “Can you guys afford to start something new?” That caught all of their attention. “Like?” prompted Arin, curious at the prospect. You thought for another moment. “Do you have a Spongebob game?” That made him laugh out loud.“What about Snipperclips?” Dan asked, perking up just a bit. “Yeah! I loved getting to see you two play that,” you agreed, beaming. Looking to Arin, the smile that was on his face was more smug than anything. “Oh, he doesn’t wanna play with me,” he added, giving his best friend major side-eye. It was then that the two looked to you, and you got it. “Wh- Me?” You’d never been on Grumps before, and even if you had been dating Danny for the past three or so months, you hadn’t expected things to cross over quite like this. “I’ll set up the mics.” All three of them were moving then, going to rig things up, leaving you all together confused of what just transpired.All at once it hit you - You were going to be on an episode of Game Grumps. This was definitely not how you thought the day was going to go, but when working in a place like this, was anything ever set in stone?

Following suit, you took a seat on the couch next to Dan, bringing your legs up and crossing them over one another. As Arin finished adjusting the mics and levels, and Ryan dug out the Switch controllers and game, you felt a gentle bump against your shoulder. Knowing who it was, you smiled a bit and bumped right back. “How ya feelin’?” the curly-haired one asked, voice kept low to stay between the two of you. “Thoroughly confused,” you replied, equally soft and smiling more. “Why am I doing this with you again?” He chuckled. “Because you’re great. ” That seemed enough of a reason for him; you playfully rolled your eyes. “If at any point you don’t feel comfortable, just tell me, and we’ll pause, and we’ll tag you out, all right?” Your eyebrows furrowed; that had never happened in any Grumps episode. “The audience won’t mind, I promise.”Getting a thumbs-up, the capture was started, the timer began, and Dan introduced the two of you.“Been a while since we’ve played this. Hey everyone!” His on-screen voice wasn’t all that different than his off-screen one, all chipper tones and musical cadence. “We have a very special, new guest me playing this very adorable game…” You smiled a bit as you leaned in. “Hey there,” you greeted simply, hoping you came off confident. “You ready to play some Snipperclips, lovely?” The nickname made you blink, but reply, “Let’s get to it!”Breezing through the first few stages, you two came to a point where you couldn’t quite pass. “What are we supposed to be doing here?” Dan wondered aloud, running back and forth across the screen with his little yellow character. “I think we’re supposed to get the little orbs into their pockets?” Dumb answer; you cringed. “Well, yeah, of course that,” he replied, chuckling. “But how?” As you mimicked him - taking your little pink character and running them back and forth across the stage - you studied the layout. “Well, maybe if we do this, and th- Hey!” He had hit the button that clipped you, cutting a piece from your character with the little thing going oh!. You now had a very pointed half and a rounded-out, untouched half. “Rude!” He was laughing. “But you look so cute now! Like a pink punk rocker,” he insisted as you chased him around the screen. “Not quite as cute as you look in real-life right now, though.” You turned pink at the sudden compliment, stopping the chase and hitting the button to reset your character. “Don’t think this is over,” you muttered, mostly into the mic for the audience to hear.

Eventually you did get past the level, working your way to an underwater mission that required you to cut each other into certain shapes. “Okay, this’ll be easy!” Your voice radiated enthusiasm, comfort having settled in at this point, Dan’s reassuring words from earlier keeping your butterflies down. “Okay, Danny, c’mere.” You used a humorous voice for the next bit, channeling Arin. “I gotta cut ’cha!” His little character came to yours. “All right, baby. Cut me up.” His voice took on a tone, too, his much more sultry than yours. “Do want you want to me. I’m yours.” You couldn’t help but laugh, the pink darkening. “Okay, lover boy, calm down…” Trailing off, you began snipping away, the silence broken up by his over-the-top, overtly sexual noises. He was playing it way up for humor, but you were sort of afraid it might not be usable. “Look, I’ll fuck you when we get home, okay?” you finally blurted, voice raised with exasperation and amusement. “Ooo, that a promise?”With a huff, you finished slipping the last bit of him. “All right, your turn. Do me.” Both of you paused and looked at each other, him finally catching the flush in your cheeks and grinning from ear-to-ear. “Okay, wait-!” He cracked up. “That’s not what I meant!” He did begin snipping at you in-game as well, through the laughter, keeping the game going. “You know I’ll do you right, baby girl.” Jesus. You let go of the controller and moment and put your face in your hand. “Oh no, I’ve broken you!” He hadn’t stopped the game though. “I’ve actually broken her. I’m so sorry.” His laughter had diminished to chuckles. “Hold on, let’s at least finish this level, and we’ll call it, yeah?” You looked up from your hands, noting that he had finished. “Sounds good,” you breathed, gentle laughter punctuating your sentence.Picking up the controller, you rotated your character, hopped on top of him, and the level cleared with the usual confetti and cheering. “We did it!” he accounted happily. “We’re such a good team.” He leaned over, setting his head on your shoulder and looking up at you with bright hazel eyes. “God, I hate you,” you muttered, knowing the mic had picked it up and knowing you hadn’t meant it at all. “Aw, no you don’t,” he replied, letting your mic pick him up as well. “You looove me.” The teasing tone made you sigh. “Much to my opposition,” you amended, laughing gently. “How about a ‘Next time on Game Grumps’ for the outro?” You turned to the mic. “Next time on Game Grumps... Something else!” The two of you laughed together. “Perfect. See you later, lovelies!” Lifting himself from your shoulder, he stopped the recording, then the capture, and turned to you.“We did it!” You shoved him lightly, grinning and shaking your head, no malice in the movement but getting him to widen his eyes. “What?” He was playing dumb, which made you shove him again. He took it, but rebounded quick, leaning in and kissing you lovingly.

[free-2bmee]

No Matter What -- Ch 1

NEW STORY - TRYING MY HAND AT THIS FANFIC THING AGAIN. CHECK ME OUT ON AO3 

5 years since accords - Team Cap didn’t get away, but instead got sent into servitude for their actions. General Ross didn’t tell Tony or Team Iron Man where they were sent.

Tony has spent the last 5 years looking for Team Cap, and has located, and returned Scott, Clint, Sam, & Bucky, but hasn’t been able to find Cap or Wanda…until he finally finds them.

Steve and Wanda have been shuffled from abusive owner to abusive owner together for the past 5 years. At first Steve resisted - they had done something to Wanda to bind her magic/powers, so she could no longer use them, and would make a show of torturing her every time Steve acted out, or even showed the slightest inclination toward defiance. Not only would they torture Wanda, but they would also torture him…they just knew that he would heal rapidly, and that they could virtually not kill him.

The story is about Tony helping Steve and Wanda come back.

Chapter 1 under the cut

Tony sighed as he poured himself a drink. He brought the glass to his lips, and drained it. He groaned and tried to focus on the plans in front of him. But unfortunately, it seemed focus was not in the cards for tonight. “Shit luck,” Tony thought to himself. It probably wasn’t helping anything that the plans he was looking at were the ones for Cap’s new shield. Had it really been 5 years already? 5 long years since the Accords were finalized, and everyone who had followed the great Captain America was sentenced to slavery due to their defiance against the United Nations. He had spent the better part of the last 5 years (well, 4 ½ if he’s being honest with himself) searching for his friends.

And one by one he was able to find and purchase (as much has he loathes that fact) every single one of them - Clint, Sam, Scott -- he was even able to find Bucky, and he brought them and their families all to the complex. Everyone one of them, except for Wanda and Steve.

Steve...how could he have let Steve go? All that time, with his feelings, and yet he was too cowardly to let him know just how much he had cared for him. And now look where it got him.

“FRIDAY, how are we lookin’ tonight?” asked Tony.

“All is well, Sir” replied the AI, “Everyone is sleeping peacefully.”

Thank goodness, Tony thought. He couldn’t remember the last night that someone wasn’t waking up or wandering the complex due to nightmares.

“Any update from Nat?”

“Nothing, Sir. There is still no trace of Steve Rogers or Wanda Maximoff anywhere.” stated the AI.

And Wanda...she was just a kid! Everyone else was an adult when all this went down...but Wanda...Wanda was just a kid.

Tony groaned and rubbed his temples. He knew he was at much fault for what happened to Wanda, and it had been eating him alive with guilt every day that they couldn’t find her.

He brought his hand up to scrub some of the tired out of his eyes. “Thanks, FRIDAY. Let me know if anything changes” he sighed. He swept the plans aside, and growled in frustration. He wasn’t making any progress tonight. DUM-E rolled over and placed a glass next to him on his desk.

“Thanks, buddy” smiled Tony, as he patted the ‘bot on his head.

---

“Boss, I have an urgent message from Miss Romanoff” FRIDAY’s voice rang through Tony’s lab and startled him out of his slumber. He waved his hand for the AI to continue. “Miss Romanoff states that she has located Miss Maximoff, and that she is going to auction at 10:30 this morning in Boston. It is currently 8:55 am.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Let her know I’ll be there.” Tony replied, “Oh, I’m going to need a CV under a new name...you know the drill. Backstory, credentials, bank accounts...all of it. Make sure we’ve got enough there for anything that’s needed.”

“Certainly, Sir,” came the cool steady voice of the AI.

“Ok, breathe. Let’s go get Wanda.” Tony thought to himself. He had done this before...4 times, in fact. And it never seemed to get any easier. He was also a bit out of practice. He and Natasha were able to locate the others fairly quickly (within the first year), and so he had not needed to “buy” anyone for the last 3 years. He hated this part most of all..the need to be indifferent, hiding his identity, and then on top of it all...seeing what has become of his friends. He knew he had some hand in all of this, and that guilt weighed on him daily. Which is why, every time Natasha found one of his friends, he immediately found a way to bring them back. It was the least he could do, really.

---

An hour later, armed with a newly minted identity and a photostatic veil (to mask his face), Tony...or rather Edwin Dougan, was escorted into Mandarin Oriental in Boston, MA. Fancy, Tony thought. The room he was lead to was small, only contained 2 arm chairs with a small end table between them. The chairs were facing a glass wall - one way glass - Tony could tell, and through which was another room that only contained a rotating platform. Tony let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding as the door clicked shut - it was going to be one of those auctions then...the silent type. There was supposed to be no way of knowing how many other bidders there would be, unless you were Tony Stark - of course.

Tony glanced at his watch - 10:28 - time to get this show on the road, he thought. He had already accepted a drink from the server that had been sent to his room, and then had promptly been left alone with the tablet that would be used for the bidding. He had also set up FRIDAY to run background on everyone there - the potential buyers, the auctioneer, and the person selling Wanda.

“Thank you for coming today,” came a cool voice through the rooms speaker systems. “We are so glad that each of you are here, and are very excited to show you the merchandise we have procured for you today.”

Tony sucked in a breath when Wanda was lead onto the platform. “The slave being auctioned off today, Slave SW-M41964, female, age 18, previously enhanced…” The platform began to turn,and the bidding had begun, but Tony already knew he would outbid anyon. He rattled off a list of things to FRIDAY that they would need when they got back to the complex.

She looked about as bad as you would expect for someone who had spent the last 5 years in slavery - walking death, skin and bones, dirty, naked and kneeling with her hands cuffed behind her backs. Vibranium cuffs his mind supplied. Her hair was pulled back into a braid at the nape of her neck, but Tony could tell it had not been properly washed in quite a while. He could make out 2 extra cuffs underneath the ones that were locking her arms behind her, and directed FRIDAY to catalogue all of the cuts and bruises that littered her body. She was wearing a thick metal collar, which wasn’t all that unusual, but the skin underneath her collar was reddened, irritated, and looked to possibly be infected, was very concerning.

When the bidding had ultimately reached a level that demanded Tony’s attention, he tore his eyes away from his friends and began to bid with earnest. It was a hard fought battle - more so than with any of the others - Tony and 1 other gentleman bid on the 2 for almost an hour and a half before Tony was ultimately successful. He breathed a sigh of relief - Wanda we’re finally coming home...and it only cost him $75,000. Now it was just time to get her there.

“Thank you for coming today Mr….Dougan.” the auctioneer said as Tony was ushered into an office as Wanda was put on her knees in front of him. She still had her head down, so Tony couldn’t see her eyes, but he saw a slight flinch when he sat down in the chair next to her. “Ok, sir, here is your acquisition - Slave SW-M41964. As stated previously, female, 18 years of age. Previously enhanced, but you don’t need to worry about that, sir. Her...enhancements have been reduced by these.” The guard grabbed Wanda’s wrists and showed him the 2 extra cuffs. “Don’t worry, they cannot be removed, and she has not shown any signs of her previous enhancements since they were provided.” He continued on as the guard grabbed Wanda’s hair to tilt her face up for Tony’s inspection. She kept her eyes downward through the manhandling, and at this distance, Tony could see how frightened she was, even though she tried to hide it. Tony also was able make out a hand shaped bruise around her throat and the remnants of a split lip.

“According to their previous owner, she’s very susceptible to shock, making her easily controlled through her collar, rendering her exceptionally pliant. She has been trained in all types of service, and according to the file, her mouth is exceptional.” He gave the guard a little smirk.

Breathe...Tony, come on! Get it together. Tony took a steadying deep breath. The things they were talking about…but he needed to get himself under control. Just remember...this only for a bit. You’ve got to play your part. Don’t do anything to mess this up. For Wanda.

“Perfect...she’ll...she’ll be perfect for what I’ve got in mind” stated Tony in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone. He started to move towards the desk to sign the papers when the auctioneer cleared her throat.

“Actually, sir...there is one more thing, we’ve got an exciting surprise for you...” she began. She cleared her throat, and nodded at the guard standing behind her. He turned and ushered in another slave. He was awkwardly crawling, but Tony would know that profile anywhere...Steve.

***

Steve was in so much pain, but then again, it seemed as if he was always in pain now-a-days. He had no idea why Master was so angry with them...he had tried to be so good. But it seemed as if he was always angry for some reason or other. But he didn’t need to concern himself with the why behind anything anymore...he only needed to be good, to behave, and to keep Wanda safe. He had already caused her so much hurt and anguish; he didn’t want to do that anymore. Now that Master had decided to get rid of them, Steve had no idea what to expect from the future...but then again that wasn’t his job. It hadn’t been his job for 5 years. All he needed to remember now was to obey.

He tried not to fidget as they were lead to yet another room. Don’t think. Don’t fidget...they always hated it when he fidgeted. Eyes down. Don’t think, just be. Maybe he could start off on the right foot with this Master, and maybe then the pain would stop. If not for him, maybe he could at least make it stop for Wanda. He couldn’t stop a shutter from escaping as his new Master was lead into the room, and was forced to his knees.

Just...be good. He had to be good this time...everyone knew what happened to a slave once they started giving you away for free.

***

Tony blanched….”I-I’m sorry...can you repeat that?” he asked when he realized he hadn’t been listening to the auctioneer.

“Certainly, sir,” she replied, “This slave, Slave CA-R11914, is being given away free of charge as an accompaniment to Slave SW-M41964. Should you choose to accept, his transfer will be included with hers. Should you choose to not accept, it will be disposed of.”  The guard grabbed Steve by the hair and yanked his head back for Tony’s inspection.

Ok...breathe. Tony thought to himself...if he navigated this correctly, he would be walking away from this wretched hotel with both of his friends. Steve looked….well he looked horrible. Even worse than Wanda which Tony didn’t think was possible. He was skin and bones….or at least as much as the serum would have allowed him to be. His hair had been unevenly shaven very close to his scalp, and it looked as if someone had hacked at his beard with a dull razor. The scattering of bruises that littered his body were worse than Wanda’s - he looked to be almost more bruise than not. He had a fairly nasty head wound that looked like it might require stitches, as well as a couple more lacerations on his chest. It also looked as if he had received a pretty bad lashing very recently, because Tony could see his back was covered in whip marks, many of which had broken the skin. He was wearing a matching collar to Wanda’s, but thankfully his neck wasn’t quite as irritated as hers.

“Slave CA-R11914 and Slave SW-M41964 have always been sold as a pair.” The guard released Steve’s hair, shoving his head back towards the floor, causing him to sway and his breath to hitch with a gasp of pain. It took all of Tony’s self-control to not blast the guard to kingdom come.

“The reason for this,” the auctioneer continued, “is because at the beginning of their sentence, Slave CA-R11914 was very uncooperative, and it seemed as though none of the usual training methods were working to make him compliant.” Tony seathed. “So in order to get Slave CA-R11914 to cooperate, they had to start issuing his punishments to both he and Slave SW-M41964.” He continued shrugging, “According to this, it seemed to be the only thing to get him to behave. It took the better part of a year, but they were finally able to break him. I am happy to report that now, Slave CA-R11914 is very compliant, and you should have no trouble with either of them. Again, according to his file, the best method to get him to behave, if you should need to do so is to punish both he and Slave SW-M4196 in the same manor, and to have Slave CA-R11914 watch Slave SW-M41964’s punishment. And although we could not negate all of Slave CA-R11914’s enhancements, his strength and endurance now come in handy.” Steve swayed slightly, probably due to weariness, but stilled immediately as the guard reached for the whip on his belt.

“Ooo--kaaay” Tony drawled, his voice shaking slightly, causing the guard to halt his movements, and Steve to flinch. He waved his hands, signaling for them to continue, mind going about a mile a minute. Get it together! Tony chastised himself. You’ve got to keep it together for them. You can fall apart when you get home...but just get them out of here!  

“Like Slave SW-M41964, Slave CA-R11914 has been trained for anything you should desire, and I guess if he doesn’t do something you want, the best way to get him to cooperate is to threaten Slave SW-M41964. And because he cannot be trusted or sold individually...hence the free surprise.” He shrugged...almost indifferent.

It took everything in him for Tony to not completely lose it in the middle of that office. But at least now he had his answer...and it explained the complete resigned look Steve carried. Unlike Wanda, Steve showed no fear. Instead, even though their eyes didn’t meet, Tony saw complete and utter hopelessness behind Steve’s eyes.

“So…” continued the auctioneer, “you’ll take it?” He looked at Tony for confirmation.

He nodded, as he tried to swallow the bile that was surfacing in his throat. “I’m sure I’ll find somewhere for him. Who would say no to a free slave?” He ran his fingers along the top of Steve’s collar, feeling the other man suck in his breath. “Yes...I’m sure we’ll find someplace for him.” Finally...don’t worry, Steve, everything is going to be alright now. He removed his fingers from Steve’s collar, and saw the man draw a ragged breath.

He clapped his hands together and plastered on his best showmanship smile. “Ok...so let’s sign this paperwork. Unfortunately I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” He signed the required documents, and shook the auctioneer’s hand.

“It has been a pleasure doing business with you,” he said handing Tony 2 objects that looked like key fobs. “Those are the activators for the collars,” the auctioneer explained. He continued explaining how they worked, but Tony was too concerned watching Steve and Wanda to pay attention...he wouldn’t be needing them anyway. The guard stood and clipped a leash to each of Steve and Wanda’s collars, handing the ends to Tony. The pair then promptly left the office leaving Tony alone with the 2 kneeling slaves.

“Alright,” he took a deep grounding breath, “lets..let’s get you two home,” Tony stated to Steve and Wanda as he turned to leave, they both simply leaned forward and began to crawl after him.

“Wh-what are you doing?!” He asked in a tone a lot harsher than he meant causing both of them to flinch.

“Please, Master, your slaves are sorry!” Steve exclaimed as he and Wanda tried to stand up. Steve managed to get into an upright position, but his legs trembled slightly, and he hunched in on himself to make himself smaller. Wanda, however, did not have the benefit of the serum, and her legs shook terribly, and then gave out causing her to immediately crumble back to the ground. She let out a choked off yelp, and braced herself for a blow.

Tony’s face must have shown the horror he was feeling, not at Wanda of course, but it must have shown because Steve dropped to his knees shielding Wanda and exclaimed, “Master! Please have mercy! Your slave is sorry. Please do not punish her for failing to follow your orders. Please, punish me in her place! I am yours to punish, Master. ” He brought his face to Tony’s shoes, exposing his back. He tensed, fully expecting a beating or a shock that wouldn’t come, and Tony’s heart broke...What had happened to reduce Steve to this quivering mess?! The last time Tony had seen him, Steve had stood tall, and would never had even dreamt of debasing himself like this!

Tony groaned, causing both Wanda and Steve to flinch once again. “No, that won’t be necessary...right now,” he motioned to Wanda, “do you think you could help her? We really do need to get going.” He just needed to get out of there before he lost it.

“Yes, Master. Please forgive your slaves for causing you any...any delay, Master.” Steve stammered to Tony’s shoes. He waited a moment, and when Tony didn’t move towards the activator, he gathered himself into a stand, and with a wince, leaned down to gingerly pick up Wanda. He then turned, with his head down, and waited for Tony to lead the way. Tony swallowed a sigh, and turned to walk to his car still holding the leash ends in his hand. Steve following a couple paces behind.

***

Steve tried not let the leash pull. He knew his place, 3 paces behind his Master. Although, it did seem strange to be walking upright instead of crawling. It had been a while since Steve was allowed to walk anywhere in the presence of his owner, and he was having trouble keeping pace behind his new Master. He tried his best to not let the effort show on his face, but the added weight of carrying Wanda was starting to slow him down, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten...it had to have been 3 or 4 days now? He had no idea why this new Master hadn’t relished in the opportunity to show he and Wanda their places and try out the shock collar when she failed to follow his orders, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He knew that there was no way that this Master would be benevolent twice in a single day (or even hour), and so despite the pain in his arms, or the shaking in his legs, he focused all his efforts in following his Master out of the hotel and into his town car.

Here we go, he thought, Remember...just be good. He flinched instinctively as his Master unclipped the leashes and motioned for he and Wanda to get in the back seat of the car. He carefully placed her on the floor, and crawled into a kneeling position beside her, trying to get his breathing under control. It was never a good idea to show your weakness...it usually just brought on more pain, but his shoulder was hurting terribly, and he was feeling kind of light headed, probably due to the parting gift Master had left on his head. He concentrated on breathing in and out through his nose. He focused on Wanda next to him...she was safe. He counted the specks on the mat he was kneeling on, and after what seemed like eternity, he was able to get his ragged breathing under control. Now to go and mollify his new Master.

***

Tony breathed a sigh of relief when he climbed into the car, and FRIDAY began to drive away...that is until he turned and looked at Steve and Wanda. Both were once again kneeling with their heads bowed, and their hands clasped behind their backs. Steve’s breathing was labored and he was also trembling from head to toe. Tony could tell he was trying his best to conceal it, so he decided it was best to not draw attention to it. No need to cause them any more stress than absolutely necessary. Instead, he pulled out his phone to check the traffic...or to ask FRIDAY what the traffic looked like -  just under 4 hours and 30 minutes with the current traffic conditions according to FRIDAY. Which meant that FRIDAY would get them home in 2...so that meant he had 2 hours to figure out where to go from here.

This situation was so different than it had been with the last 4 “rescues” they had achieved. He hardly recognized the 2 people kneeling before him - they were broken, and their recovery would be much more extensive than with any of the others - including Bucky. He texted Natasha an update, and told her to have everyone stay on their own floors for now. Too many people at once would simply overwhelm them. He then texted Dr. Cho to meet him on his floor. He needed to get them looked at, especially Steve’s head and Wanda’s neck. As well as figure out some sort of nutrition plan - because Tony could tell they had not been properly fed for a long time.

He was pulled out of his reverie as Steve crawled to Tony’s feet, stopping, but not getting up from his prostrated position. When he spoke, he did so hesitantly, as if he was unsure if it was allowed.

“If...if it would please my Master, please allow your slave to show its gratitude for your benevolent treatment.” His voice was soft and rough from disuse. He began to nuzzle at Tony’s ankle, indicating what he was referring to. Tony’s stomach flipped...and not in the good way.

“That won’t be necessary…” Tony began, leaning forward to place a hand on Steve’s shoulder causing him to flinch at the touch. Wanda’s breath hitched, and Steve began to stammer, “I...I am sorry for displeasing you, Master, please pun...please punish your slave as you see fit.”

“And please, don’t call me Master” he continued, removing the photostatic veil.

“Master,” Steve stammered, “It...it is not allowed!” He shook his head frantically, “Your slaves could never dishonor you in such a way...your sl-” Tony held up his hand to stop him.

“Eyes on me.” Tony ordered, and both Steve and Wanda’s faces lifted immediately, but their eyes focused somewhere around his right ear. “Do you know who I am?” he asked. Steve’s eyes flickered toward Tony’s face, and then back to the ground in an instant. But instead of relief, Tony saw pure fear in his eyes.

[inexcon]

RSI Comm-Link: Brothers In Arms: Part Two

Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part Two was published originally in Jump Point 3.6.

Gavin left Walt on Cassel. There was a time, back in his single days, when an extended stay on a resort world was the perfect sequel to a crappy job. Now he had a better offer waiting at home and two bottles of chilled Kōen Shōchū riding shotgun in the cockpit beside him. The better offer, of course, was Dell. The shōchū was his best hope to reboot his homecoming from Oberon.

It wasn’t exactly the grand entrance he’d planned on making. He felt his cheeks warm and was glad to be alone. With a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back into his seat. His helmet bumped against the cockpit frame. When he opened his eyes again, the HUD had died. He rolled his head to eye the waiting bottles of shōchū. Perhaps he needed the alcohol more than she did.

Rhedd Alert’s hangar was still. The lights were dialed down to a dull, sapphire glow. But while the hangar was quiet, Vista Landing never slowed down. The sounds of the complex were a pressure all around him; a constant hum of life that seemed intrusive after a long stint flying solo.

Gavin shed his flight suit and then grabbed the helmet and bottles of shōchū. The helmet got dumped unceremoniously onto a workbench. The shōchū went with him to their apart­ment. It was dark inside — he was too late. Dell was already asleep.

He leaned against the door while his eyes adjusted to the courtesy lighting in the bedroom. Dell lay on her side with her back to him. Her hair was a dark fan against pale pillows and sheets. There was no trace of the playful blue-dyed tips in the low light. He looked instead to the curve of her hip and the long line of her covered legs.

He left the bottles on a table, not wanting to risk waking her with light from the fridge. He stripped off his shirt on the way to the little closet. She’d left it open, and piles of clothes made odd shapes in the low light.

They smelled like her. He’d forgotten how much he loved that. He leaned forward, his head slipping between her hanging shirts and jackets. They didn’t have much, but this was home. They were settled, with no desire for any more living out of cockpits and dirty cargo bays. But if he couldn’t make this work, that’s exactly what they would be back to.

Gavin stooped and picked up the discarded shirt. There was work to do. Things to fix.

He closed the door as quietly as he could when he left.

He was at a workbench in the hangar when the light pad of Dell’s bare feet on the cold hangar deck sounded behind him.

“Hey, Slugger.” Her voice was playful, teasing him about the scrap with Walt. The taunting tone was good news, in a way. It meant that she wasn’t quite so angry. Regardless, he was still embarrassed about the fight and didn’t rise to her bait.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said instead.

She rubbed her hand across his shoulders, bumped him aside with her hip and then took a seat next to him on the bench when he moved. “I was asleep, but it sounded like a herd of Shoone came tromping through the apart­ment.”

He felt better hearing the smile in her voice. “Huh . . . I guess I’m glad I missed that.”

“What are you working on?”

Gavin started running through his list, wondering where to start. He gave up somewhere north of fifteen and simply replied, “Everything.”

“Did we get paid?” He nodded and her look of relief was frustrating. Depending on Dell’s ex-boyfriend for financial salvation wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned his role as a business owner.

“How’s Boomer?” he asked.

“He can’t keep doing this. They patched him up, but he’s been banged around way too much.”

It was true. Dell’s dad had been put back together more than any other pilot Gavin had ever met. Maybe a few military pilots had had more rejuvenation treatment, but their facilities had to be far better than anything civies like Boomer had access too.

“You’ve got to get him to take it easy, Gav. Let him fly sup­port in the Freelancer or something.”

“Let him fly support? This is your dad we’re talking about. He’s at least half as stubborn as you are. And you know how he flies. He’s cool as gunmetal in a dogfight, but he flies like a crazy . . . flying . . . kind of . . . person.”

“Will you at least try? Please?”

There was no way Boomer was going to listen to him, but Gavin agreed. It wasn’t worth fighting with Dell about it. They’d been over that ground before. Plenty of times.

He prodded at the wiring harness of his helmet.

“The heads-up out again?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Here, let me do it.” She pulled the tools closer and set to work. “So . . . Walt stayed to drink his paycheck away with Barry?”

“Walt worked as hard as anyone in Oberon. Harder than most, actually. He can do what he wants with his cut.”

“While we’re dumping all of ours into repairs and supplies?”

“I brought you some shōchū,” he offered.

“I saw that.” She snuggled into his side and slid her arm around his waist. “Mmmmm . . . thank you.” A peck on his cheek. “I put it in the fridge.”

“You should have brought a bottle with you.”

She unwound herself from him and went back to work on the helmet. “It might work out better for you if we save that for a night when I’m not exhausted.”

That killed the mood. Gavin shifted the tools around on the bench. Dell must have sensed his change of mood. She sat up straight, her tone growing somber. “I’ve been doing some math,” she said.

“How bad is it?”

“Not good.”

He hoped that the grimace he made was reassuring. It probably wasn’t.

“Selling the salvage will keep us out of the red for a couple months,” she said. “Good job on that, by the way. I don’t know about the Idris, but that 325a is actually quite sell­able. Unless you want to keep it, that is.”

Gavin thought about it. “Sell it,” he said. “We can’t afford to upgrade any of our people, and I’m not bringing on any more pilots until we land some steady work.”

“On that topic, did Barry have something new for us, or did he come to Goss system just to carouse with your brother?”

He told her about the turret job and she brightened.

“This is good, Gav. You think this could turn into a steady stream of work?”

“Maybe, but we’ve got a team of combat pilots, babe. They’re not going to stick around for this kind of work.”

“Then screw them. Let them leave, and I’ll fly with you.”

“You fly worse than your dad. Besides, you wanted to be here to run the shop.”

“I’m here because I want this to work.” She put her tools down and entwined her fingers with his. “Believe me, I’d much rather be flying with you and Dad.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t want you out there. Bringing Boomer back in stasis is one thing, but you . . .”

She extracted her fingers and patted his hand, pulling away. “That’s an idea you’re going to have to get used to. Dad won’t be flying that old Avenger forever. Eventually, she’ll be mine. But right now,” she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, “I’m going to bed.”

Dell stood, pressed his helmet’s wire housing into place with a click and left.

Gavin picked up the helmet and peeked inside. The glow from the reticle display shown within. She’d got it working again.

They had a good thing going, he and Dell. But chronic, nag­ging financial worry would eventually tear that apart. He just needed work that paid and that his pilots would stay for. Work that would keep Walt from chasing something shiny, interesting, and new. What he needed was that Tyrol escort job.

Gavin pushed the helmet and tools aside on the bench. He keyed up the console and placed a call to Barry’s mobiGlas. The accountant accepted the call.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Barry. Good, you’re still in-system.”

“Just about to leave Cassel, why?”

“What would a bid need to look like for someone to be com­petitive on that Tyrol contract?”

“Gavin,” Barry’s voice grew serious. “You’re new to this, but you have to know that I can’t give out that kind of information.”

Gavin’s mobiGlas vibrated against his wrist with an incom­ing message.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I wasn’t trying to cause troub—”

Barry cut him off. “Now, what I can do is point you toward the proper registration and submission forms. How you manage the pricing is your concern. Understand?”

On Gavin’s mobiGlas was a message from an unknown contact. The message was simple, containing only a Credit sign and a number.

A big number.

Yes!

“Thanks, Barry. I appreciate it and understand completely.”

It took four days to clear just two turrets from the mouth of the first cave. Walt took out the first within seconds of arriving. He did it with what he swore was a purposeful and carefully aimed shot.

The second turret pulverized Jazza’s Cutlass, and they had to tow the wreckage back to Vista Landing for re­pairs. Jazza herself went home in stasis after taking hits to a shoulder and both of her legs. She did not rejoin them for the moon mine job.

On the fourth day — running low on patience, ammo, and foul language — they finally came up with a solution. It was ugly. It was dangerous. But as they worked deeper into the moon, it was the only thing they found that worked.

“All right, Boomer,” Gavin said, “hold behind that outcrop­ping.”

Boomer’s Avenger crept to a halt beside him. Deep inside the warren of caverns, the moon’s rotation was enough to give them a sense of up and down. Still, holding a relative position inside a small spinning moon was not as easy as one might think. Stabilizing thrusters fired continuously in short, irregular bursts.

Gavin checked his orientation and distance from the walls. He was in place. The tag team system they’d come up with had been working pretty well, using one ship to draw fire while a second swept in to blast each turret. It was tedious and sphincter-tightening work, but the moon was nearly cleared. Only a small handful of tricky defenses remained intact.

“Okay,” Gavin settled his hands on his flight controls. “On my mark.”

He left the mic open and triggered a timer on his navsat. He watched Boomer’s ship ease slowly into the turret’s line of sight to the steady countdown of the timer. Right on cue, Gavin hammered his thrusters and sped into the cave, just as the first blast from the turret struck Boomer’s shields.

Gavin yawed to the left, swinging the nose of his ship until he could see both the turret and Boomer’s ship. The old man’s Avenger bucked under the constant fire. The shields held, but the blast forced the Avenger back out into the tunnel before Gavin could take a shot.

Gavin fired, and the turret’s twin barrels swiveled with such impeccable precision and speed that they looked like identical empty dots. “Oh, sh—” the barrels erupted in a fusillade of crimson light.

Gavin fired again and had no clue if he was anywhere near the mark. The turret’s aim was flawless, however. There was an odd pulling sensation when the cabin lost pressure and his suit pressurized, squeezing around his limbs and chest.

Another barrage hammered into him and he felt the Cut­lass crunch ass-backward into the wall of the cavern. The ship rolled, nose pitching wildly to one side. Gavin saw an open blackness of empty space yawn into view. He punched it, hoping he was heading back out into the tunnel and not to his death inside the smugglers’ cave.

Relieved, he saw Boomer’s Avenger flash by beneath him. But dread gripped him again when the walls of the narrow tunnel loomed to fill his entire view. He reversed thrust, hunched tight around the controls and braced for impact.

It was bad.

He hit hard, and the impact sent him careening down the cavern. He tumbled over and over, willing his ship to hold together. When he finally forced himself to release the flight controls, the ship righted itself.

“Holy hells,” Boomer breathed. “Gav? You alive, buddy?”

His chest heaved like he’d been running. “I seem to recall some idiot bitching about this job being boring.”

Walt, exploring a tunnel in another part of the moon, an­swered, “That sounds like it was directed at me. You two okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I just got blown up!”

“Simmer down, son,” Boomer said. “I’ve been blown up plenty of times. That was nothin’. I, uh . . . I don’t think you’re taking another crack at that turret until we get your ship patched up, though.”

“Oh, really? Ya think?” Gavin’s comms flashed on an incom­ing line. “Hold on, guys. Call coming in.”

Boomer laughed, saying, “They probably heard us planet­side and want us to keep the noise down.”

“Very funny. Actually, it’s Dell. Now shut it.” Gavin accept­ed the incoming line.

“Gav?” He couldn’t tell if Dell sounded scared or angry, maybe both. “We got a problem, babe. Jazza’s out of here. Says she’s taking a ship unless she gets her cut of the turret job before she goes.”

“What? What do you mean ‘out of here’?”

“She’s leaving,” Dell said. “Leaving the company, I mean.”

Walt cut in on the squad channel. “Hey Gav, I’m all finished in here. You want me to come take a look at tha—”

Gavin juggled channels. “Hold on, Walt.” He squinched his eyes closed, sore, frustrated and confused. “Dell. Where’s Jazz going? You mean she’s quitting?”

Boomer kept the chatter going on the squad channel. “Sounds like he’s getting an earful, Walt. Glad she didn’t call me.”

“Tell her Gavin just got blown up.”

“That would improve her day significantly.”

They both laughed.

Gavin spread his hands in an open-armed shrug for no one’s benefit but his own. “Would you please shut the hell up?”

They did. Dell did not. “What did you just say to me?!”

“Not you, babe. Walt and . . . you know what? Never mind all that. Just tell me again, what’s going on with Jazz?”

His mobiGlas vibrated. Gavin swore silently and balled his fists to keep from shooting something. From within his pressure suit, it was difficult to activate the mobiGlas. He managed it while Dell filled him in on Jazza’s desertion. She was going to look for work with one of the smuggling outfits hidden in the Olympus Pool. Paying work. Blah. Blah. Deserter.

Gavin finally powered on his mobiGlas display. There was a message from a contact marked “unknown,” but Gavin knew exactly who it was from.

“Dell.”

“I tried to talk her out of it, Gav,” Dell sounded close to tears. “I really did.”

“Dell, listen to me.”

“What?”

“Get Jazza back. All right? Do whatever it takes.”

“I’ll try, Gav, but . . .”

“Whatever it takes, okay? We’re going to need her. We’re going to need everyone and then some.”

“What’s going on, Gavin?”

He keyed his mic to transmit on both channels, “Everybody, listen up. They only got two bids on the Navy contract. We’re the low bid.”

“Is low bad?” Boomer asked.

“Dell,” Gavin said, “have Jazza join us in Oberon. We’re working ’round the clock until we’ve cleared the last few turrets.”

Gavin sat in his damaged Cutlass, cheeks stretched in an unfamiliar grin.

“Guys,” he said, “we just won the Navy job.”

“Go on in, Miss Brock.” A lieutenant held the door open for her. “Major Greely and his guest are already inside.”

The major’s guest. How wonderful. Morgan Brock smoothed the front of her pleated skirt and then swept through the doorway into Greely’s conference room. The major and his “guest” stood near the head of the table. Greely was looking more Marine than Navy in his shirt sleeves. The man had arms as thick as most men’s legs.

“Brock. Good of you to come personally. Let me introduce you to Gavin Rhedd, one of the co-owners of Rhedd Alert Security.”

Rhedd was younger than she’d guessed, a handsome man with a sturdy frame. He’d made the curious decision to wear a weathered, civilian flight suit to the meeting. Per­haps he needed to convince everyone that he was, in fact, a pilot. Still, the rig fit him well. He looked uncomfortable but not self-conscious standing beside the granite slab that was Major Greely.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Brock.”

She refused his extended hand and put an end to the pleasantries.

“So you’re the cherry that low-balled my contract.” She made it obvious that it wasn’t a question. “Let me be en­tirely clear. The termination clause stipulates that I par­ticipate in a transition meeting. Let’s not pretend that I’m pleased by the opportunity.”

“Well okay, then,” Greely said. “I suppose that will do by way of introductions. Let’s get started, shall we?” He took a seat at the head of the table and motioned for each of them to sit. “Now, the award and protest periods are over.”

“There will be an appeal filed,” she said.

“I don’t doubt that, Morgan. But my office and Navy SysCom have every reason to believe that the award will be upheld.”

“I’ve invested two years cleaning up the run through Min and Nexus,” she said. “And we both know the workload is scheduled to increase dramatically. I’m not handing that over without a fight.”

She stopped when Greely held a hand up, “The UEE wants us to find ways to enfranchise independents in those systems. You want to argue that point, do it with the politicians. But right now, I need a mission brief, and I think we’d all appreciate this meeting moving along quickly.”

Brock let the major win the point. If nothing else, she knew when to pick her battles. There was nothing to be gained from antagonizing him. There were more profitable targets for her ire. Content with the cool tenor of the meeting, she turned her attention to Gavin Rhedd.

“Yes, well,” the young man cleared his throat. His fore­head glistened where it met his close-cropped hair. “I’ve read through the, uh . . . the After Action Reports.” Rhedd swiped through several projections on an old clunker of a mobiGlas. “Every ten days we escort a new shift rotation to the Haven research facility on Tyrol V. But what can you tell me about the security require­ments for the staff transfer between the transport ships and Haven?”

The kid didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Maybe her Tyrol contract wasn’t quite the lost cause Major Greely made it out to be. Brock’s smile felt genuine as she started describing the ship-to-settlement transfer process.

This job was going to eat Rhedd Alert Security alive.

Min system was dark. In Goss, the jump points flowed with shimmering cascades of color. They boiled the Olympus Pool’s bands of gold, amber, and blood-orange in a dazzling display of celestial mystery. Min, on the other hand, was entirely different, and Gavin wondered how many ships and lives Min’s jump gates had claimed before they were suc­cessfully charted.

The approach was well marked now. Nav beacons lit a ten-kilometer channel leading six Rhedd Alert escorts and their charge, a Constellation Aquila with UEE designations, to the jump gate. The automated beacons broadcast a steady stream of navsat and transit status data in addition to lighting the visual entry vector.

The gate itself loomed large. It was an empty disc, invisible if not for the faint light from the beacons. That light bent, distorting into the maw of interspace that, if entered cor­rectly, would disgorge them out into the Nexus system. Stumbling onto an unknown jump point had to be a terri­fying experience. He’d seen images of dark gates, like the ones in Min, when the beacons were offline. Even knowing what to look for in those images, it was difficult to distin­guish the subtle smudge that represented a portal through time and space.

“Gate Authority Min,” Gavin read from a scripted authori­zation request, “this is Rhedd Alert Security, performing in compliance with Naval Systems Command regulations, approaching VFR and in support of UEE research vessel Cassiopeia. Request clearance for transit from Min to Nexus and confirmation of the approach.”

They didn’t need the call and response to make the jump to Nexus, but their contract required record of specific communications at all jump gates, as well as of the UEE staff transfers at each end of the run.

The gods only knew how many times he and Walt had hopped systems unannounced. In reflection, it probably should have felt strange entering a jump gate with legal tags and without local law breathing down his neck. But times change, and if Gavin got his way, they were changing for the better.

He received the expected challenge and responded with ship IDs that matched the tags for each member of the convoy. Gavin had stumbled over the formal exchanges on the first few missions. No one had complained, but he felt better now that he had a degree of comfort with the cadence and timing of the exchange. Hopefully, that degree of comfort inspired confidence in his new pilots and the UEE scientists aboard the Cassiopeia.

They got their clearance and Gavin sent the order to enter the jump gate. He took point with Jazza, each of them in place along either side of the Aquila. They slid into the gate with a familiar falling sensation. The cockpit seemed to stretch, elongating out and away from him in a rush of sound and color. It felt like someone had set a hook in his insides and pulled, stretching his gut tighter and tighter. Then something snapped and he was reac­quainted with the increasingly familiar constellations of Nexus space.

“Gate Authority Nexus,” he said, “this is Rhedd Alert—”

“Gavin,” Jazza’s voice was crisp. He was already check­ing his navsat displays when she continued, “We’ve got three ships inbound. Three hundred kilometers. Make that two-fifty! Gods, they’re moving fast.”

“Jazz, take Mei and Rahul to see what our new friends want. Walt, you and Boomer play goalie. If these guys take a run at the Cassiopeia, make them reconsider.”

A chorus of “copy that” erupted on comms and Gavin switched channels to address the UEE crew aboard the transport. “Cassiopeia, this is Red One. Accelerate in line with my mark and do not deviate from course.”

“Contact,” Jazza sounded calm, clinical. “They’ve got three F7 Hornets in a variety of configurations. They’re beat to hell with patchwork armor, but coming in fast.”

“They have any markings or insignia? What are their tags?”

“Nothing I can see through the mismatch of weapons and scrap parts.”

“Look out, they’re firing!” Mei said. “Holy hells, these guys are quick.”

“Gav,” Walt asked, “do we run?”

The After Action Reports from Brock showed a steady decrease in aggressive actions over time. Letting a new pi­rate outfit establish a foothold at one of their critical jump points seemed like a very bad idea.

“We fight,” he said. “We can’t afford to retake this ground every two weeks if we run scared now.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Jazza said. “It’s three-on-three over here, and it seems these guys like to play with their food.”

“Walt,” Gavin said. “Take point. If they have friends, I don’t want to get herded into a trap.”

“Copy that.”

“All right, Jazz. I’m on my way to you.” Gavin pulled up hard, inverted over the Cassiopeia and accelerated toward the jumble of fighters.

Gavin had survived dozens of scraps before starting Rhedd Alert, but always as the aggressor. Being on the defensive was something new. It seemed strange that these crazy bastards were hitting six armed escorts.

“Jazza,” he was a couple hundred clicks out and had a good look at the scrum, “I’m coming up underneath you. Time to make this an unfair fight.”

“These guys are good, Gavin.” She grunted and her Cut­lass rolled in a loose corkscrew, putting her behind one of the marauders. She fired and its shields blazed. It pitched, nose down and thrusters reversing, to push up and above Jazza’s ship. The other two marauders swung into position on either side, and the three of them slashed toward Gavin like a knife blade.

He rolled to his port side and tried to accelerate around them. At least they couldn’t all fire on him at once that way. Rahul strafed overhead, pouring fire into one of the Hornets, but the marauders held their formation.

“Jazza, form up on me. Let’s split these bastards up.”

“Got it.”

They met and swept around to rush the trio of mis­matched Hornets. The marauders found Mei before he and Jazza were in firing range.

“Ah, hell . . .”

A barrage of precise bursts from wing-mounted laser cannons tore into Mei’s ship. It ripped entire sections from the hull, and escaping oxygen belched out in a roiling ball of flame.

“Damn it!” Gavin couldn’t see if Mei got out. He and Jaz­za blasted their way through the marauders’ formation. The Hornets scattered and reformed again behind them. “We’ve got a man down. Walt, we might need your help over here.”

“That’s what you get for staying to fight, Gav. We should have made a run for it.”

“We can talk about ‘shoulda’ later,” he said. “Get back here and . . . wait. Belay that.”

“They’re running,” Jazza sounded bemused. “Feels like they had us on the ropes, but they’re bugging out.”

Gavin watched thruster trails from the retreating ships. In moments, they winked out of Nexus space.

“Cassiopeia is secure,” Walt said. “Are you guys clear?”

Jazza didn’t exactly answer him. “Now what do you think that was all about?”

Gavin’s HUD looked clear. Relieved, he found Mei’s PRB. Everyone was alive and they appeared to be alone on the Nexus side of the gate. Walt and the Cassiopeia were nearing the extreme range of his display.

“Walt, hold where you are. Stay sharp and sweep ahead. I can’t for the life of me figure out why they attacked three-on-six.”

“Maybe,” Jazza said, “they knew they’d kick our ass.”

“Or maybe this was a feint,” Gavin said. “Let’s not get caught with our pants down if there are more of them out here. Jazz, you and Rahul watch my back while I get Mei. We’re taking the first shots if they come back through.”

There was a general clamor of agreement. Gavin was beginning to suspect that military comm-chatter was much more sparse and far less democratic than Rhedd Alert’s constant banter. Still, aside from Walt second-guessing his every move, Gavin was proud of the team.

“I wonder if they’re waiting on the other side?” Jazza asked.

Walt was quick to respond. “We are not going through that gate to check.”

“Relax, Walt,” Gavin said. “A win is a win. And good rid­dance.”

At this point, Walt’s objection wasn’t a surprise. “Lucky win, you mean. In a fight we didn’t need to have.”

Gavin ignored him.

Though she was unconscious, the biometrics in Mei’s suit reported only minor damage. Her ship, on the other hand, was another story completely. Gavin started running some mental math, tallying the costs of parts, labor, and med tech fees. The results were cringe-worthy.

The attack would make this mission a financial loss, but the contract was still the leg-up Rhedd Alert needed. And the attack was probably an aberration, Gavin reflected, re­minding himself that Brock’s After Action Reports showed a steady decrease in hostilities over the past several years.

Unfortunately, they were about to find out just how little those reports meant. h3. TO BE CONTINUED…

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[starcitizenprivateer]

Brothers In Arms: Part Two

Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part Two was published originally in Jump Point 3.6.

Gavin left Walt on Cassel. There was a time, back in his single days, when an extended stay on a resort world was the perfect sequel to a crappy job. Now he had a better offer waiting at home and two bottles of chilled Kōen Shōchū riding shotgun in the cockpit beside him. The better offer, of course, was Dell. The shōchū was his best hope to reboot his homecoming from Oberon.

It wasn’t exactly the grand entrance he’d planned on making. He felt his cheeks warm and was glad to be alone. With a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back into his seat. His helmet bumped against the cockpit frame. When he opened his eyes again, the HUD had died. He rolled his head to eye the waiting bottles of shōchū. Perhaps he needed the alcohol more than she did.

Rhedd Alert’s hangar was still. The lights were dialed down to a dull, sapphire glow. But while the hangar was quiet, Vista Landing never slowed down. The sounds of the complex were a pressure all around him; a constant hum of life that seemed intrusive after a long stint flying solo.

Gavin shed his flight suit and then grabbed the helmet and bottles of shōchū. The helmet got dumped unceremoniously onto a workbench. The shōchū went with him to their apart­ment. It was dark inside — he was too late. Dell was already asleep.

He leaned against the door while his eyes adjusted to the courtesy lighting in the bedroom. Dell lay on her side with her back to him. Her hair was a dark fan against pale pillows and sheets. There was no trace of the playful blue-dyed tips in the low light. He looked instead to the curve of her hip and the long line of her covered legs.

He left the bottles on a table, not wanting to risk waking her with light from the fridge. He stripped off his shirt on the way to the little closet. She’d left it open, and piles of clothes made odd shapes in the low light.

They smelled like her. He’d forgotten how much he loved that. He leaned forward, his head slipping between her hanging shirts and jackets. They didn’t have much, but this was home. They were settled, with no desire for any more living out of cockpits and dirty cargo bays. But if he couldn’t make this work, that’s exactly what they would be back to.

Gavin stooped and picked up the discarded shirt. There was work to do. Things to fix.

He closed the door as quietly as he could when he left.

He was at a workbench in the hangar when the light pad of Dell’s bare feet on the cold hangar deck sounded behind him.

“Hey, Slugger.” Her voice was playful, teasing him about the scrap with Walt. The taunting tone was good news, in a way. It meant that she wasn’t quite so angry. Regardless, he was still embarrassed about the fight and didn’t rise to her bait.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said instead.

She rubbed her hand across his shoulders, bumped him aside with her hip and then took a seat next to him on the bench when he moved. “I was asleep, but it sounded like a herd of Shoone came tromping through the apart­ment.”

He felt better hearing the smile in her voice. “Huh . . . I guess I’m glad I missed that.”

“What are you working on?”

Gavin started running through his list, wondering where to start. He gave up somewhere north of fifteen and simply replied, “Everything.”

“Did we get paid?” He nodded and her look of relief was frustrating. Depending on Dell’s ex-boyfriend for financial salvation wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned his role as a business owner.

“How’s Boomer?” he asked.

“He can’t keep doing this. They patched him up, but he’s been banged around way too much.”

It was true. Dell’s dad had been put back together more than any other pilot Gavin had ever met. Maybe a few military pilots had had more rejuvenation treatment, but their facilities had to be far better than anything civies like Boomer had access too.

“You’ve got to get him to take it easy, Gav. Let him fly sup­port in the Freelancer or something.”

“Let him fly support? This is your dad we’re talking about. He’s at least half as stubborn as you are. And you know how he flies. He’s cool as gunmetal in a dogfight, but he flies like a crazy . . . flying . . . kind of . . . person.”

“Will you at least try? Please?”

There was no way Boomer was going to listen to him, but Gavin agreed. It wasn’t worth fighting with Dell about it. They’d been over that ground before. Plenty of times.

He prodded at the wiring harness of his helmet.

“The heads-up out again?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Here, let me do it.” She pulled the tools closer and set to work. “So . . . Walt stayed to drink his paycheck away with Barry?”

“Walt worked as hard as anyone in Oberon. Harder than most, actually. He can do what he wants with his cut.”

“While we’re dumping all of ours into repairs and supplies?”

“I brought you some shōchū,” he offered.

“I saw that.” She snuggled into his side and slid her arm around his waist. “Mmmmm . . . thank you.” A peck on his cheek. “I put it in the fridge.”

“You should have brought a bottle with you.”

She unwound herself from him and went back to work on the helmet. “It might work out better for you if we save that for a night when I’m not exhausted.”

That killed the mood. Gavin shifted the tools around on the bench. Dell must have sensed his change of mood. She sat up straight, her tone growing somber. “I’ve been doing some math,” she said.

“How bad is it?”

“Not good.”

He hoped that the grimace he made was reassuring. It probably wasn’t.

“Selling the salvage will keep us out of the red for a couple months,” she said. “Good job on that, by the way. I don’t know about the Idris, but that 325a is actually quite sell­able. Unless you want to keep it, that is.”

Gavin thought about it. “Sell it,” he said. “We can’t afford to upgrade any of our people, and I’m not bringing on any more pilots until we land some steady work.”

“On that topic, did Barry have something new for us, or did he come to Goss system just to carouse with your brother?”

He told her about the turret job and she brightened.

“This is good, Gav. You think this could turn into a steady stream of work?”

“Maybe, but we’ve got a team of combat pilots, babe. They’re not going to stick around for this kind of work.”

“Then screw them. Let them leave, and I’ll fly with you.”

“You fly worse than your dad. Besides, you wanted to be here to run the shop.”

“I’m here because I want this to work.” She put her tools down and entwined her fingers with his. “Believe me, I’d much rather be flying with you and Dad.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t want you out there. Bringing Boomer back in stasis is one thing, but you . . .”

She extracted her fingers and patted his hand, pulling away. “That’s an idea you’re going to have to get used to. Dad won’t be flying that old Avenger forever. Eventually, she’ll be mine. But right now,” she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, “I’m going to bed.”

Dell stood, pressed his helmet’s wire housing into place with a click and left.

Gavin picked up the helmet and peeked inside. The glow from the reticle display shown within. She’d got it working again.

They had a good thing going, he and Dell. But chronic, nag­ging financial worry would eventually tear that apart. He just needed work that paid and that his pilots would stay for. Work that would keep Walt from chasing something shiny, interesting, and new. What he needed was that Tyrol escort job.

Gavin pushed the helmet and tools aside on the bench. He keyed up the console and placed a call to Barry’s mobiGlas. The accountant accepted the call.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Barry. Good, you’re still in-system.”

“Just about to leave Cassel, why?”

“What would a bid need to look like for someone to be com­petitive on that Tyrol contract?”

“Gavin,” Barry’s voice grew serious. “You’re new to this, but you have to know that I can’t give out that kind of information.”

Gavin’s mobiGlas vibrated against his wrist with an incom­ing message.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I wasn’t trying to cause troub—”

Barry cut him off. “Now, what I can do is point you toward the proper registration and submission forms. How you manage the pricing is your concern. Understand?”

On Gavin’s mobiGlas was a message from an unknown contact. The message was simple, containing only a Credit sign and a number.

A big number.

Yes!

“Thanks, Barry. I appreciate it and understand completely.”

It took four days to clear just two turrets from the mouth of the first cave. Walt took out the first within seconds of arriving. He did it with what he swore was a purposeful and carefully aimed shot.

The second turret pulverized Jazza’s Cutlass, and they had to tow the wreckage back to Vista Landing for re­pairs. Jazza herself went home in stasis after taking hits to a shoulder and both of her legs. She did not rejoin them for the moon mine job.

On the fourth day — running low on patience, ammo, and foul language — they finally came up with a solution. It was ugly. It was dangerous. But as they worked deeper into the moon, it was the only thing they found that worked.

“All right, Boomer,” Gavin said, “hold behind that outcrop­ping.”

Boomer’s Avenger crept to a halt beside him. Deep inside the warren of caverns, the moon’s rotation was enough to give them a sense of up and down. Still, holding a relative position inside a small spinning moon was not as easy as one might think. Stabilizing thrusters fired continuously in short, irregular bursts.

Gavin checked his orientation and distance from the walls. He was in place. The tag team system they’d come up with had been working pretty well, using one ship to draw fire while a second swept in to blast each turret. It was tedious and sphincter-tightening work, but the moon was nearly cleared. Only a small handful of tricky defenses remained intact.

“Okay,” Gavin settled his hands on his flight controls. “On my mark.”

He left the mic open and triggered a timer on his navsat. He watched Boomer’s ship ease slowly into the turret’s line of sight to the steady countdown of the timer. Right on cue, Gavin hammered his thrusters and sped into the cave, just as the first blast from the turret struck Boomer’s shields.

Gavin yawed to the left, swinging the nose of his ship until he could see both the turret and Boomer’s ship. The old man’s Avenger bucked under the constant fire. The shields held, but the blast forced the Avenger back out into the tunnel before Gavin could take a shot.

Gavin fired, and the turret’s twin barrels swiveled with such impeccable precision and speed that they looked like identical empty dots. “Oh, sh—” the barrels erupted in a fusillade of crimson light.

Gavin fired again and had no clue if he was anywhere near the mark. The turret’s aim was flawless, however. There was an odd pulling sensation when the cabin lost pressure and his suit pressurized, squeezing around his limbs and chest.

Another barrage hammered into him and he felt the Cut­lass crunch ass-backward into the wall of the cavern. The ship rolled, nose pitching wildly to one side. Gavin saw an open blackness of empty space yawn into view. He punched it, hoping he was heading back out into the tunnel and not to his death inside the smugglers’ cave.

Relieved, he saw Boomer’s Avenger flash by beneath him. But dread gripped him again when the walls of the narrow tunnel loomed to fill his entire view. He reversed thrust, hunched tight around the controls and braced for impact.

It was bad.

He hit hard, and the impact sent him careening down the cavern. He tumbled over and over, willing his ship to hold together. When he finally forced himself to release the flight controls, the ship righted itself.

“Holy hells,” Boomer breathed. “Gav? You alive, buddy?”

His chest heaved like he’d been running. “I seem to recall some idiot bitching about this job being boring.”

Walt, exploring a tunnel in another part of the moon, an­swered, “That sounds like it was directed at me. You two okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I just got blown up!”

“Simmer down, son,” Boomer said. “I’ve been blown up plenty of times. That was nothin’. I, uh . . . I don’t think you’re taking another crack at that turret until we get your ship patched up, though.”

“Oh, really? Ya think?” Gavin’s comms flashed on an incom­ing line. “Hold on, guys. Call coming in.”

Boomer laughed, saying, “They probably heard us planet­side and want us to keep the noise down.”

“Very funny. Actually, it’s Dell. Now shut it.” Gavin accept­ed the incoming line.

“Gav?” He couldn’t tell if Dell sounded scared or angry, maybe both. “We got a problem, babe. Jazza’s out of here. Says she’s taking a ship unless she gets her cut of the turret job before she goes.”

“What? What do you mean ‘out of here’?”

“She’s leaving,” Dell said. “Leaving the company, I mean.”

Walt cut in on the squad channel. “Hey Gav, I’m all finished in here. You want me to come take a look at tha—”

Gavin juggled channels. “Hold on, Walt.” He squinched his eyes closed, sore, frustrated and confused. “Dell. Where’s Jazz going? You mean she’s quitting?”

Boomer kept the chatter going on the squad channel. “Sounds like he’s getting an earful, Walt. Glad she didn’t call me.”

“Tell her Gavin just got blown up.”

“That would improve her day significantly.”

They both laughed.

Gavin spread his hands in an open-armed shrug for no one’s benefit but his own. “Would you please shut the hell up?”

They did. Dell did not. “What did you just say to me?!”

“Not you, babe. Walt and . . . you know what? Never mind all that. Just tell me again, what’s going on with Jazz?”

His mobiGlas vibrated. Gavin swore silently and balled his fists to keep from shooting something. From within his pressure suit, it was difficult to activate the mobiGlas. He managed it while Dell filled him in on Jazza’s desertion. She was going to look for work with one of the smuggling outfits hidden in the Olympus Pool. Paying work. Blah. Blah. Deserter.

Gavin finally powered on his mobiGlas display. There was a message from a contact marked “unknown,” but Gavin knew exactly who it was from.

“Dell.”

“I tried to talk her out of it, Gav,” Dell sounded close to tears. “I really did.”

“Dell, listen to me.”

“What?”

“Get Jazza back. All right? Do whatever it takes.”

“I’ll try, Gav, but . . .”

“Whatever it takes, okay? We’re going to need her. We’re going to need everyone and then some.”

“What’s going on, Gavin?”

He keyed his mic to transmit on both channels, “Everybody, listen up. They only got two bids on the Navy contract. We’re the low bid.”

“Is low bad?” Boomer asked.

“Dell,” Gavin said, “have Jazza join us in Oberon. We’re working ’round the clock until we’ve cleared the last few turrets.”

Gavin sat in his damaged Cutlass, cheeks stretched in an unfamiliar grin.

“Guys,” he said, “we just won the Navy job.”

“Go on in, Miss Brock.” A lieutenant held the door open for her. “Major Greely and his guest are already inside.”

The major’s guest. How wonderful. Morgan Brock smoothed the front of her pleated skirt and then swept through the doorway into Greely’s conference room. The major and his “guest” stood near the head of the table. Greely was looking more Marine than Navy in his shirt sleeves. The man had arms as thick as most men’s legs.

“Brock. Good of you to come personally. Let me introduce you to Gavin Rhedd, one of the co-owners of Rhedd Alert Security.”

Rhedd was younger than she’d guessed, a handsome man with a sturdy frame. He’d made the curious decision to wear a weathered, civilian flight suit to the meeting. Per­haps he needed to convince everyone that he was, in fact, a pilot. Still, the rig fit him well. He looked uncomfortable but not self-conscious standing beside the granite slab that was Major Greely.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Brock.”

She refused his extended hand and put an end to the pleasantries.

“So you’re the cherry that low-balled my contract.” She made it obvious that it wasn’t a question. “Let me be en­tirely clear. The termination clause stipulates that I par­ticipate in a transition meeting. Let’s not pretend that I’m pleased by the opportunity.”

“Well okay, then,” Greely said. “I suppose that will do by way of introductions. Let’s get started, shall we?” He took a seat at the head of the table and motioned for each of them to sit. “Now, the award and protest periods are over.”

“There will be an appeal filed,” she said.

“I don’t doubt that, Morgan. But my office and Navy SysCom have every reason to believe that the award will be upheld.”

“I’ve invested two years cleaning up the run through Min and Nexus,” she said. “And we both know the workload is scheduled to increase dramatically. I’m not handing that over without a fight.”

She stopped when Greely held a hand up, “The UEE wants us to find ways to enfranchise independents in those systems. You want to argue that point, do it with the politicians. But right now, I need a mission brief, and I think we’d all appreciate this meeting moving along quickly.”

Brock let the major win the point. If nothing else, she knew when to pick her battles. There was nothing to be gained from antagonizing him. There were more profitable targets for her ire. Content with the cool tenor of the meeting, she turned her attention to Gavin Rhedd.

“Yes, well,” the young man cleared his throat. His fore­head glistened where it met his close-cropped hair. “I’ve read through the, uh . . . the After Action Reports.” Rhedd swiped through several projections on an old clunker of a mobiGlas. “Every ten days we escort a new shift rotation to the Haven research facility on Tyrol V. But what can you tell me about the security require­ments for the staff transfer between the transport ships and Haven?”

The kid didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Maybe her Tyrol contract wasn’t quite the lost cause Major Greely made it out to be. Brock’s smile felt genuine as she started describing the ship-to-settlement transfer process.

This job was going to eat Rhedd Alert Security alive.

Min system was dark. In Goss, the jump points flowed with shimmering cascades of color. They boiled the Olympus Pool’s bands of gold, amber, and blood-orange in a dazzling display of celestial mystery. Min, on the other hand, was entirely different, and Gavin wondered how many ships and lives Min’s jump gates had claimed before they were suc­cessfully charted.

The approach was well marked now. Nav beacons lit a ten-kilometer channel leading six Rhedd Alert escorts and their charge, a Constellation Aquila with UEE designations, to the jump gate. The automated beacons broadcast a steady stream of navsat and transit status data in addition to lighting the visual entry vector.

The gate itself loomed large. It was an empty disc, invisible if not for the faint light from the beacons. That light bent, distorting into the maw of interspace that, if entered cor­rectly, would disgorge them out into the Nexus system. Stumbling onto an unknown jump point had to be a terri­fying experience. He’d seen images of dark gates, like the ones in Min, when the beacons were offline. Even knowing what to look for in those images, it was difficult to distin­guish the subtle smudge that represented a portal through time and space.

“Gate Authority Min,” Gavin read from a scripted authori­zation request, “this is Rhedd Alert Security, performing in compliance with Naval Systems Command regulations, approaching VFR and in support of UEE research vessel Cassiopeia. Request clearance for transit from Min to Nexus and confirmation of the approach.”

They didn’t need the call and response to make the jump to Nexus, but their contract required record of specific communications at all jump gates, as well as of the UEE staff transfers at each end of the run.

The gods only knew how many times he and Walt had hopped systems unannounced. In reflection, it probably should have felt strange entering a jump gate with legal tags and without local law breathing down his neck. But times change, and if Gavin got his way, they were changing for the better.

He received the expected challenge and responded with ship IDs that matched the tags for each member of the convoy. Gavin had stumbled over the formal exchanges on the first few missions. No one had complained, but he felt better now that he had a degree of comfort with the cadence and timing of the exchange. Hopefully, that degree of comfort inspired confidence in his new pilots and the UEE scientists aboard the Cassiopeia.

They got their clearance and Gavin sent the order to enter the jump gate. He took point with Jazza, each of them in place along either side of the Aquila. They slid into the gate with a familiar falling sensation. The cockpit seemed to stretch, elongating out and away from him in a rush of sound and color. It felt like someone had set a hook in his insides and pulled, stretching his gut tighter and tighter. Then something snapped and he was reac­quainted with the increasingly familiar constellations of Nexus space.

“Gate Authority Nexus,” he said, “this is Rhedd Alert—”

“Gavin,” Jazza’s voice was crisp. He was already check­ing his navsat displays when she continued, “We’ve got three ships inbound. Three hundred kilometers. Make that two-fifty! Gods, they’re moving fast.”

“Jazz, take Mei and Rahul to see what our new friends want. Walt, you and Boomer play goalie. If these guys take a run at the Cassiopeia, make them reconsider.”

A chorus of “copy that” erupted on comms and Gavin switched channels to address the UEE crew aboard the transport. “Cassiopeia, this is Red One. Accelerate in line with my mark and do not deviate from course.”

“Contact,” Jazza sounded calm, clinical. “They’ve got three F7 Hornets in a variety of configurations. They’re beat to hell with patchwork armor, but coming in fast.”

“They have any markings or insignia? What are their tags?”

“Nothing I can see through the mismatch of weapons and scrap parts.”

“Look out, they’re firing!” Mei said. “Holy hells, these guys are quick.”

“Gav,” Walt asked, “do we run?”

The After Action Reports from Brock showed a steady decrease in aggressive actions over time. Letting a new pi­rate outfit establish a foothold at one of their critical jump points seemed like a very bad idea.

“We fight,” he said. “We can’t afford to retake this ground every two weeks if we run scared now.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Jazza said. “It’s three-on-three over here, and it seems these guys like to play with their food.”

“Walt,” Gavin said. “Take point. If they have friends, I don’t want to get herded into a trap.”

“Copy that.”

“All right, Jazz. I’m on my way to you.” Gavin pulled up hard, inverted over the Cassiopeia and accelerated toward the jumble of fighters.

Gavin had survived dozens of scraps before starting Rhedd Alert, but always as the aggressor. Being on the defensive was something new. It seemed strange that these crazy bastards were hitting six armed escorts.

“Jazza,” he was a couple hundred clicks out and had a good look at the scrum, “I’m coming up underneath you. Time to make this an unfair fight.”

“These guys are good, Gavin.” She grunted and her Cut­lass rolled in a loose corkscrew, putting her behind one of the marauders. She fired and its shields blazed. It pitched, nose down and thrusters reversing, to push up and above Jazza’s ship. The other two marauders swung into position on either side, and the three of them slashed toward Gavin like a knife blade.

He rolled to his port side and tried to accelerate around them. At least they couldn’t all fire on him at once that way. Rahul strafed overhead, pouring fire into one of the Hornets, but the marauders held their formation.

“Jazza, form up on me. Let’s split these bastards up.”

“Got it.”

They met and swept around to rush the trio of mis­matched Hornets. The marauders found Mei before he and Jazza were in firing range.

“Ah, hell . . .”

A barrage of precise bursts from wing-mounted laser cannons tore into Mei’s ship. It ripped entire sections from the hull, and escaping oxygen belched out in a roiling ball of flame.

“Damn it!” Gavin couldn’t see if Mei got out. He and Jaz­za blasted their way through the marauders’ formation. The Hornets scattered and reformed again behind them. “We’ve got a man down. Walt, we might need your help over here.”

“That’s what you get for staying to fight, Gav. We should have made a run for it.”

“We can talk about ‘shoulda’ later,” he said. “Get back here and . . . wait. Belay that.”

“They’re running,” Jazza sounded bemused. “Feels like they had us on the ropes, but they’re bugging out.”

Gavin watched thruster trails from the retreating ships. In moments, they winked out of Nexus space.

“Cassiopeia is secure,” Walt said. “Are you guys clear?”

Jazza didn’t exactly answer him. “Now what do you think that was all about?”

Gavin’s HUD looked clear. Relieved, he found Mei’s PRB. Everyone was alive and they appeared to be alone on the Nexus side of the gate. Walt and the Cassiopeia were nearing the extreme range of his display.

“Walt, hold where you are. Stay sharp and sweep ahead. I can’t for the life of me figure out why they attacked three-on-six.”

“Maybe,” Jazza said, “they knew they’d kick our ass.”

“Or maybe this was a feint,” Gavin said. “Let’s not get caught with our pants down if there are more of them out here. Jazz, you and Rahul watch my back while I get Mei. We’re taking the first shots if they come back through.”

There was a general clamor of agreement. Gavin was beginning to suspect that military comm-chatter was much more sparse and far less democratic than Rhedd Alert’s constant banter. Still, aside from Walt second-guessing his every move, Gavin was proud of the team.

“I wonder if they’re waiting on the other side?” Jazza asked.

Walt was quick to respond. “We are not going through that gate to check.”

“Relax, Walt,” Gavin said. “A win is a win. And good rid­dance.”

At this point, Walt’s objection wasn’t a surprise. “Lucky win, you mean. In a fight we didn’t need to have.”

Gavin ignored him.

Though she was unconscious, the biometrics in Mei’s suit reported only minor damage. Her ship, on the other hand, was another story completely. Gavin started running some mental math, tallying the costs of parts, labor, and med tech fees. The results were cringe-worthy.

The attack would make this mission a financial loss, but the contract was still the leg-up Rhedd Alert needed. And the attack was probably an aberration, Gavin reflected, re­minding himself that Brock’s After Action Reports showed a steady decrease in hostilities over the past several years.

Unfortunately, they were about to find out just how little those reports meant. h3. TO BE CONTINUED…

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[sad-ch1ld]

via RSI Comm-Link

Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part Two was published originally in Jump Point 3.6.

Gavin left Walt on Cassel. There was a time, back in his single days, when an extended stay on a resort world was the perfect sequel to a crappy job. Now he had a better offer waiting at home and two bottles of chilled Kōen Shōchū riding shotgun in the cockpit beside him. The better offer, of course, was Dell. The shōchū was his best hope to reboot his homecoming from Oberon.

It wasn’t exactly the grand entrance he’d planned on making. He felt his cheeks warm and was glad to be alone. With a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back into his seat. His helmet bumped against the cockpit frame. When he opened his eyes again, the HUD had died. He rolled his head to eye the waiting bottles of shōchū. Perhaps he needed the alcohol more than she did.

Rhedd Alert’s hangar was still. The lights were dialed down to a dull, sapphire glow. But while the hangar was quiet, Vista Landing never slowed down. The sounds of the complex were a pressure all around him; a constant hum of life that seemed intrusive after a long stint flying solo.

Gavin shed his flight suit and then grabbed the helmet and bottles of shōchū. The helmet got dumped unceremoniously onto a workbench. The shōchū went with him to their apart­ment. It was dark inside — he was too late. Dell was already asleep.

He leaned against the door while his eyes adjusted to the courtesy lighting in the bedroom. Dell lay on her side with her back to him. Her hair was a dark fan against pale pillows and sheets. There was no trace of the playful blue-dyed tips in the low light. He looked instead to the curve of her hip and the long line of her covered legs.

He left the bottles on a table, not wanting to risk waking her with light from the fridge. He stripped off his shirt on the way to the little closet. She’d left it open, and piles of clothes made odd shapes in the low light.

They smelled like her. He’d forgotten how much he loved that. He leaned forward, his head slipping between her hanging shirts and jackets. They didn’t have much, but this was home. They were settled, with no desire for any more living out of cockpits and dirty cargo bays. But if he couldn’t make this work, that’s exactly what they would be back to.

Gavin stooped and picked up the discarded shirt. There was work to do. Things to fix.

He closed the door as quietly as he could when he left.

He was at a workbench in the hangar when the light pad of Dell’s bare feet on the cold hangar deck sounded behind him.

“Hey, Slugger.” Her voice was playful, teasing him about the scrap with Walt. The taunting tone was good news, in a way. It meant that she wasn’t quite so angry. Regardless, he was still embarrassed about the fight and didn’t rise to her bait.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said instead.

She rubbed her hand across his shoulders, bumped him aside with her hip and then took a seat next to him on the bench when he moved. “I was asleep, but it sounded like a herd of Shoone came tromping through the apart­ment.”

He felt better hearing the smile in her voice. “Huh . . . I guess I’m glad I missed that.”

“What are you working on?”

Gavin started running through his list, wondering where to start. He gave up somewhere north of fifteen and simply replied, “Everything.”

“Did we get paid?” He nodded and her look of relief was frustrating. Depending on Dell’s ex-boyfriend for financial salvation wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned his role as a business owner.

“How’s Boomer?” he asked.

“He can’t keep doing this. They patched him up, but he’s been banged around way too much.”

It was true. Dell’s dad had been put back together more than any other pilot Gavin had ever met. Maybe a few military pilots had had more rejuvenation treatment, but their facilities had to be far better than anything civies like Boomer had access too.

“You’ve got to get him to take it easy, Gav. Let him fly sup­port in the Freelancer or something.”

“Let him fly support? This is your dad we’re talking about. He’s at least half as stubborn as you are. And you know how he flies. He’s cool as gunmetal in a dogfight, but he flies like a crazy . . . flying . . . kind of . . . person.”

“Will you at least try? Please?”

There was no way Boomer was going to listen to him, but Gavin agreed. It wasn’t worth fighting with Dell about it. They’d been over that ground before. Plenty of times.

He prodded at the wiring harness of his helmet.

“The heads-up out again?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Here, let me do it.” She pulled the tools closer and set to work. “So . . . Walt stayed to drink his paycheck away with Barry?”

“Walt worked as hard as anyone in Oberon. Harder than most, actually. He can do what he wants with his cut.”

“While we’re dumping all of ours into repairs and supplies?”

“I brought you some shōchū,” he offered.

“I saw that.” She snuggled into his side and slid her arm around his waist. “Mmmmm . . . thank you.” A peck on his cheek. “I put it in the fridge.”

“You should have brought a bottle with you.”

She unwound herself from him and went back to work on the helmet. “It might work out better for you if we save that for a night when I’m not exhausted.”

That killed the mood. Gavin shifted the tools around on the bench. Dell must have sensed his change of mood. She sat up straight, her tone growing somber. “I’ve been doing some math,” she said.

“How bad is it?”

“Not good.”

He hoped that the grimace he made was reassuring. It probably wasn’t.

“Selling the salvage will keep us out of the red for a couple months,” she said. “Good job on that, by the way. I don’t know about the Idris, but that 325a is actually quite sell­able. Unless you want to keep it, that is.”

Gavin thought about it. “Sell it,” he said. “We can’t afford to upgrade any of our people, and I’m not bringing on any more pilots until we land some steady work.”

“On that topic, did Barry have something new for us, or did he come to Goss system just to carouse with your brother?”

He told her about the turret job and she brightened.

“This is good, Gav. You think this could turn into a steady stream of work?”

“Maybe, but we’ve got a team of combat pilots, babe. They’re not going to stick around for this kind of work.”

“Then screw them. Let them leave, and I’ll fly with you.”

“You fly worse than your dad. Besides, you wanted to be here to run the shop.”

“I’m here because I want this to work.” She put her tools down and entwined her fingers with his. “Believe me, I’d much rather be flying with you and Dad.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t want you out there. Bringing Boomer back in stasis is one thing, but you . . .”

She extracted her fingers and patted his hand, pulling away. “That’s an idea you’re going to have to get used to. Dad won’t be flying that old Avenger forever. Eventually, she’ll be mine. But right now,” she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, “I’m going to bed.”

Dell stood, pressed his helmet’s wire housing into place with a click and left.

Gavin picked up the helmet and peeked inside. The glow from the reticle display shown within. She’d got it working again.

They had a good thing going, he and Dell. But chronic, nag­ging financial worry would eventually tear that apart. He just needed work that paid and that his pilots would stay for. Work that would keep Walt from chasing something shiny, interesting, and new. What he needed was that Tyrol escort job.

Gavin pushed the helmet and tools aside on the bench. He keyed up the console and placed a call to Barry’s mobiGlas. The accountant accepted the call.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Barry. Good, you’re still in-system.”

“Just about to leave Cassel, why?”

“What would a bid need to look like for someone to be com­petitive on that Tyrol contract?”

“Gavin,” Barry’s voice grew serious. “You’re new to this, but you have to know that I can’t give out that kind of information.”

Gavin’s mobiGlas vibrated against his wrist with an incom­ing message.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I wasn’t trying to cause troub—”

Barry cut him off. “Now, what I can do is point you toward the proper registration and submission forms. How you manage the pricing is your concern. Understand?”

On Gavin’s mobiGlas was a message from an unknown contact. The message was simple, containing only a Credit sign and a number.

A big number.

Yes!

“Thanks, Barry. I appreciate it and understand completely.”

It took four days to clear just two turrets from the mouth of the first cave. Walt took out the first within seconds of arriving. He did it with what he swore was a purposeful and carefully aimed shot.

The second turret pulverized Jazza’s Cutlass, and they had to tow the wreckage back to Vista Landing for re­pairs. Jazza herself went home in stasis after taking hits to a shoulder and both of her legs. She did not rejoin them for the moon mine job.

On the fourth day — running low on patience, ammo, and foul language — they finally came up with a solution. It was ugly. It was dangerous. But as they worked deeper into the moon, it was the only thing they found that worked.

“All right, Boomer,” Gavin said, “hold behind that outcrop­ping.”

Boomer’s Avenger crept to a halt beside him. Deep inside the warren of caverns, the moon’s rotation was enough to give them a sense of up and down. Still, holding a relative position inside a small spinning moon was not as easy as one might think. Stabilizing thrusters fired continuously in short, irregular bursts.

Gavin checked his orientation and distance from the walls. He was in place. The tag team system they’d come up with had been working pretty well, using one ship to draw fire while a second swept in to blast each turret. It was tedious and sphincter-tightening work, but the moon was nearly cleared. Only a small handful of tricky defenses remained intact.

“Okay,” Gavin settled his hands on his flight controls. “On my mark.”

He left the mic open and triggered a timer on his navsat. He watched Boomer’s ship ease slowly into the turret’s line of sight to the steady countdown of the timer. Right on cue, Gavin hammered his thrusters and sped into the cave, just as the first blast from the turret struck Boomer’s shields.

Gavin yawed to the left, swinging the nose of his ship until he could see both the turret and Boomer’s ship. The old man’s Avenger bucked under the constant fire. The shields held, but the blast forced the Avenger back out into the tunnel before Gavin could take a shot.

Gavin fired, and the turret’s twin barrels swiveled with such impeccable precision and speed that they looked like identical empty dots. “Oh, sh—” the barrels erupted in a fusillade of crimson light.

Gavin fired again and had no clue if he was anywhere near the mark. The turret’s aim was flawless, however. There was an odd pulling sensation when the cabin lost pressure and his suit pressurized, squeezing around his limbs and chest.

Another barrage hammered into him and he felt the Cut­lass crunch ass-backward into the wall of the cavern. The ship rolled, nose pitching wildly to one side. Gavin saw an open blackness of empty space yawn into view. He punched it, hoping he was heading back out into the tunnel and not to his death inside the smugglers’ cave.

Relieved, he saw Boomer’s Avenger flash by beneath him. But dread gripped him again when the walls of the narrow tunnel loomed to fill his entire view. He reversed thrust, hunched tight around the controls and braced for impact.

It was bad.

He hit hard, and the impact sent him careening down the cavern. He tumbled over and over, willing his ship to hold together. When he finally forced himself to release the flight controls, the ship righted itself.

“Holy hells,” Boomer breathed. “Gav? You alive, buddy?”

His chest heaved like he’d been running. “I seem to recall some idiot bitching about this job being boring.”

Walt, exploring a tunnel in another part of the moon, an­swered, “That sounds like it was directed at me. You two okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I just got blown up!”

“Simmer down, son,” Boomer said. “I’ve been blown up plenty of times. That was nothin’. I, uh . . . I don’t think you’re taking another crack at that turret until we get your ship patched up, though.”

“Oh, really? Ya think?” Gavin’s comms flashed on an incom­ing line. “Hold on, guys. Call coming in.”

Boomer laughed, saying, “They probably heard us planet­side and want us to keep the noise down.”

“Very funny. Actually, it’s Dell. Now shut it.” Gavin accept­ed the incoming line.

“Gav?” He couldn’t tell if Dell sounded scared or angry, maybe both. “We got a problem, babe. Jazza’s out of here. Says she’s taking a ship unless she gets her cut of the turret job before she goes.”

“What? What do you mean ‘out of here’?”

“She’s leaving,” Dell said. “Leaving the company, I mean.”

Walt cut in on the squad channel. “Hey Gav, I’m all finished in here. You want me to come take a look at tha—”

Gavin juggled channels. “Hold on, Walt.” He squinched his eyes closed, sore, frustrated and confused. “Dell. Where’s Jazz going? You mean she’s quitting?”

Boomer kept the chatter going on the squad channel. “Sounds like he’s getting an earful, Walt. Glad she didn’t call me.”

“Tell her Gavin just got blown up.”

“That would improve her day significantly.”

They both laughed.

Gavin spread his hands in an open-armed shrug for no one’s benefit but his own. “Would you please shut the hell up?”

They did. Dell did not. “What did you just say to me?!”

“Not you, babe. Walt and . . . you know what? Never mind all that. Just tell me again, what’s going on with Jazz?”

His mobiGlas vibrated. Gavin swore silently and balled his fists to keep from shooting something. From within his pressure suit, it was difficult to activate the mobiGlas. He managed it while Dell filled him in on Jazza’s desertion. She was going to look for work with one of the smuggling outfits hidden in the Olympus Pool. Paying work. Blah. Blah. Deserter.

Gavin finally powered on his mobiGlas display. There was a message from a contact marked “unknown,” but Gavin knew exactly who it was from.

“Dell.”

“I tried to talk her out of it, Gav,” Dell sounded close to tears. “I really did.”

“Dell, listen to me.”

“What?”

“Get Jazza back. All right? Do whatever it takes.”

“I’ll try, Gav, but . . .”

“Whatever it takes, okay? We’re going to need her. We’re going to need everyone and then some.”

“What’s going on, Gavin?”

He keyed his mic to transmit on both channels, “Everybody, listen up. They only got two bids on the Navy contract. We’re the low bid.”

“Is low bad?” Boomer asked.

“Dell,” Gavin said, “have Jazza join us in Oberon. We’re working ’round the clock until we’ve cleared the last few turrets.”

Gavin sat in his damaged Cutlass, cheeks stretched in an unfamiliar grin.

“Guys,” he said, “we just won the Navy job.”

“Go on in, Miss Brock.” A lieutenant held the door open for her. “Major Greely and his guest are already inside.”

The major’s guest. How wonderful. Morgan Brock smoothed the front of her pleated skirt and then swept through the doorway into Greely’s conference room. The major and his “guest” stood near the head of the table. Greely was looking more Marine than Navy in his shirt sleeves. The man had arms as thick as most men’s legs.

“Brock. Good of you to come personally. Let me introduce you to Gavin Rhedd, one of the co-owners of Rhedd Alert Security.”

Rhedd was younger than she’d guessed, a handsome man with a sturdy frame. He’d made the curious decision to wear a weathered, civilian flight suit to the meeting. Per­haps he needed to convince everyone that he was, in fact, a pilot. Still, the rig fit him well. He looked uncomfortable but not self-conscious standing beside the granite slab that was Major Greely.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Brock.”

She refused his extended hand and put an end to the pleasantries.

“So you’re the cherry that low-balled my contract.” She made it obvious that it wasn’t a question. “Let me be en­tirely clear. The termination clause stipulates that I par­ticipate in a transition meeting. Let’s not pretend that I’m pleased by the opportunity.”

“Well okay, then,” Greely said. “I suppose that will do by way of introductions. Let’s get started, shall we?” He took a seat at the head of the table and motioned for each of them to sit. “Now, the award and protest periods are over.”

“There will be an appeal filed,” she said.

“I don’t doubt that, Morgan. But my office and Navy SysCom have every reason to believe that the award will be upheld.”

“I’ve invested two years cleaning up the run through Min and Nexus,” she said. “And we both know the workload is scheduled to increase dramatically. I’m not handing that over without a fight.”

She stopped when Greely held a hand up, “The UEE wants us to find ways to enfranchise independents in those systems. You want to argue that point, do it with the politicians. But right now, I need a mission brief, and I think we’d all appreciate this meeting moving along quickly.”

Brock let the major win the point. If nothing else, she knew when to pick her battles. There was nothing to be gained from antagonizing him. There were more profitable targets for her ire. Content with the cool tenor of the meeting, she turned her attention to Gavin Rhedd.

“Yes, well,” the young man cleared his throat. His fore­head glistened where it met his close-cropped hair. “I’ve read through the, uh . . . the After Action Reports.” Rhedd swiped through several projections on an old clunker of a mobiGlas. “Every ten days we escort a new shift rotation to the Haven research facility on Tyrol V. But what can you tell me about the security require­ments for the staff transfer between the transport ships and Haven?”

The kid didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Maybe her Tyrol contract wasn’t quite the lost cause Major Greely made it out to be. Brock’s smile felt genuine as she started describing the ship-to-settlement transfer process.

This job was going to eat Rhedd Alert Security alive.

Min system was dark. In Goss, the jump points flowed with shimmering cascades of color. They boiled the Olympus Pool’s bands of gold, amber, and blood-orange in a dazzling display of celestial mystery. Min, on the other hand, was entirely different, and Gavin wondered how many ships and lives Min’s jump gates had claimed before they were suc­cessfully charted.

The approach was well marked now. Nav beacons lit a ten-kilometer channel leading six Rhedd Alert escorts and their charge, a Constellation Aquila with UEE designations, to the jump gate. The automated beacons broadcast a steady stream of navsat and transit status data in addition to lighting the visual entry vector.

The gate itself loomed large. It was an empty disc, invisible if not for the faint light from the beacons. That light bent, distorting into the maw of interspace that, if entered cor­rectly, would disgorge them out into the Nexus system. Stumbling onto an unknown jump point had to be a terri­fying experience. He’d seen images of dark gates, like the ones in Min, when the beacons were offline. Even knowing what to look for in those images, it was difficult to distin­guish the subtle smudge that represented a portal through time and space.

“Gate Authority Min,” Gavin read from a scripted authori­zation request, “this is Rhedd Alert Security, performing in compliance with Naval Systems Command regulations, approaching VFR and in support of UEE research vessel Cassiopeia. Request clearance for transit from Min to Nexus and confirmation of the approach.”

They didn’t need the call and response to make the jump to Nexus, but their contract required record of specific communications at all jump gates, as well as of the UEE staff transfers at each end of the run.

The gods only knew how many times he and Walt had hopped systems unannounced. In reflection, it probably should have felt strange entering a jump gate with legal tags and without local law breathing down his neck. But times change, and if Gavin got his way, they were changing for the better.

He received the expected challenge and responded with ship IDs that matched the tags for each member of the convoy. Gavin had stumbled over the formal exchanges on the first few missions. No one had complained, but he felt better now that he had a degree of comfort with the cadence and timing of the exchange. Hopefully, that degree of comfort inspired confidence in his new pilots and the UEE scientists aboard the Cassiopeia.

They got their clearance and Gavin sent the order to enter the jump gate. He took point with Jazza, each of them in place along either side of the Aquila. They slid into the gate with a familiar falling sensation. The cockpit seemed to stretch, elongating out and away from him in a rush of sound and color. It felt like someone had set a hook in his insides and pulled, stretching his gut tighter and tighter. Then something snapped and he was reac­quainted with the increasingly familiar constellations of Nexus space.

“Gate Authority Nexus,” he said, “this is Rhedd Alert—”

“Gavin,” Jazza’s voice was crisp. He was already check­ing his navsat displays when she continued, “We’ve got three ships inbound. Three hundred kilometers. Make that two-fifty! Gods, they’re moving fast.”

“Jazz, take Mei and Rahul to see what our new friends want. Walt, you and Boomer play goalie. If these guys take a run at the Cassiopeia, make them reconsider.”

A chorus of “copy that” erupted on comms and Gavin switched channels to address the UEE crew aboard the transport. “Cassiopeia, this is Red One. Accelerate in line with my mark and do not deviate from course.”

“Contact,” Jazza sounded calm, clinical. “They’ve got three F7 Hornets in a variety of configurations. They’re beat to hell with patchwork armor, but coming in fast.”

“They have any markings or insignia? What are their tags?”

“Nothing I can see through the mismatch of weapons and scrap parts.”

“Look out, they’re firing!” Mei said. “Holy hells, these guys are quick.”

“Gav,” Walt asked, “do we run?”

The After Action Reports from Brock showed a steady decrease in aggressive actions over time. Letting a new pi­rate outfit establish a foothold at one of their critical jump points seemed like a very bad idea.

“We fight,” he said. “We can’t afford to retake this ground every two weeks if we run scared now.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Jazza said. “It’s three-on-three over here, and it seems these guys like to play with their food.”

“Walt,” Gavin said. “Take point. If they have friends, I don’t want to get herded into a trap.”

“Copy that.”

“All right, Jazz. I’m on my way to you.” Gavin pulled up hard, inverted over the Cassiopeia and accelerated toward the jumble of fighters.

Gavin had survived dozens of scraps before starting Rhedd Alert, but always as the aggressor. Being on the defensive was something new. It seemed strange that these crazy bastards were hitting six armed escorts.

“Jazza,” he was a couple hundred clicks out and had a good look at the scrum, “I’m coming up underneath you. Time to make this an unfair fight.”

“These guys are good, Gavin.” She grunted and her Cut­lass rolled in a loose corkscrew, putting her behind one of the marauders. She fired and its shields blazed. It pitched, nose down and thrusters reversing, to push up and above Jazza’s ship. The other two marauders swung into position on either side, and the three of them slashed toward Gavin like a knife blade.

He rolled to his port side and tried to accelerate around them. At least they couldn’t all fire on him at once that way. Rahul strafed overhead, pouring fire into one of the Hornets, but the marauders held their formation.

“Jazza, form up on me. Let’s split these bastards up.”

“Got it.”

They met and swept around to rush the trio of mis­matched Hornets. The marauders found Mei before he and Jazza were in firing range.

“Ah, hell . . .”

A barrage of precise bursts from wing-mounted laser cannons tore into Mei’s ship. It ripped entire sections from the hull, and escaping oxygen belched out in a roiling ball of flame.

“Damn it!” Gavin couldn’t see if Mei got out. He and Jaz­za blasted their way through the marauders’ formation. The Hornets scattered and reformed again behind them. “We’ve got a man down. Walt, we might need your help over here.”

“That’s what you get for staying to fight, Gav. We should have made a run for it.”

“We can talk about ‘shoulda’ later,” he said. “Get back here and . . . wait. Belay that.”

“They’re running,” Jazza sounded bemused. “Feels like they had us on the ropes, but they’re bugging out.”

Gavin watched thruster trails from the retreating ships. In moments, they winked out of Nexus space.

“Cassiopeia is secure,” Walt said. “Are you guys clear?”

Jazza didn’t exactly answer him. “Now what do you think that was all about?”

Gavin’s HUD looked clear. Relieved, he found Mei’s PRB. Everyone was alive and they appeared to be alone on the Nexus side of the gate. Walt and the Cassiopeia were nearing the extreme range of his display.

“Walt, hold where you are. Stay sharp and sweep ahead. I can’t for the life of me figure out why they attacked three-on-six.”

“Maybe,” Jazza said, “they knew they’d kick our ass.”

“Or maybe this was a feint,” Gavin said. “Let’s not get caught with our pants down if there are more of them out here. Jazz, you and Rahul watch my back while I get Mei. We’re taking the first shots if they come back through.”

There was a general clamor of agreement. Gavin was beginning to suspect that military comm-chatter was much more sparse and far less democratic than Rhedd Alert’s constant banter. Still, aside from Walt second-guessing his every move, Gavin was proud of the team.

“I wonder if they’re waiting on the other side?” Jazza asked.

Walt was quick to respond. “We are not going through that gate to check.”

“Relax, Walt,” Gavin said. “A win is a win. And good rid­dance.”

At this point, Walt’s objection wasn’t a surprise. “Lucky win, you mean. In a fight we didn’t need to have.”

Gavin ignored him.

Though she was unconscious, the biometrics in Mei’s suit reported only minor damage. Her ship, on the other hand, was another story completely. Gavin started running some mental math, tallying the costs of parts, labor, and med tech fees. The results were cringe-worthy.

The attack would make this mission a financial loss, but the contract was still the leg-up Rhedd Alert needed. And the attack was probably an aberration, Gavin reflected, re­minding himself that Brock’s After Action Reports showed a steady decrease in hostilities over the past several years.

Unfortunately, they were about to find out just how little those reports meant. h3. TO BE CONTINUED…

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