#ging for her. and then the credits roll. just like that

[peantbutter-honeycombs]

The Hollowing Series: Part II

Title: The Boy and His Companion

Word count: 3,339

Characters: The 11th Doctor, Amy Pond, ocs

Warnings: Platonic fic not romantic.

Notes: Originally the story was going to be completely told from the point of Sophia but after a few drafts I decided it should follow Oliver. My college friend who sometimes beta reads my work used to hate the boy but now she likes him. He used to be mean and dismissive toward Sophia but clearly I changed things. Even I quite like his character now.

Speacial Thanks to @underskaro for beta reading this chapter. I know your busy and this really meant a lot to me. So thank so much.

Figured I tag @mirkwoodshewolf because they kindly edited the first chapter and I want them to know I finally got around to the second.

———

The rain had ceased, leaving a heavy blanket of grey white on the hills. It hugged the rain-soaked ground, dancing around each of the kid’s heels. The late day fog controlled the landscape, making it blur in the same way as the opening credits of Mary Poppins.

The entire walk home, the two walked in silence. Oliver, in one hand, held the middle bar of the bright green trike. The metal was ice in his palm. He gripped the bar so tight his knuckles were turning a ghostly shade of white. He held Sophia’s hand in the other, though not nearly as tight. However, still tight enough to make the little girl uneasy.

Sophia would have “said” something if it wasn’t so woefully clear Oliver was cross. His soulful hickory eyes were hard as stone. Instead of their usual boyish spark, there lingered a disdainful flicker. She could swear he was muttering something bitter. Now and then she’d fear a foul word, he’d probably later scold himself for saying.

Whoooooooooo.

He stopped, eyes narrowing. He took a deep, rather stiff breath and sharply exhaled through his nostrils. Adrenaline surged through his system so fast he felt it burn a path through his veins. He spun around, pulling Sophia behind him. Oliver had a glacially callous glare on his face, eyes fixed on the horizon.

The wind tore at the collar of his slicker, and his damp mess of blonde curls. Their surroundings were clouded, hidden, shrouded by the thick veil of fog. Oliver stood silently, the only sound coming from the ferocious flapping of his jacket. He scanned the stretch with the careful eye of a concerned mother.

The fog is not the mist. The fog is not the mist.

The second they arrived home, Oliver condemned Sophia to the time-out chair. She quietly settled in on the stool, positioned in the far corner of the dead end down stairs corridor, without protest. It was an older item. The hand carved mahogany always felt stiff on her bum. But she thought it better not to whine.

Oliver, he sat alone in the living room. A damp, worn out mess of a human being. He tiredly sunk into the couch. He ignored the clammy feeling of his rain-soaked clothes. He completely collapsed across the cushions. Every muscle in his body just surrendered to gravity. He could feel the tiredness pressing on his chest, weighing him down, draining his energy, exhausting his patience.

Why would she think?… Especially now. He rolled off his side onto his back and focused his eyes on the ceiling. She can’t just… Ugh!

He brought a pillow to his face and screamed.

The seconds ticked away into minutes; in the isolation of the sitting room, Oliver let the world around him fade into silence. The minutes ticked into half an hour; Sophia absentmindedly twiddled her thumbs, humming a familiar song in the back of her head; Oliver had been awake for sixteen hours. His consciousness was grasping at straws.

One sniff and Oliver’s eyes are open. He rolled on to his side. Immediately his face fell into irritation. Oliver locked eyes with a familiar pair mere inches from his face.

“I’m not done with timeout. Go back.”

Sophia blinked, processing the instructions she’d just been given. Her eyes darted around, searching his face for any traces of sarcasm or falsehood. Nothing.

Sophia lightly pecks his cheek in the sloppy little kid way. It left a little wet mark, one he’d wipe away once she’d left the room. Oliver chuckles softly, carefully bumping his forehead against Sophia’s. The little ginge giggled, stumbling back, whilst raising a palm to where her temple had been nudged.

“Ten minutes?”

Sophia nods and politely shuffles off.

The landscape blurred, clouded, the fog lingered hovering above the cool streams and the crowned hills. The brilliant greens and vibrant patches of rich wildflower were poking through the fleeting fog. Soon the sun would begin its descent. Lowering, lowering until it was nothing more than a single sliver of gold vanishing on the horizon.

Eyes closed, arms folded over his chest, which rhythmically rose and fell with each dozy intake of breath, Oliver laid quietly on the couch. The father clock at the top of the stairs ticked, the pendulum swung from side to side. Quarter till four, it read.

Sophia sat in her timeout chair, continuing to hum her melodic tune. In these moments of boredom with no toys to play, no stuffy to “talk” to and no Ollie to cling to, all Sophia could do was wait. She sighed, blowing up a long strand of hair that kept dipping, falling between her eyes.

Oliver stuck his head through the white Tudor arch way that separated the sitting room and entryway corridor. Sophia, having somehow positioned herself upside down on the small stool, gave the boy a dopey smile.

Oliver rolled his eyes, pulling at the fabric of his shirt.

“Hey Soph a loaf,” Oliver softly sing-songed, sitting against the wall directly beside the timeout spot. Being upside down, her auburn hair fell in waves suspended centimetres above the rough and stained planks. She was holding her shirt down, preventing it from exposing her stomach.

“You… Wanna make a pillow fort?”

The quiet of the house is shattered by Sophia, letting out a blaring squeal. In moments she somersaults off the bench, landing clumsily on the floor. She’s up on her feet in a heartbeat, bouncing, squealing, stomping.

Oliver chuckles lightly. “Sophia, Sophia, Sophia.”

Sophia poked her head through the arch at the call of her name.

Sophia whined, tilting her head as if to ask ‘what?’

“Nothing. Just… love you Soph a loaf. Lots and lots.”

The pillow fort took longer than expected, given that they both took the construction of fort building oh so seriously. They rushed through putting on their pjs, then moved on to making dinner. No one could tell them not to eat under the bedclothes.

“You can’t put peanut butter on grilled cheese!”

Just as it did every day, the sun set. The shadows of the trees and the aging building stretched up the hills, as the golden ball of orangish yellow began its descent.

Beneath navy blue blankets, patterned with rocket ships and sea creature stickers, sat the two children. Oliver had built much of the fort; Borrowing cushions, towels and blankets from around the house. While Sophia had eagerly decorated their cloth kingdom; twinkle lights, stickers, and scribbled drawings decorated the walls and ceilings.

“So her dad was killed-- Ow. By the same agent trying to recruit her?"

Cuddled firmly against his side was Sophia, her body glued against his similar to Double Pops. Every time she moved, her knees or feet would buck, nailing Oliver in the ribs or hip. He had an arm wrapped around her neck, functioning as both a pillow for her head, and one support for the tablet he was holding.

“That’s quite coinc-- Ow! Sophia!”

Sophia bit the edge of her lip, trying to contain her giggles. Her giggle was a violin playing the open string G (Sol), alluring and dulcet. Considering she burst into a mini giggle fit with each jab, Oliver’s face crumpled like a discarded wad of paper.

He could feel Sophia wiggling against him. Her legs squirmed in a boyishly wild fashion. Her knees curved, beating him in the ribs.

“Ow!" Oliver sat up.

“Okay.” He inhaled sharply. His body was stiff from high levels of irritation. Sophia calmed herself, gently curling her toes. Her brown eyes followed Oliver’s movements, becoming larger, curious.

“Sophia, do you have to use the toilet?”

Sophia drew in her lip. She bent her knees, so she grabbed her toes. She stared, thinking hard. He watched as her face became still, eyes blinking frenziedly. Within fifteen seconds, she nodded.

“Let’s go then.” He stood, helping Sophia up.

He crawled out of the fort’s entry tunnel, it was barely big enough for him to squeeze through. They’d run low on pillows, while building some part of the structure had to be sacrificed.

He heard the soft scuffling of sock padded feet against the old wooden floor. “Sophia?” He looked back over his shoulder, realising Sophia was making more noise than necessary.

“No! Soph, you’re not bringing a blanket to the loo.”

“We lay my love and I…” Oliver sang.

Oliver sat on the third step of the stairs. Beating his hands against his thighs. He was a child. His rigid posture had been replaced by a chill slouch. Sophia had taken her time correcting the blanket as she shifted. She was just now clambering out of the blanket fort.

“Beneath the weeping willow…”

Sophia shuffled past him into the next room, across the corridor from the sitting room. As she passed, Oliver gently took hold of the back of her shirt. Sophia backtracked, then turned on her heels to face him. Oliver had a focused look, his eyes fixated on the ginger like a surgeon during brain surgery.

“Sophia. Where are you going?” He asked.

Sophia wrinkled her nose, pointing in every direction. Oliver simply rolled his eyes.

“Then go find your sweater.” He instructed. Sophia points to the room she was headed toward. “No. It’s not in the drawing room. You left it in my room. Upstairs.”

Sophia let out a pout huff, making Oliver chuckle. She looked past him at the stairs, eyes narrowing to a thin line. Nonetheless, she began her slow ascent upwards. A downside of wooden stairs. If you’re not wearing shoes, instead socks, it's easy to slip. Her sock covered feet slipped and slid, making her ascent up the stairs look clumsy.

“One foot in front of the other.” Oliver teased. Sophia, her face only inches from his ear, blew a spitty raspberry. With the satisfying feeling of retaliation, Sophia pressed on.

“Remember to use the toilet.” Oliver reminded, wiping the flecks of spit from the side of his face.

Oliver patted his thighs and then stood. Standing rather motionless, in his sharp black and orange KTM Factory pyjamas, he distinguished himself amongst the rustic clutter of the foyer. After a moment of stillness, he leapt from the third step, landing on the floor with a hard thud. He resets himself, brushing a hand through his mop top of dirty honey blonde hair.

He wanders around the corridor, gently running his fingers across the wall, over the knickknacks and along the edges of the chair rail.

"But now alone I lie..." he quietly sang, “...And weep beside the tree...”

The house was old. Ancient. It looked like it had been plucked from an autumn-aphile's Pinterest board. Time had been kind to the country home. While the creepers crept along the worn grey cobbles, the inside was a monument to times long gone by.

Thump, thump, thump.

Sophia. She was moving around upstairs.

His mother was a collector. Her husband called her a hoarder. She called herself a dreamer. She was a traveller. When she had been young, before the children, she'd seen the world collecting baubles and knickknacks that now cluttered the home.

Thump, thu, thu, thum.

"Your feet aren't drums!"

A single overhanging lamp dimly illuminated the foyer, mirroring the glow of candle light. Their neighbour had once asked why they didn’t store all their tchotchkes away in the shed. Stacks of completed books left careless about rough wood carvings from around, antique finds nestled beneath blankets of dust, dried flowers, and colourful drawings from Oliver’s younger days.

Thump, thu, thu, thum.

The house, so full of things. Some would shudder at the chaos of it all, others would be queasy because of claustrophobia, and rest would be quietly fascinated.

Oliver stood himself in front of Credenza, pushed up against the left wall. He eyed the reflection staring at him through the distressed mirror mounted about mahogany sideboard.

He’d forgotten a lot rather recently. Thirteen. He’s thirteen. His eyes are a weak shade of brown, not like Sophia’s, the colour of almond coffee. His dirty blonde hair softly curled and tucked, just barely overhanging his sunken eyes.

Thump, thu, thu, thum.

“Singing ‘Oh willow waly’…” he sang, “… by the tree that weeps with me.”

Oliver retreated, leaning against the sloping stair posts. He checked the clock hanging above the front door. Four minutes had passed since Sophia had gone upstairs. Standing there with nothing to do but listen to the creaky footsteps from above.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

“Singing—”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

His nerves abandon him quickly. His breathing becomes shallow and erratic. He couldn’t hear his rapid breathing, the chaotic beat of his heart dominated. His fingers curl into a fist, nails piercing the tender skin of his palm.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

His eyes dart to the clock. 6:11.

It’s as if his hidden sixth or seventh sense activates. Every tick of the clock is a threat, every creak of a floorboard is a risk. His fingers twitched as he defensively moved toward the door. His body stiffens, trying to shut him down before he can reach the front door. He keeps moving.

His hands tremble and his skin becomes rough with goosebumps as he reaches towards the door handle grip.

No one knocks. No one could would.

He grips the handle tightly thumb pressed on the thumb-place, the metal would surely leave a mark on his palm. He finds it hard to swallow, lungs betraying him. Slowly he presses down on the thumb-place, pulling on the handle.

“Hello!”

Oliver’s blood ran cold. He tightened his jaw.

“You followed us?” Oliver murmured. His grip on the door handle tightened, to where he could feel the cool metal dig into his palm. Standing square, shoulders defensively strained back, he felt a knot forming in the back of his throat. Fear sat quietly, waiting like a vulture, ready to claim him.

“You followed us home?” His eyes darted to the Moors, where a small cloud of mist was slowly forming. He wasn’t quite scared. His eyes showed more of a wary concern. After all, he was all that stood between two mysterious strangers and his world.

“Yes. We did.” As he spoke, Oliver observed the Doctor with slight aversion. When he spoke, he’d move his hands about. A little unnerving. Still Oliver held his ground, preventing the Doctor, still a stranger, from entering his home. “We have some questions…”

“Questions?”

Thump, thump, thump.

That’s when Oliver jumps. A pump of adrenaline surged through his system almost triggering his flight or fight instinct. Without his support “system”, it would have been flight. Oliver shook his head, pushing down his panic.

Thump, thump, thump.

He was the barrier between his world and trespassers. A wave of boldness washed through him, demanding he be bold and shielding. However, a light gust of embarrassment from his jump made his cheeks glow.

“You-- you have questions?” he stammered.

The Doctor seemed to take this as an invitation. He moved to enter the cobblestone house. Oliver slammed a hand across to the other side of the door frame, so he couldn’t enter.

The Doctor’s brows pressed together, his shoulders slumped, and his mouth hung slightly open and loose. His expression gave way to his confusion. A hard stone glare carved into Oliver’s tired eyes. A warning. The doctor took heed and took a careful step back.

His lighthearted manner returned within seconds.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m the Doctor, this is my friend Amy. What’s your name?” He asked as he extended a hand out for Oliver.

Oliver shook his head, smiling a little, as he gently pushed the Doctor’s hand down and said.

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

Just because someone introduces themselves, they aren’t any less of a stranger. Though most of what he observed of the Doctor seemed safe, suspicion and caution still governed his mind. He’d be more trusting in different circumstances. But there weren’t many people worth trusting, at least not anymore.

“You’re still a stranger.”

The Doctor nods, scratching at his chin. “Fair enough.” Something about the grown man’s cluelessness. The right corner of Oliver’s lip twitched, threatening to curve upward. He started gesticulating again, moving his hands about as he spoke. “Answer me this then where is everyone else?”

His brain stuttered for a moment, his face fell, and the blood drained from his face, leaving him as pale as a sheet. He recomposed himself, adopting a more stoic expression.

“Home,” his tone was cold, cold as ice.

“Home?”

The Doctor observes Oliver’s shift in manner with calculative eyes. He leans back, arching a brow. Oliver only nods in response. However, he could see it. The Doctor could see it, the fear trying to hide in the corners of the blonde child’s eyes.

He’d figure that out later, for now…

“Tell me, why should we be wary of the mist?”

Oliver scratched the back of his head. His eyes struggled to focus on one point. Again, they settled on the Moors. His stomach twisted and sunk with his nerves, as he gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly, wrapping it around his hand.

“Hard to see, you could get lost.”

The Doctor squatted, so that his eyes were level with Oliver’s. He carefully studied Oliver’s face as he lowered his mouth. He went to speak, but Amy, she spoke first.

“Have people gotten lost?”

Thud.

This time his muscles become tense. “I-- I better get inside,” he stammered, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder. His unsettled eyes shift down to the ground, avoiding the watchful looks of the Doctor and his companion. Oliver cleared his throat and then croaked out.

“You should get back home, before it’s too late.”

Without another word, he shut the door, leaving the Doctor and Amy in the chill of dusk.

Oliver was silent as he fell back against the front door. The tick of the grandfather clock at the top of the stairs felt louder than before. As the full realisation of his conversation sank in, he ran his hands down his face. A loud groan of frustration flowed past his lips.

It’s foolish to trust, he reminded himself, for no one knows what the mist does hide.

A small whine snapped him out of his stupor. He immediately stood. Sophia stood one step from the top of the stairs. She wore a puzzled expression. Oliver rolled his eyes, his brows creased, and he put on a fake smile.

“It was no one,” he lied, dismissively waving a hand in the air. Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “It was no one Sophia, leave it alone.” He insisted, trying to laugh the matter off.

“Now, I have some work to finish.” He said as he moved toward the drawing room. As far as he was concerned, the matter of who was at the door was finished. His mouth twitched into a genuine smile, and his tone softened. “If you’d like, you can color at the desk while I work.”

Sophia shook her head, gesturing with an arm toward the entire upstairs. “No? Just going to play in the upstairs?” He asked. She nodded, making her ginger tresses bounce. “By yourself? Are you sure?” The way her one dimple crinkled, the shifting of her freckles, gave him his answer.

“Fine, have fun, bed in an hour.” Oliver brushed his fingers through his hair, strolling into the drawing room.

Sophia brought a hand to her mouth, then blew him a sloppy kiss. Hearing the noise of the peck from the other side of the archway, Oliver bent an arm back through the doorway to catch it. He cast his head back through the opening, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“Love you too Soph a loaf. Lots and lots.” he gently laughed. “You be good,” he reminded moving into the drawing room.

“And Sophia,” His tone became serious, and resigned. “Let's stay out of the master room.”

#11th doctor #11th Doctor x child oc #Doctor who fandom #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #doctor who imagines #doctor who series #11th doctor fanfic #doctor who series 5 #amy pond #ocs #11th doctor imagine #matt smith #karen gillan #noah jupe

[decembercamiecherries]

To Break Pose

Ao3 link

Word Count: 4960

Summary:

Gon asks Killua to his model for his full-body art portrait project. It takes some begging, and bribing with chocolate, but eventually Killua agrees to help.

The thing is, though, Gon never expected for Killua to model nude.

The other thing? Gon finds he really doesn't mind this new development.

((Based on this prompt))

This fic was written as part of an art trade with @ohlookitscazz! :D She’s an amazing artist (CHECK OUT HER ART HERE), an even more amazing person <3 I’m so so so happy I got to write something for her since I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now ^^ This was a lot of fun for me to create, so I hope it’s just as much fun for her to read!

Thank you to @softkillua for helping me with this thing, he’s the best beta I could ask for ^^ And thank you for reading! Please enjoy!

Killua sighs heavily through his nose, his breath forming a cloud in the crisp autumn air, and levels Gon with a look. It’s a kind of look Gon knows all too well; the kind that says ‘this is a bad idea and I’m going to regret talking to you about this’.

Still, Gon is hopeful.

“Gon,” Killua says, reluctance dripping off every syllable. “You know, I’d love to help you with your school project, but-”

“If you’d love to help me, then just say yes!”

Killua raises an eyebrow. “That’s what you said last time I helped you out, and then I was left cleaning slime out of my hair for weeks. Weeks, Gon! Do you know how hard it is to get green gook out of hair?!”

“That was only one time, Killua!” Gon whines. “And that was for ecology, this is totally different!”

“Oh, yeah?” Killua doesn’t look at all convinced. “How’s that?”

“Well, for one thing, this project is for my art credit class!”

Killua scoffs and turns smartly on his heel. Gon’s jaw drops in surprise, and then he’s scrambling off the university courtyard bench to chase Killua across the wide expanse of yellowing grass scattered with dead leaves. Students bustle all around them in oversized coats and bulging backpacks, complaining about approaching end-of-the-semester exams and final projects. But Gon ignores them all in favor of hollering loudly after his one and only best friend.

“KILLUA! Killua, wait, I just-”

“I’m not helping you, Gon!” Killua says when Gon finally catches up to him. Killua’s got his pink nose shoved in the air, blue eyes trained pointedly on the courtyard’s archway exit. “Not this time! Go find someone else to dress up as a pigeon or whatever the hell it is you have to do!”

Gon has to jog to keep up with Killua’s long strides. He says breathlessly, trying his best to match Killua’s pace, “I’m not dressing up anyone as a pigeon, that’d be silly! I’m taking a modeling class. You know, something you do already as a job.”

Killua stops short and Gon squeaks as he almost crashes right into Killua’s right shoulder. He goes still when Killua turns to give him a calculated, narrow-eyed glare. Being the center of that icy blue gaze makes Gon’s heart skip a beat, makes his breath catch in his throat. It’s a strange feeling, but not an entirely bad one. Gon offers his best smile, trying not to squirm as a freezing breeze rips through his too-light jacket, and silently pleads Killua have mercy on him.

Gon’s never been a big fan of art. But having Killua with him to finish this assignment would make the whole project a lot more fun. He always has fun when Killua is around.

Being with Killua makes him happy. It’s just that simple.

After a long pause, Killua asks slowly, “Are you saying you’d pay me?”

“Heh.” Gon scratches his wind-chilled cheek. “Well. About that…”

Killua deadpans, “You don’t have any money. Do you.”

“Um. No. I don’t. But- BUT!” He grabs the sleeve of Killua’s hoodie before his friend can walk off again. “But, I do have some super rare chocorobos that Ging’s sending me. I don’t really like sweets too much so I was going to just throw them out, buuuuut-”

“I swear to God I will hit you over the head with my astrology textbook if you say one more word!” Killua cuts him off sharply, practically bristling from head to toe. “I can’t believe— you can’t just throw away chocorobos, Gon!! They’re, like, novelty chocolate, you idiot!”

Gon holds back a smirk. Score.

Aloud, he asks, “So, does that mean you’ll help me? Hmm? I’ll give you the chocolate up front and everything. What do you say, Ki-llu-a?”

Killua opens his mouth, then shuts it. Gon can see the war raging across Killua’s face, the dilemma and agony over giving into Gon or passing up the chocolate he so dearly loves, but Gon already knows the answer.

Killua would never, ever turn down chocolate.

“Are you ready, or what?!”

“YEAH!” Gon hollers back. “Just- AH- one sec! I just, I gotta—”

He grabs the last of his art supplies off the kitchen table and sprints back to his seat. He’d forgotten how long it takes to set up the art easel, and then he’d misplaced his art pouch with his pencils and charcoal and erasers, so Killua had left to ‘get ready’ in the bathroom while Gon scrambled around his apartment.

Gon doesn’t really understand what Killua needed to get ready for. Gon only needs five varying poses for this assignment. Add some lighting with a carefully placed lamp and some random household props, and Gon will be in a good place for a passing mark. It isn’t like Killua has to be super dressed up or anything for this—

“HEY! GON! What are you doing out there?!”

“Okay, okay!” Gon flips open his sketchbook to a blank page. He leans around the easel towards the general direction of his bathroom and yells, “You can come out now!”

He doesn’t look up as the bathroom door creaks open. He’s too busy pulling apart his eraser for a clean side to pay attention to his friend as Killua walks into the center of Gon’s living room. It’s only after Gon finally has the charcoal sharpened and set aside on a small side table that he glances up at Killua, a bright smile on his lips.

“Okay! Let’s just…”

Gon’s voice trails off, then shrivels and dies in the back of his throat. All thought in his mind evaporates and is replaced with crackling static. His mouth remains open though, jaw hanging low as he openly gapes at his very sculpted, very fit, and very- very- naked best friend.

“How do you want to do this?” Killua asks, placing his hands on his hips. He twists his head around to cast his gaze around the room and Gon’s breath hitches. Every inch of Killua’s porcelain skin gleams in the lamp light, unblemished and sculpted and beautiful.

Killua continues, oblivious to Gon’s shock, “I don’t really care too much, I’ve been doing this modeling thing for artists long enough that I can put up with pretty much anything you ask.”

Gon doesn’t even hear him. He’s too busy ogling at the graceful slope of Killua’s neck, those long, long legs and arms, how his stomach dips and bends to give way for a perfect set of abs…and then there’s the smooth, round curve of his ass-

“Gon?”

Gon jerks, eyes jumping upwards to meet Killua’s questioning gaze. Heat rushes to his face instantly and he abruptly feels a wave of warmth rush over every inch of his skin. It’s a prickling and uncomfortable kind of heat, something Gon’s only felt before on very rare occasions, and his stomach twists when he realizes what’s happening to him.

He’s— he’s blushing.

Killua’s brow furrows. “Uh, Gon, are you okay? You got this weird look on your face…”

“F-Fine!” Gon squeaks and his heart constricts at the painfully obvious way his voice breaks. “I’m, um! Fine, I’m totally-” He coughs, the burning on his cheeks growing with each passing second. “I’m fine, really!”

Killua gives him a strange look. “Uh….Okay, whatever you say,” he says skeptically and Gon breathes a silent sigh of relief. “If you’re sure you’re so fine, how about telling me what you want me to do? If there’s a specific pose you want, you’ll have to show me exactly how to position my body and lights and everything.”

Gon’s heart lurches at the thought of touching Killua, even innocently. Just the idea of touching that smooth skin, feeling his muscles bend and flex under his hands—

“Yo!” Killua snaps his fingers and Gon jolts. “Earth to Gon! Why do you keep spacing out like that?!”

“S-Sorry, Killua!” Gon shakes his head. He can’t afford to get distracted like this! Yes, Killua is extremely attractive- and amazing and smart and cool and the most incredible person Gon’s ever met or ever will meet, he’s pretty sure- but that’s nothing new!

He’ll just have to…appreciate the view he has with the knowledge that, yes, he’s checking his best friend out, but technically it’s okay! Gon has an excuse to stare at Killua and admire his beauty because this is for art! And Killua is the art!

(And it’s not like Gon hasn’t checked Killua out before, anyway. This is just a more….complete picture.)

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Killua asks, sounding both confused and alarmed. “You’re acting really weird tonight, even for you.”

Gon nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! I’m fine, I promise. Here—” he lurches out of his seat towards Killua, “—lemme show you how you need to pose!”

“How often do you pose for artists, Killua?”

Killua keeps his face carefully blank at the question, fighting the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes to the back of his skull and groan.

Gon, apparently, did not understand the concept of modeling. Which shouldn’t surprise Killua after knowing him for over two years, but Gon had a bad habit of keeping Killua on his toes.

“Gon,” he growls between barely-moving lips. “I’m not supposed to talk to you while I’m posing.”

“Why?”

Killua’s hands twitch against Gon’s living room carpet and he breathes in deep through his nose. He is a professional. A few idiotic questions from his best friend will not force him to break pose, no matter how stupid the questions are.

“If I move even the slightest bit- even to talk- my pose won’t be the same, and your drawing would be messed up.”

“Oh.” Gon sounds annoyingly perplexed. Why is he so confused by this concept?! When Killua accepted coming here, he thought—

…he doesn’t know what he was thinking. Killua didn’t think when it came to Gon, and that was a problem in and of itself.

“I think it’d be pretty boring if you didn’t get to talk, though!” Gon chirps from behind his easel. Killua can hear the faint sound of charcoal dragging across beige paper, feel the warmth of the lamp light as it drapes across his own skin. “And wouldn’t it be kind of awkward to be in the same room like this but not say anything?”

“How is this in any way awkward?” Killua asks then immediately curses himself. He shouldn’t be encouraging Gon, dammit.

“Well, without any conversation, this basically turns into a staring session where I get to ogle at your muscles and butt while you lay naked on my carpet. So.”

Killua chokes and a wave of heat crashes over him like a tsunami. He nearly breaks his pose, but he manages to hold it, if just barely.

“Gon,” he hisses, and he can tell by the burning in his cheeks that his face is a horrible shade of red. He wants to hide or look away or, or something but he can’t break pose, fuck! “This is— no, god. That is not what this is in any way, shape, or form.”

Gon laughs, low and deep, and something twists inside of Killua’s chest.

“What is it then?” Gon asks. There’s something off in his tone. Something sly and sneaky and Killua doesn’t understand what the hell is happening right now. Where is Gon going with this?!

“It’s— it’s me being a point of reference for you!” Killua explains, exasperated. “That’s all it is. Okay?! You’re paying me, and I take this thing seriously, and—”

“Aw, Killua, I’m hurt! Does that mean you undress for all of your friends like this?”

Killua’s arms buckle and he nearly topples backwards onto the carpet. He catches himself last minute, then whirls around to glare viciously at his smug bastard of a friend. He growls, bristling from head to toe, “You know what?! Fuck you, Gon!”

Gon’s grin widens. “Is that a yes, then?” He’s laughing at Killua on the inside, Killua just knows it, and it makes him furious beyond belief.

“No, it’s not!” Killua snaps.

“So by default, that means I’m just special!”

Killua wants to strangle Gon until he can’t spout out any more idiotic questions, that’s what it means!

“No, you complete and total idiot,” he manages to say between gritted teeth. “It means I’m not your personal stripper! This is a job, got it?! And I’m a professional!”

Gon hums thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t think I would mind that, though?”

“Mind what?!” What is he going on about now?

“I wouldn’t mind it if I were special to you! I mean, I feel like I should already be treated differently compared to everyone else you know, because we’re each other’s best friends and everything. I want to see all the sides of you, even the stuff you don’t share with anyone else! And I really like seeing this side of you.”

Then he fucking winks. Winks!

Killua doesn’t know how to respond to that. He gapes openly at Gon, skin tingling and heart hammering. Is— Is Gon trying to flirt with him? Is that what was happening? Or is this just Gon’s blunt nature coming out to bite Killua in the ass for agreeing to help with this stupid assignment in the first place?

I can’t tell, Killua realizes. He can’t tell if the slight red tinge to Gon’s cheeks is a blush or if it’s Killua just imagining things under the glare of the lamplight directed his way. And he can’t just ask Gon, that would be even more embarrassing and mortifying than this whole situation already is, and—

Gon suddenly tilts his head to the side. “And you say you’re a professional…but is it professional to break pose?”

Killua freezes. He looks down, horror overriding his confusion and frustration in an instant.

He’d moved to yell at Gon. He hadn’t even realized it at the time.

Shit.

“You!!” Killua’s eyes flash upwards to find Gon smirking down at him. “Gon, you did that on purpose!!!”

Gon shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Killua! We were just having a conversation!”

Killua slams his hand down on the carpet, a dull but loud THUD resonating across the room. “And I told you that we’re not supposed to have a conversation while I’m posing for you! But you kept pushing and prying and—”

“Shhh, Killua.” A warm finger presses against Killua’s lips and Killua’s protest dies in his throat. Gon is leaning slightly forward until he’s on the very tip off his chair, his head blocking the light partially and lighting his hair from behind like a golden halo.

Killua’s heart thumps erratically against his ribs. He suddenly can’t breathe, mesmerized by the joyful light shining in Gon’s eyes.

“You worry too much,” Gon says while Killua continues to gaze up at him unblinkingly. “I promise I won’t tell anyone that you messed up. Your secret’s safe with me.”

And just like that, the spell is broken.

“You—” Killua snaps and slaps Gon’s hand away, “—are a menace. You know that?!”

Gon leans back, shaking out his hand and still smiling that infuriatingly bright smile. “Sure, whatever you say, Killua! But I still got the most beautiful person I’ve ever met to undress for me. So I think that should count for something.”

Killua’s eyes bulge and he nearly falls over again. Blood roars in his ears and for the first time in a very, very long time, he’s aware of every inch of skin he has bared for Gon to see. For Gon to stare at. For Gon to slowly drag his gaze over like he’s admiring a piece of art in a museum, just as he is right now, like—

Like…like Gon wants him.

Killua’s mouth goes dry. He struggles to breathe properly, curls his fingers into shaking fists. He can’t unravel like this. He still has another hour to spend modeling for Gon and if he’s this aware of how Gon is looking at him, he’ll never stay relaxed enough to get through with it.

It’s not that he hasn’t dealt with this sort of thing before. He’s gone through modeling sessions where others have stared at him in ways that are less than appropriate. But it’s never meant anything, not the Killua’s own nakedness or the stares or whatever resulting art came from him nearly falling asleep on a raised pedestal in the center of some art studio. Killua was a pawn and the artists, strangers. As long as he got paid, Killua couldn’t care less about who was looking at him or how.

But he’s quickly starting to realize that it does matter now that Gon is the one looking at him. Gon’s focused, burning gaze made warmth pool in Killua’s gut, made butterflies flutter against his ribs. It was a breathless and swooping kind of feeling, and it made Killua want to— no.

Killua grits his teeth. Gon is still looking at him expectantly, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He’s clearly testing Killua to see just how much he can push his buttons. That’s what Gon did; he played and challenged and pushed Killua, inspired him in all the best and worst of ways. Gon had an effect on Killua. He always has.

But this? This is different. This is a job and Killua refuses to succumb to the less-than-innocent feelings he has for his best friend. He won’t do it. He is going to finish this job and then he can shove this whole thing behind him and never think about it again.

And that means Killua can’t let Gon know how his words affected him.

Killua lifts his chin, scowling. Gon could take his ridiculous lack of social awareness and shove it. “Why don’t you just shut up and show me what pose you want next?” he says angrily and Gon laughs again, sounding delighted.

“Sure! But, Killua—”

Killua glances up, and is once more struck by the intensity in Gon’s gaze. The way Gon is staring at him…it makes Killua feel like he and Gon are the only two people left on this earth.

“I really do mean it,” Gon says softly, honestly ringing in every syllable. “You’re beautiful.”

Killua’s heart quivers. He looks away, pulse racing, and tries to think through the silent shrieking in his head.

He whispers, “You’re an idiot.”

“Even if I am—” A broad hand gently takes Killua’s chin, turns his head slightly. Killua stares up with wide eyes at Gon’s handsome face, heart in his throat.

“— you’re still beautiful,” Gon finishes with a dazzling, genuine smile, and Killua melts.

Gon and Killua stand shoulder to shoulder, staring down at Gon’s easel. Neither of them speak. It’s one of the few moments in Gon’s life when he doesn’t know what to say. His artwork is enough to make him speechless, but not in a good kind of way.

“Well,” Killua says finally, and Gon peaks at him out of the corner of his eye. Killua’s brows are furrowed, but he looks more confused than anything. “It’s not…horrible?”

Gon grimaces. “Thanks.”

“No, really, I mean it! I’ve seen much worse.”

“That’s not really a compliment, Killua.” He lets out a long sigh, deflating. He’s honestly relieved that Killua isn’t outright disgusted by his art. But— “I’m really sad; I wanted to draw something that would show how pretty you are!”

Killua turns rigid, face flushing, then looks quickly away. “C-Cut it out, Gon. You don’t need to keep saying stuff like that.”

“I’m being serious!” Gon insists and ducks his head to try to catch his best friend’s eye. “You’re gorgeous, Killua! And I know I couldn’t capture exactly how you look but.” He pouts. “I really thought I could’ve done at least a little bit better…I didn’t do you justice at all.”

Killua awkwardly pats his back, cheeks still flaming. He’s re-clothed again, much to Gon’s dismay. He had accepted Gon’s green bathrobe instead of putting his own clothes back on though and Gon inwardly acknowledged that as a good enough compromise. Killua looked kind of funny in Gon’s clothes, actually; the bathrobe wasn’t nearly long enough to fit Killua’s height, and Gon’s broader chest meant that the fuzzy cloth hug off Killua’s narrow shoulders to the point where it was noticeable. But that was okay.

The sight of Killua in Gon’s clothes makes Gon’s own cheeks warm and his heart twist. It made his chest swell, a strange sort of pleased feeling rising up inside him.

Killua looks good in Gon’s clothes. And Gon likes that. He likes it a lot.

“It’s okay, Gon,” Killua says awkwardly. “Most people have a really hard time drawing the human body, that’s why there are classes like the one you’re in now. And it’s not that big of a deal anyway; art isn’t your focus of study, you’re majoring in environmental science!”

“Yeah…I guess you’re right. Maybe I should have taken that photography class instead.”

Killua wrinkles his nose. “Nah, the cameras are crazy expensive. You’d probably break it too and have to replace it, with your luck. At least for this class you just needed to buy charcoal and erasers and an easel.”

“Well, all that and you.”

Killua stiffens, color flooding his face once more. “Wh-What?”

A smile tugs at Gon’s lips. “I needed to buy your modeling service. What’s that look on your face for, hmm? Are you thinking dirty thoughts, Killua?”

“Shut up!” Killua shoves him away roughly, flushing in earnest now. “I wasn’t thinking anything!”

“Mmhmm, suuure,” Gon says in a sing-song voice. “And that’s why your cheeks are so red right now?”

Killua’s blue eyes narrow into icy slits. “They’re red because you are the most embarrassing person on the face of the planet!”

“But—”

“Dammit, Gon, stop trying to kill me and go get my chocolate already! I demand payment for my ‘services’!”

Gon throws his head back and laughs, shoulders shaking as he cackles uncontrollably. Killua makes an exasperated growl and stomps over. Gon nearly stumbles over his own two feet as Killua forcibly spins him around. He doesn’t get the chance to catch his breath before Killua starts to forcibly shove Gon out of the living room.

“AH— wait, Killua, wait!!!”

Gon digs his heels into the floor. Killua manages to push him a few more inches but Gon’s brute strength wins out in the end.

Killua releases Gon with irritated huff. “What is it now?!”

Gon swallows nervously at the ferocious glare Killua gives him. This was going to be hard, but if he planned this correctly it should work out in the end. Hopefully.

“I, um.” He twiddles his thumbs. “I don’t have the chocolate.”

Killua’s eyes bulge. “What. Are you saying you lied—?!”

“No, let me explain! Ging said in his letter that he was sending the chocolate, but it turns out he actually sent it to Kite instead!”

Killua stares. “What the hell does that mean?! Am I getting the chocolate or what?!”

“It means,” Gon says patiently. “That I have to wait for Kite to send the chocolate to me! And then I can give it to you!”

Killua pinches the bridge of his nose, lets out a long breath. “So,” he says, voice pained. “What you’re saying is that I won’t get the chocolate for a while.”

“Heh.” Gon rubs the back of his neck, offers Killua his best smile. “Yeah? Pretty much?”

Killua shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He turns on his heel but Gon quickly snags his wrist.

“I’m not done yet!”

Killua is starting to look genuinely annoyed now. “What else could you possibly have to say? You already disappointed me with the chocolate—”

“Let me do something for you in the meantime to make up for it!”

“Like what?” Killua asks suspiciously. “If this is just another trick of yours to drag me into one of your crazy-ass schemes, count me out—”

“Let me take you to dinner,” Gon says and Killua blinks stupidly, mouth still hanging open while his last words die on his tongue.

“…what.”

“Let me take you to dinner,” Gon repeats. “I’ll pay for the whole thing! You can order dessert first, even.”

Killua opens his mouth again, then closes it. His cheeks are slowly darkening but it’s contrasted by the wrinkle in his brow. There’s a conflicted look in his eye and Gon grins; he can tell that Killua is stuck between wanting to say yes and saying no out of fear of being tricked. Lucky for him, Gon isn’t even joking in the slightest.

But he can’t help himself from teasing Killua one more time.

Gon adds on brightly, “You won’t even have to take off your clothes, Killua, I promise! If you want to later, I won’t object but—”

A hand slaps across his face and Gon grunts. Killua’s hand hurt, a sharp sting across his mouth and nose.

“For the love of god, shut up,” Killua hisses. His cheeks are a beautiful, flaming shade of scarlet by now. “If you make one more suggestive commentary I will hurl you out the nearest window.”

Gon grins under Killua’s long fingers. “You won’t get the chocolate, then.”

“Gon—”

“Okay, okay, I’m done now!” He reaches up and removes Killua’s hand from his mouth, slowly taking it in his hand and interlacing their fingers instead. His heart flutters at the innocent contact and he only hopes that Killua feels the same.

“Seriously, though…” Gon looks up at Killua’s flustered expression through brown lashes. “What do you say, Killua? Can I take you out? Please?”

Killua bites his lip. “You mean, as a. Uh.” He swallows thickly, staring at their interlocked hands. “As a friend? Or…”

“As a date,” Gon clarifies. “A romantic kind of date.”

“A romantic date with like, k-kissing and holding hands and all that other s-stuff?”

“Mhm.” Gon smiles and squeezes Killua’s hands pointedly. “I dunno what other kind of romantic dates you’ve been on, but that’s the kind of stuff I think I’d be pretty interested in doing with you. Would you be interested in doing those things with me?”

“Do-Do you have to ask me something like that?!” Killua squeaks.

“Yeah, I do! I want to make sure this is something you want, too!”

Killua’s brow wrinkles. “That’s not the...are you sure this isn’t some stupid joke, Gon? Because if it is, I’m swear going to—”

Gon shakes his head adamantly. “No! No way, this is for real, I swear. I’ve already told you I think you’re beautiful, right?”

“But. I thought you were talking about—”

“I was talking about every part of you,” Gon explains. “Both inside and out. You’re my best friend, Killua. Is it really that crazy that I think you’re absolutely amazing, that I would like you? That I would want something…” He pulls Killua close with their linked hands, until their chests press against each other and they’re breathing in the same air, “…something more with you?”

Killua tightly squeezes his eyes shut. Killua lets out a long, shaky breath, then opens those beautiful blue eyes again. The hesitant, but innocently hopeful look he gives Gon makes Gon’s heart lurch and the air to vanish from his lungs.

“Okay,” he whispers finally and Gon stands up straight, pulse starting to climb. “I’ll-I’ll let you take me out.”

Gon’s face hurts from the wideness of his smile. “Really? You want to?”

Killua scrunches up his nose. “If I’m saying yes, then I’m pretty sure that means I want to go out with you, Gon.”

“Romantically?”

Killua huffs. “Yes, romantically.”

Gon giggles. He can’t help it; the overwhelming joy and giddiness inside his chest is too strong to contain. It bubbles and flows to every part of his body, warming him from the inside out and making him so light and happy that he could walk on clouds.

“Thank you, Killua.” He leans forward and presses a swift kiss to Killua’s burning cheek before the other can react. “Go get changed! I’ll make a reservation!”

Killua raises his free hand to the place where Gon kissed him, looking dazed. It’s so cute how a simple kiss was enough to make Killua so frazzled and Gon’s smile grows impossibly wider.

But a second later Killua seems to register what Gon said and he freezes. “You-You mean. You want to go out now?!”

“Yeah! We’re already together, let’s just do it!”

Killua laughs shakily, a look of amazement and nervous joy on his face. “That’s…you know what, fine, whatever. I don’t care.”

“You sure?”

Killua nods. “Yeah. It’s kind of crazy, but that’s you. And I’ve put up with your ideas up till now, so. I think I can handle this one.”

Gon beams. “And I love you for that.”

He leans forward again, this time landing a gentle kiss on Killua’s lips. It’s a chaste kiss, as far as kisses go. A simple touch of mouth-to-mouth with nothing pushed or forced. It’s good and innocent and perfect, exactly what Gon would want for his first kiss with the person he treasures more than anyone else in the world.

But the flush of Killua’s cheeks, the blueness of his astonished and wide eyes, the softness of Killua’s lips…it’s enough to stir warmth in Gon’s stomach, hot and yearning.

He quickly pulls back before that feeling can grow. There would be time for that later, he’s sure. Right now he has a dinner to pay for.

He pushes a stunned and furiously blushing Killua towards the bathroom, saying loudly, “Hurry up and change, I’ll call and make reservations!”

#dc writes #killugon #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #modern au #college au #aged up au #ohlookitscazz #this was gonna be titled 'Stripped Bare' #but i felt like that was going a little too far #lol #anyway #enjoy #^^

[homo-noodles]

.:Dream Daddy:. Robert x Dadsona - "Blood in the Alleyway"

Spoilers for Dream Daddy, specifically for the Robert route/endings. Dream Daddy is an amazing game with beautiful art, clever dialogue, and lovable characters. I really recommend you check it out if you haven’t yet. This fanfic will have your personal dadsona with Robert; I tried my hardest to type this fic so it could work for any and all dadsonas, although there may be some exceptions. This fanfic is assuming you got an S rank on all dates with Robert, and you ended up with the good ending for him. (This means that you got 100% stuff correct when dating him). I tried my best to do the game justice, so I hope you enjoy. Thank you. (Be warned! This is a One-shot, meaning it only has one part and it’s finished ALSO! This is an angst fic! Meaning that it'll be sad/bittersweet. ((Don't worry, I don't normally like writing stories with depressing endings ^u^)) Since I can’t possibly know what name you gave him, your dadsona will be referred to as “(d/n)”, which stands for “dad’s name”.

_______________

"What's that one supposed to be?" Robert asked with a soft tone as he glanced over to the wooden carving in my hands, being partially occupied with his own carving.

Ever since we got together as an official couple, Robert and I have been going out onto the hill that overlooked the city every week. We'd sit there usually in silence, admiring the view. Most times, we'd carve little wooden sculptures, and Robert would always humor me by asking what my little creation was even supposed to be. It was pretty routine by now.

 I've gotten a little better at carving, but I'm no where near as good as Robert. He can get all the little details, and I'm always able to tell what it is. So far, all of my carvings have just been rough pieces of wood in the shape of things such as office supplies or simply designed animals.

I looked at the small piece of wood sitting in my palm "Umm..." I hummed in thought, trying to think of something clever or funny to say; maybe I could say something cleverly funny! The little piece of wood didn't really look like much; it was kind of like a cube, but with uneven sides and rough edges. When I finally figured out what it was, I smiled widely. Robert immediately noticed how I was beaming, so he stopped carving for a moment to give me all of his attention. He had a faint smile on his face, clearly interested in what my little creation was.

I proudly held up the non-proportional cube "It's the ultimate pun carving! It gives me perfect material for puns!".

Robert raised a brow and slightly tilted his head. He smiled a little more, wondering where I was going with this "Okay...how does it work?".

"I wood tell you, but you might ask me to cut it out. I just don't think I'd be able to leaf you alone! This little carving might be a little too in-tree-ging for you to handle!" I replied, resisting the urge to burst into a fit of giggles. Robert laughed softly and rolled his eyes "Ah, c'mon. You better stop; I'm already getting pretty board".

I giggled playfully and kept going, wanting to see how many more wood-related puns I could throw out "Aw, ....I knew you wouldn't like my poetree! I'm just trying to branch out my comedic skills!"

Robert laughed some more "Alright, alright" he reached his hand over and took a hold of mine, the one that was holding the little wood carving "Maybe we should call it a night. How about we head to the bar to celebrate your victor-tree of clever dad puns". I kept my wide smile and leaned close, giving a little kiss to Robert's lips "Sounds like a Tree-t~".

After we left the hill, Robert drove us to Kim and Jim's, where I suspected to see Mary. It was pretty late, so when we got there and didn't see her, we weren't too surprised. As we drank together in silence, I simply just stayed in my thoughts, enjoying the quiet sound of the bar at night "Hey, Robert" I broke the silence with a soft voice. The tan-skinned bad dad glanced over to me, taking a gentle sip of his whiskey.

"I know it's really late, but could we hang out some more after this? The park is really beautiful at night. We could sneak in and have the view all to ourselves".

Robert chuckled quietly "That sounds really nice..." he shrugged "It's been a while since we've broken the law". I laughed softly at that comment "Oh god, what have you turned me into?". Robert smirked playfully "a bad dad~ welcome to the club" he finished his drink and stood up. I rolled my eyes in amusement and did the same, the both of us leaving to trespass into the park. _______________

As we walked to the park, we talked and continued to laugh with each other, occasionally throwing dad-puns around to see who could get the cheesiest. We took the long way, since we wanted to talk for a while and save the silence for the park. In doing so, we had to walk through that alleyway behind the movie theater. Suddenly, Robert stopped in is tracks. I turned around to look at him, giving a confused stare "Robert? Something wrong?". He shook his head "No, I just remembered. There's this movie that just came out that I've been dying to see; I completely forgot about it".

I smiled and walked up to him "We'd have to break in again, wouldn't we?". Robert crossed his arms and shrugged, meaning 'yes'. I chuckled "Alright. But after the park, we should really stop trespassing into places. One of these days, we're going to get arrested". Robert snickered with amusement "Okay, dad~" he teased. I playfully nudged Robert "Hey, it's you're fault I'm like this! C'mon, let's go before the movie's over". Robert nodded and we sneaked into the theater. Fortunately, not too many people were there, giving us free range to pick whatever seats we wanted.

I watched the movie in silence, simply enjoying my time while Robert quietly commentated over it under his breath, complaining about a few things while also respecting some things. When I first met him, I never thought Robert could be anything else but a rugged, emotionless, brute. Now I know he's a soft-hearted sweetie with tough skin.

The movie wasn't all that bad, but to be honest, I was actually getting kind of tired. It was really late, and I wasn't too used to being out at a time like this. So I eventually dozed off into a light nap, gently resting my head against Robert's shoulder.

About an hour later, the movie credits were over, leaving only me and Robert in the room. No one besides us would stay till the very end. Robert lightly nudged me to wake me up. I opened my eyes, tiredly rubbing them "Hey, if you're too tired, we can skip the park and do it another day" Robert stated quietly. I looked up at him and thought about it for a moment "No...I'm okay. Tonight's the perfect opportunity! Let's get out of here before anyone realizes we're not supposed to be here". Robert nodded and got up, gently taking my hand and helping me to my feet.

We left the theater and continued to head back to the park "So what did you think about the movie?" I asked softly as I walked alongside Robert. He shrugged "It was fine, I think it could've been a little-" suddenly, he paused and looked around, looking alert. Confusion and curiosity washed over me "What's wrong this time?" I asked with a little amusement to my voice, thinking he was just pulling some sort of joke, like usual. "Uh, ...it's...nothing. I just thought I heard something" Robert replied, still having a look of suspicion in his eyes.

"Maybe a cryptid followed us through here" I joked with a smile, trying to reassure Robert, who was still tense. He nodded in response, gently taking my hand and pulling me to go faster.

Just as we were about to get out of there, a sudden voice interrupted our movement "HEY!". I jolted, tightly grabbing onto Robert's arm. I turned to look behind us, seeing two strangers in hoodies standing there, blocking our way out of the alley. The man who spoke was in front of us; I've never seen him before, and it didn't look like Robert knew who he was either. "I've been looking for you two for months....now I finally have you cornered".

"Listen, buddy. You've got the wrong people. I've never seen you before in my life" Robert said strongly, glancing to me "..Do you know this guy...?" he asked, a look of worry in his eyes. I shook my head anxiously "N-No...".

The man gave an irritated laugh "Right...of course you don't know who I am. You RAN AWAY when you shattered my window!" he snarled angrily.

Oh shit... that's the guy who's car window we destroyed! Ahg...I knew I shouldn't have thrown that rock...

"H-Hey, we're sorry..." Before I could finish my pathetic apology, the man scoffed "SHUT IT! You're not sorry! You weren't the one who had to pay for repairs!". The guy walked closer, reaching his hand into his pocket. Robert stepped backwards, keeping me behind him. "You two are dead!" The stranger shouted furiously, suddenly pulling out a knife.

I gasped in fear, and Robert immediately growled, wanting to do everything he could to protect me "If you even THINK about hurting my friend, I will fucking END YOU!". The insane man stepped closer, and Robert instantly stepped away from me to punch him, but before he could swing, I was shoved to the ground by the two other guys behind us. "(d/n)!" The two strangers then grabbed Robert, holding his arms in place. He pulled as hard as he could, struggling to free himself "LET GO OF ME!" he shouted.

The knife wielder walked past Robert and stepped up to me, grabbing me by the shirt collar and pulling me up to my feet. Tears coated my eyes as I grabbed the man's arm "P-Please, ....we're so sorry about your car. D-Don't hurt me.." I felt so scared and weak...I couldn't do anything to stop what was happening. "Oh, don't worry.... you'll pay for what you did" In the blink of an eye, he plunged his knife into my stomach and pushed me against a brick wall. I screamed in terrible pain as I winced and kicked my legs, having my tears helplessly fall down my face.

"NO! (D/N)!!!" Robert shouted at the top of his lungs, struggling even harder "LEAVE HIM ALONE! STOP!!". The two thugs kept a tight hold to Robert's arms, knowing that they'd be dead if they let go.

I cried out Robert's name, feeling bad when I heard him respond with more shouts of desperation and stress. "P-PLEASE...S-STOP..." I was practically bawling by now, feeling blood drip down my body as the man pulled the knife out and stabbed me again. After that, he pulled the blade out and harshly forced me to the cold ground, leaving me bleeding and crying. Finally, Robert shoved the two jerks off of him, but before he could attack, the man who stabbed me punched Robert to the alleyway floor, kicking him in the stomach afterwards.

Robert groaned in pain as he clutched his stomach, feeling tears fall from his eyes and blood drip from his mouth. "The next time you pass through here, remember this night" The man said with a lack of breath as he pressed a foot to Robert's head, keeping him on the ground.

The three attackers then ran off, leaving us to rot in the cold alleyway.

Robert trembled as he lifted himself up and dragged himself towards me "(d/n)...." he panted quietly as he shook in pain "..(d/n)...o-oh god..." he cried, gingerly lifting me up into his arms. "R-Robert..." I coughed, whimpering in pain when my body jolted "..I-it hurts...". Robert hugged me tightly "Sh-Shh...I-it'll be okay...y-you're going to be just fine...I-I'm-....I-I'll call Mary...w-we can-".

"Robert...". He stopped talking when I mumbled his name "P-Promise me something...please..". Robert sniffled "O-Of course...a-anything..".

I looked up into his brown, tear-filled eyes and shakily raised my hand to stroke the side of my face "If I don't make it....p-promise me you'll be there for Amanda. Sh-She's old enough t-to take care of herself...b-but....this would destroy her...I-I want her to be happy...". Robert sniffled "(d/n), please...d-don't talk like that. You're going to make it....". I buried my face into his chest, holding my stomach to stop the bleeding as much as I possibly could "Robert...please...".

Robert looked at me, sadness in his broken eyes "I-I promise...". With the little strength I had left, I leaned closer and gently pressed a loving kiss to Robert's lips, feeling him kiss me back. Once the sweet kiss was over, I coughed harshly, wincing in agony "p-promise me one more thing..." I could feel my eyelids droop as my body slowly started to fall unconscious. No...I can't pass out yet. Robert needs to hear this.

"If I don't make it....p-please.....please don't let this ruin your life. I love you...I-I don't want you to be m-miserable".

Robert started sobbing again. He held me tightly and shakily stood up, stumbling a little. Without responding to me, he quickly left the alleyway, running over to his car. As fast as he could, he laid me down in the backseat, hastily pulled his phone out, and called Mary. Thankfully, she answered almost immediately "Mary. I need you to come down to the alleyway by the theater. This is an emergency...I-I'm dead serious. (d/n) and I were attacked in the alley...I-I need your help. Please hurry". I stared up at the ceiling of the truck, feeling my vision start to blur "Robert....Amanda.....I love you so much..." I thought to myself as I slowly fell into unconsciousness.

Mary was confused at first, but she quickly replied, telling Robert that she'd be over as soon as possible. She's known Robert for a while, so she's able to know when he's telling the truth or just joking.

When Mary hung up, Robert carelessly threw his phone in the car and very cautiously removed my shirt, seeing the two bloodied wounds in my stomach. He sighed frantically as he ripped up my shirt and tied it around me, knowing he had to stop the bleeding. He told himself in his head that he'd buy me the same shirt once this was all over. He then wrapped his arms around me, gingerly holding me as he sat in the backseat of his car, quietly weeping "(d/n)...p-please stay with me....I-I can't lose you..." he cried softly as he lightly rested his forehead against mine, keeping me close in his arms.

A few minutes later, Mary drove up to Robert's parked truck, running out and up to the its backdoor "Robert! ...O-Oh my god..". He looked at her with tears in his eyes "Drive us to the emergency room....please. I need to keep (d/n) from bleeding out". Mary looked at her friend with a distressed expression. She quickly nodded and hurried to the driver's seat of Robert's car. As she started to drive away, Robert shut the open backdoor and hugged me close, continuing to cry softly. Mary tightened her grip on the steering wheel, hating it when he cried; she drove as fast as she was legally able to, knowing that there was no time at all to waste.

_______________

"C'mon, Robert. We should get you cleaned up; you're bleeding pretty badly" Mary spoke softly, resting her hand on his shoulder. They were standing in the hallway to the emergency room, being left there after the medical staff rushed me away. "A-Alright..." He muttered under his breath, wiping the small amount of blood that dripped from the corner of his mouth.

"I'll take you home. That black eye looks pretty bad" Mary kept her hand rested on Robert's back as they left the building and headed back to the truck. Robert stayed sucked into his thoughts, not saying anything during the car-ride.  

When they got back to Robert's place, Mary sat him down on his bed, immediately grabbing some supplies to treat his injuries, which were simply a bleeding mouth and a bruised eye. As she carefully dabbed Robert's eye with a wet cloth, Mary spoke softly to him to comfort him "Hey, ...I'm sure (d/n) will be okay. The nerd's pretty tough, ...and...I think you saved his life". Robert covered his face "N-No...I could've done so much more. I wasn't able to prevent this...I-it's all my fault...".

Mary sighed softly "Robert, you did everything you could. It's a good thing you called me. I think we got him to the hospital just in the nick of time. He's going to be okay". Robert nodded, just wanting silence. Mary took note of this and kept quiet, finishing up on his eye.

The next day, word got out about what happened to me. Everyone in the cul-de-sac was shocked. For the next two days, Robert kept himself shut in his home, just staying in bed and cuddling with his pet Boston terrier, Betsy, for most of the time. Mary visited each day, wanting to make sure that he was doing okay.

The second day of visiting, Mary had some news "Hey, Robert. You feeling okay?" she asked as she walked up to his bed. Robert huffed "I feel great..." he replied sarcastically, laying in bed with no blanket to cover him, and only wearing a sleeve-less shirt with junky sweatpants. Mary sighed quietly and sat on the bed "I got a call from the hospital, and they gave me some good news".

Robert looked at her with wide, puffy eyes. He quickly sat upwards, listening intently. "(d/n) was taken into surgery a few hours ago. A part of the blade was left in his stomach. Thankfully, he survived the surgery" Mary explained with a quiet tone, staying calm "He's stable right now, but he still can't be visited. The doctor said he needs to rest". Robert took a deep sigh of relief "Thank god...when can we visit him?".

"Not sure. The doctor said we'd get a call when we're able to" Mary replied, her hand gently rested on Robert's knee. Robert rubbed his eyes "Th-Thanks for helping me out, Mary. I couldn't ask for a better friend". Mary smiled lightly "No need to thank me. I'm always more than happy to help you out".

_______________

"Ahg...." I groaned quietly in pain at the soreness in my stomach as I slowly opened my eyes, seeing a white ceiling. I looked around, realizing I was in a hospital. I shifted in the bed, feeling the medical equipment that was hooked up to me "R-Robert..." I muttered weakly, just wanting to see him again.

A few moments later, I could hear the door quietly creak open. I turned my head, hoping to see Robert. It wasn't him, but I still smiled when I saw who it was "C-Craig".

Craig quietly closed the door behind himself, perking up when he heard my voice "(d/n)!" he said excitedly, a wide smile on his face. He quickly quieted himself, knowing that he was a little loud "Dude, I'm so glad you're okay. They said you might not be awake!" he walked over and sat in a chair next to my hospital bed, leaning over to gently hug me. I instantly returned the hug, being overly relieved to see my best friend again. "You feelin' okay?" He asked after pulling away from the careful hug. I nodded "Y-Yeah...I feel fine. How long have I been out?".

"Just about 3 days. You went under surgery yesterday" Craig explained "You had bits of knife left in you after the attack!". My eyes widened "W-Woah..." I gasped "W-Wait, is Robert okay?". Craig gave an unsure expression as he rubbed the back of his neck "Uh...I'm not really sure. He hasn't left his house ever since he took you to the emergency room. All I know is that Joseph's wife has been visiting him". I sighed quietly and nodded, trusting Mary to take good care of him "alright...I'm sure he's fine then. Um...does anyone else know about this...?".

Craig nodded "The whole cul-de-sac knows. We were all so worried for you!". 

"W-What about Amanda?".

"Oh! She's actually visiting today. She found out what happened yesterday" Craig responded in a gentle voice "I called her the day after I found out. ...I...didn't want to tell her right away. I would've...but... I was, ...heh....really scared for you. I panicked". I gave him a reassuring smile "It's alright, Craig. I understand. You did the right thing, dude". Craig chuckled softly "Thanks, bro. I'm glad to see you're okay".

For the next half hour, Craig and I simply chatted, talking about things such as our daughters, and when we should hang out again. It's been a while since I've talked to Craig like this; we don't ever really have serious moments with each other; I was glad to have shared that moment with him.

Suddenly, the door opened once again, revealing my daughter. "DAD!" She exclaimed excitedly, tears in her eyes. "Amanda!" I said back, being overjoyed to see her. She closed the door and ran up to the bed, quickly leaning over and giving me a big hug. I felt tears start to form as I returned the hug "oh panda...I missed you so much". She sniffled "I-I missed you too, dad....a-are you okay?" she pulled away to look at me, her eyes wide and full of hope.

I wiped my tears away and nodded "Yeah. A little sore...but I'm fine. You okay?". Amanda smiled "Y-Yeah, ...but you definitely scared me" she giggled softly "I finally leave home and you go and get yourself stabbed! What am I supposed to do with you?" she joked, trying to lighten the mood. I laughed softly, and Craig smiled "Ahh, I don't know. I can't adult without you!" I joked back, feeling happiness flutter in my chest.

Amanda hugged me again "I'm so glad you're okay, dad...". I kept her close as I gently stroked her hair, enjoying the comforting embrace with my daughter "I am too".

After the emotional greetings, the three of us talked and enjoyed our time together. After a little while, I was able to sit up, and I even felt less sore. I felt so lucky to be alive... I felt even luckier that I had my loved ones with me. Eventually, Craig and Amanda had to leave. We all said goodbye to each other, and after they left, I laid back into the hospital bed and dozed off to sleep, knowing I had to get some more rest.

I slept for about two hours, waking back up in the late afternoon. I was just about to turn on the room's TV with the remote that was next to me, but I was interrupted by the door slowly opening. The person stepped into the room and closed the door behind themselves. My eyes widened when I saw that it was Robert.

He looked really nice. He was showered and had his hair combed, and he wore a nice, red t-shirt with jeans. We stared at each other in silence. I didn't know what to say....why didn't I know what to say??

Tears suddenly clouded my vision, and I could see the same thing happening to Robert. He then rushed over to the bed and cautiously wrapped his arms around me "(d/n)...." he whispered gently. "Robert" I whispered back, holding him close. "I'm so glad you're okay...I-I thought I lost you..." Robert pulled away slightly to look at me, his arms still comfortably around me. He sniffled and pressed a loving kiss to my forehead "Are you alright?". I nodded lightly "Mhm. Now that you're here, I'm perfect" I gently held his face in my hands "are you okay?".

Robert sniffled as I wiped the tears from his eyes with my thumbs "Yeah. Now that I know you're going to be okay, I couldn't be happier" he replied with a little smile "I love you so much, (d/n). I promise I wont let anything like this happen to you ever again". I returned the smile and gave him a gentle kiss to the lips "I love you too, Robert...and thank you. I'm alive because of you".

Robert let tears stream down his face as we hugged again, neither of us ever wanting to let go of each other. "I'm so sorry this happened...it's all my fault...". Pain stabbed through my heart once Robert said this "Robert, this is not your fault. You did everything you could to help, and calling Mary saved me!". He pulled away and wiped his eyes "N-No...it is my fault. I was the one who told you to throw that rock. If I wasn't so fucking stupid, this could've been prevented".

I frowned "Listen to me, Robert. That was months ago! And how could you have known that the guy would try to kill us? I know you love me, and I know that you would never hurt me, or want me to be hurt. Please don't blame yourself...don't feel guilty. Just be happy that we're both okay" I told him sternly, getting a small sense of Deja vu. This wasn't the only time I had to strongly reassure him by telling him what he needed to hear.

Robert looked away and sighed, stressfully rubbing his forehead "Y-You're right..." he smiled a little "Heh, ...you're always right" he said gently as he looked up at me. I leaned over and pulled him close "I'm just telling you the truth" I spoke softly "I love you, Robert". Robert hugged me again and pulled himself up onto the hospital bed, snuggling close to me "I love you too, (d/n)".

We ended up just cuddling together on the medical bed, quietly talking to one another and watching TV later on. Since I was feeling a lot better, the hospital allowed Robert to stay for the night.

_______________

The next day, I was finally able to leave the hospital.

When I got home, I spent time with Amanda and Robert, simply taking it easy by watching TV, working on word jumbles, and even teaching Amanda how to carve wood. Hours after getting home, we heard a knock on the front door. It was Joseph! And he was inviting us to another cul-de-sac get-together at his place to celebrate me not-dying.

In the morning, Robert, Amanda, and I all went to Joseph's place, seeing that all the dads and their kids were there. Everyone was so nice; they all asked how I was doing, and I would always reassure them that I was doing okay. After a day of socializing, sharing dad jokes, eating grilled food, and having fun with my friends, we all left to go back to our own homes.

After such a crazy day, I was pretty tired. Late into the night, Robert and I were cuddling in my bed, when all of a sudden, I felt someone lightly shaking me to wake me up. I opened my eyes tiredly and looked to see Robert was the one trying to wake me up "Mhn...Robert? ...What time is it?" I muttered as I rubbed my eyes with a yawn. "A little after 11. I thought we could head to the park together...if you're up for it" He replied in a gentle voice, carefully stroking the hair out of my eyes. I smiled and sat up "I'd love to".

We snuck out of the house and walked to the park; I noticed that Robert looked a lot more cautious than usual. I didn't mention it, since nothing I could say would deter him from being overprotective. To be honest, I didn't mind it. As long as he didn't hurt himself with it, it wouldn't be a problem.

When arriving at the park, we crept our way through, the both of us staying on the look out for anyone who could possibly spot us. I grinned when I saw a bench that overlooked a big part of the park. I excitedly took a hold of Robert's hand and pulled him over to the bench. He chuckled and gladly sat down with me, immediately putting his arm over my shoulder once we sat down.

I leaned against Robert, looking up into the stars that were above us. I glanced over to Robert, seeing the gentle sparkle in his eyes. I grinned widely, getting a dad-stardly idea. "I galax-see you're enjoying this.." I muttered with a quiet and happy sigh.

Robert laughed softly "Oh boy, there's no stopping you once you star-t" he joked back, a big smile on his face.

We spent the night exchanging cheesy, space-related dad jokes and gazing at the stars, laughing and chatting together. When we eventually got back home, we found out that the 3 guys who attacked us had been apprehended and arrested. After that, Robert and I were easily able to rest peacefully when we got back to bed.

#dream daddy #fan fiction #my art #Robert small #dadsona

[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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#star citizen #squadron 42

[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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