Deep Blue Yonder, 1/2
Oct. 8th, 2011 03:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveTitle: Deep Blue Yonder
Author: james (zortified)
Pairing: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson (secondary: Jared/Jensen)
Fandom: Kane RPS/Leverage RPS/Supernatural RPS
Genre: Slash
Warning: none
Notes: thanks to katbcoll for the beta! Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
j2_kane_bigbang. Many thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deannawesson for the art!
Word Count: ~13,700
Rating: R
Summary: Christian is a fighter pilot serving in deep space in the fight against the invading Tlantlen. Steve is his ship tech and friend. Everyone else thinks there's more to it.
The targeting field of the 8-X62 spun in the center of Christian's screen, twirling so rapidly on its Y-axis that any rookie peering over his shoulder -- or a comm observer -- would get motion sickness trying to follow it. With a wide grin Christian tracked the crosshairs of the target, thumb resting lightly on the trigger, waiting for the moment when instinct pressed it down.
He didn't think about it, simply sat and waited and left himself completely open, every sense trained on the screen and the small blue light of the enemy ship. He could feel it coming, one second, two, then his thumb was pressing and the laser cannons were firing even before he was even completely aware of having made the decision.
He heard loud whoops behind him from other pilots around the flight room but ignored them for another moment, waiting. A moment later it flashed on his screen: target destroyed. The cannons on his fighter went into cycle, prepping for another round but Christian already knew the field was clear.
A glance upwards at the wide-field screens verified this, no blue indicators of enemy ships anywhere at all. As he watched, the commander's official all-clear flashed across every screen in the flight room and Christian finally joined in on the celebration. Tugging his helmet off, he leapt up and tossed it onto its hook on the back of his chair, knowing the automated systems would bring the fighter ships back to base and tuck them safely into their berths until needed again.
All around him fighter pilots were slapping each other on the back and raising their fists in triumph. It had been a good fight, Christian knew, and he exchanged a one-armed hug with Randel and slapped palms with a pilot whose face he didn't see through the tangle of cheering pilots. They'd got through the fight without any loss of fighters, and a full complement of Tlantlen ships had been destroyed -- not a single one had even had the chance to turn tail and run.
There was a movement behind him and Christian didn't have to look back to know who it was; a moment later arms slipped around his waist and half-picked him up. Laughing, Christian wriggled an elbow free and nudged his assailant in the ribs. "Freak, put me down! What if your better half sees you molesting strangers?"
From behind -- and annoyingly, above him -- Jared laughed at him. "He'd tell me to bring you home for supper."
With another laugh, Christian got himself free and turned to face the other pilot. They'd been friends since Jared and his co-pilot Jensen had been assigned to the Thunderbird fresh out of the Academy. Christian already had a good three years of combat experience under his belt when the two wet-behind-the-ears Academy graduates had come aboard; he and the other veterans had delighted in hazing the youngsters and discovering they gave back as good as they got.
Jared had, at least, while Jensen had always been slow to annoy and quick with an indulgent smile, he'd never said or done much to retaliate. That had all been left to Jared -- or so they'd thought, until Christian had gotten to know them better and realised Jensen had been the one planning the counter-pranks the entire time. The pair had promptly been assigned hazing duty for all future rookies coming aboard the battlecruiser.
Christian's wing, Delta Squadron, had officially taken the two pilots into their fold following the pair's third confirmed kill. They flew a tandem-ship with opposing turrets, with Jensen flying and Jared firing and it hadn't taken them long at all to rank up into the top ten on the Flight Leaders' board.
Christian was still ranked number three, a position he'd held for years and wasn't about to relinquish. The Flight Commander held the second spot, and the first spot was reserved by tradition for the list of pilots lost in combat. Christian had no intention of climbing higher than his current rank -- nor did he intend to fall in rank, either. He had a good number of years on most of the other pilots, and despite all the teasing and joking from Jared about knocking him off one way or another, Christian had no real worries about losing his place.
It didn't stop him from scowling at Jared as the other man started counting on his fingers the number of ships he and Jensen had destroyed in today's battle. "You still move your lips when you read, don't you?" Christian said as Jared stopped on '6.'
Jared grinned, widely. "I make Jensen read my bedtime stories to me. How many'd you get?" he asked, peering over Christian's shoulder towards the flight screens of Christian's fighter.
"You looked it up before you came over here to gloat," Christian told him, because they'd been flying together for far too long by now. Hell, Christian could probably re-count the entire conversation Jared and Jensen would have had in their cockpit without any prompting.
"I never!" Jared gave him a look of pure innocence.
"Your flight instructors never fell for that look; I ain't falling for it either," Christian told him. "And I got eight, which is more than the pair of you -- six divided by two is only three, isn't it?" he asked, giving Jared back an innocent look of his own.
"Jesus, you think you two'd come up with new post-battle banter," came a weary voice. Christian watched with amusement as Jared reached over without looking and loped his arm around Jensen's shoulders, tugging him close like they hadn't just seen each other five minutes ago.
"Ordered some, but it hasn't arrived on the supply shuttle yet," Christian told him. Then he rolled his eyes at the way Jared's grip tightened on Jensen. "You know he ain't gonna get lost, right? Nobody's gonna steal him away from you if you let him loose to breathe."
Jared scowled and pulled Jensen closer -- by the neck, Christian noted, and Jensen just sighed, looking like he'd long grown used to being man-handled by his spouse. "You never know," Jared said, eyeing the room suspiciously. "Someone might not know he's taken."
There was a laugh as Beth stepped up beside them. "You're kidding, right? There's only twelve hundred people on board this battlecruiser and every single one of them knows who the old married couple is."
With a grin, Christian added, "It's part of the orientation for new transfers. Y'all's faces are in the handbook labeled 'old boring people who'd rather go home and be domestic than stay in the rec room losing at cards all night'."
"That's because I'm not allowed to play poker anymore," Jared pouted.
"After you lost six months' worth of our leave," Jensen retorted, still apparently content to stay locked in Jared's grip.
Jared opened his mouth, moved it up and down a bit, then finally he settled on the puppy-eyes look that Christian -- and everyone else -- had grown far too accustomed to seeing.
Jensen just sighed. "No."
"I didn't actually ask you anything," Jared pointed out.
"The answer is still 'no.' Are you going to let me go so I can hit the showers, ever?"
Jared's face lit up in glee and he let go of Jensen, then grabbed him by the arm and tugged him away from Christian and Beth. "Bye!"
"Oh, Lord," Christian said. "Save me from ever losing my mind and getting married."
"I don't think it's being married that makes them that way," Beth said, thoughtfully. "They're just both naturally dorky." She smiled, wrinkling her nose and making Christian laugh. She'd half-unzipped the top of her flight suit, and Christian debated letting her see him looking. He tried to do the math -- three months ago she'd been officially Seeing No One in retaliation for her girlfriend getting promoted and transferred to another battlecruiser. Beth hadn't been heartbroken, exactly, but she'd been up for the same promotion and despite Jenny's numbers being undeniably better than hers, Beth hadn't declared herself fit for company for quite some time afterwards. But then last month she'd shared quarters with Matt, and after moving back into her own rooms she'd been dating three or four different folks, so maybe the coast was clear to indulge in some friendly ogling.
Suddenly her hand was covering his face, and Christian blinked in surprise. "Too soon?" he asked.
"I don't mind," Beth said, though her voice was surprisingly serious. "But you might take a look first at who just walked in."
Christian looked, even though he knew what she'd seen. The techs were filing in as the pilots made their way out. They'd be testing the computers and flight systems to make sure everything was ready to go for the next battle-alarm. They'd also be checking over flight logs and tracking down the slightest inconsistency in the programming to make sure the controls responded exactly the way the fighter pilot's reflexes expected them to. Most of them were computer geeks by birth, a few were engineers and mechanics who'd transferred in when needed.
Christian had no real idea how Steve had gotten into flight tech. He'd asked once but instead of answering Steve had pulled out a synth-guitar and started to play; Christian had never got around to asking again. Steve was currently headed to Christian's chair, not even glancing their way. Christian felt his throat tighten, and he glared at Beth. "I keep telling everyone--"
Beth put her hand over his mouth, lightly but no less decisively stopping him. She looked at him, something odd and quiet in her eyes, then she simply turned and walked out, exchanging pleasantries with Tim, her own tech.
Christian caught Tim looking at him and he scowled, because he knew what everyone said when they gossiped about him and Steve. Only problem was there was no him and Steve. Everyone on the cruiser seemed to think otherwise, however, and no amount of arguing or pointing out the facts seemed to make any difference.
There had never been a 'him and Steve' in the sense everybody thought. They'd come on board the Thunderbird together, been billeted in adjoining barracks like all the other new pilots and techs before graduating into individual quarters. Sure, they'd hit it off back at the Academy and they'd spent a lot of their free time in each other's company. They were friends who shared a lot of interests, and -- normally -- consenting adults could sleep together as often as they liked without anybody needing to turn it into something it wasn't.
When Christian had taken a rotation on the Tallahassee, he'd considered himself unattached and available, and for a year he'd enjoyed the company of anyone who asked nicely. Then when he'd returned to home-base he'd found Steve just the same as ever, friends and the best fighter-tech a guy could ask for, and everyone else on the cruiser acting like he'd cheated on a contracted lifemate. He could have just said that theirs was an open relationship, but he didn't see why he had to lie about being in a relationship at all just to get folks off his back.
No amount of arguing would convince anyone otherwise, so Christian was content to let it drop, as always, and simply headed over to watch Steve work. Steve gave him a smile, easy and laid back, and Christian felt his shoulders loosen. If he'd done something wrong, surely it would be Steve mad at him. But Steve had never said a word about it, just resumed their friendship as if Christian had never left. They'd even slept together again, although not for a good while. Along the line they'd stopped and now, thinking back, Christian realised he didn't know just how long ago it had been.
He didn't even know if Steve had picked up somebody else; the only gossip Christian ever heard about Steve was shit where Christian had been along for the ride -- if not the one instigating it. If there was other gossip, Christian didn't hear it, probably because he just didn't often hang out with other crew. A guy could only take so much of starry-eyed 'tell us what it's really like to be a fighter pilot' before he had to grab himself a bottle of engineering-room rice wine and hide in his room for a week.
When he'd been fresh out of the Pilot's Academy he'd used it to get all the company he'd desired and more, but even he had to admit he was getting old and the appeal of wide-eyed young girls and boys willing to tumble the sheets dimmed in the face of spending a few hours with someone who actually knew him and cared.
He sat down in the observer's chair just behind where Steve was working. Steve glanced back at him and gave him a brief smile before turning his attention back to the screens. Christian knew he wasn't interrupting the tech's work; Steve was good at what he did, fingers running over the keyboard as easily as they ran over the lines on his guitar. Sometimes Christian wondered if Steve saw the similarity, if he thought about his tech work as anything like the music he played.
He knew that had it not been for the Tlantlen, Steve would probably be a musician back home. Sometimes they talked about their plans for after the war was over. Right now they had the name of the bar and the size of the stage, but hadn't settled on just which planet or station to put it on. Christian smiled and rested his boot on the edge of the panel, far enough away from Steve's work to not be in the way.
"Heard Janey and Keven are bucking for a return," he said, recalling the talk he'd heard just before the battle-alarm had brought them all running down to the flight room.
Steve nodded. "They're ready to start a family. Rumor has it they'll get their return processed pretty quickly. Commander Chen signed off on it as soon as they went to her and asked. Just have to get the admin to approve it. Everyone knows starting a family's the quickest way to get transferred back home," he added with a shrug. The government was still trying to populate half a dozen colonies they'd opened before the Tlantlen showed up, and between those and crewing a dozen battlecruisers throughout the boundaries between human-space and Tlantlen space, the human population was stretched pretty thin.
"Anyone tell them they could just adopt Jared and Jensen?" Christian asked, and he watched in delighted satisfaction as Steve laughed.
"Then they'd get shuttled out for a psych evaluation," Steve pointed out and Christian had to nod in agreement. They continued to chat while Steve worked, though it didn't take long to catch each other up on what little news the other had missed. One thing about being on a small ship was that anything that happened was spread like wildfire and within half an hour everyone knew every detail. Gossip didn't stay new and interesting for long and it was one reason the Commander turned a blind eye to such antics like full-scale prank wars.
As Christian had learned well, however, it also meant the entire ship's complement knew every detail about whatever private life he might or might not have had, and very few of them were shy about sharing their opinions. He wasn't nearly as bothered by everyone knowing stuff as he was by the fact he couldn't convince them that they had it wrong.
But his flight instructor back at the Academy had been pretty blunt when she'd explained what to expect from life aboard a battleship. She'd said that folks would create drama where there wasn't any, because it kept them entertained -- and boredom was worse than fighting the Tlantlen, if only because it lasted for weeks and a battle would be over in minutes. Once he'd realised there was no real harm in it, Christian had decided he didn't mind playing the role of the Romeo who didn't even know he wanted Juliet. It gave everyone something to talk about and helped pass the time when you didn't know how many more years it would be before you got to go back home.
Easy as it was for couples like Janey and Kavan to get transferred back home, they'd been together for three years, proving their relationship and intention to stay together. Once they got back they'd be obligated to move to whatever colony they were sent to, living on an assigned homestead and would even be expected to have a minimum of four children. They could increase the size of their allotted homestead by having more children, but for the next twenty years their lifestyles would be dictated by the needs of their new home. Anybody who wanted to get out of war service by starting a family wasn't necessarily getting an easy life in exchange, but Christian knew that for Janey and Kavan, it was a lifestyle that would suit them a hell of a lot better than sitting in a tin can in space fighting alien invaders.
For himself, Christian didn't so much mind the tin can. He had a talent for flying and he had good friends on board. And while he didn't want to see the invasion continue, he hadn't left all that much behind that he was desperate to get back to. His only family was long gone, and he'd entered the Academy as early as allowed. It would be nice to get back, start the bar he and Steve kept talking about, but he didn't feel the rush to get his feet back on solid ground. For what it was worth, he was content to be right where he was -- gossip about his love life non-withstanding.
As Steve bent his head down over the keyboard, focusing on the displays of code stringing across his reader, Christian leaned back in the observer's chair, rotating slightly back and forth and glancing over at the other techs. He caught Tim watching him and gave him a half-smile, getting a half-smirk in return. It made him wonder if Tim had taken to hanging out with Jared and Jensen -- the tech had a wicked sense of humor, not quite as immature as Jared's which was a blessing in disguise, to say the least. But if the three of them were teaming up, Christian knew the rest of them were going to be in a galaxy of trouble.
He'd have to keep an eye on him. Better yet, he'd have to stay out of the way and let the Flight Sergeant keep an eye on them. Morgan tolerated a lot, following Commander Chen's lead, but there came a point where he slammed on the brakes and threatened to start putting people in lockup.
He'd actually put Jared in the ship's lone cell once, keeping him there for nearly an hour before letting him out again. Of course, Morgan had told him it would be for a week when he'd shut Jared up, and Jensen had been prepared to camp out in Morgan's office the entire time. As any of the vets on board could have told them, Morgan hadn't really had any intention of keeping him locked up that long, but it had served the purpose of demonstrating that there was a line and if it got crossed, there would be consequences.
Jared's one hour was the longest sentence anybody had ever served on the Thunderbird and Jared had been bragging about that fact for the last two years, daring each new set of rookies to be the one to top his time. Luckily, most of them took one look at Morgan's face when he warned them not to and decided it wasn't worth it. Christian didn't think Tim had it in him to run afoul of Morgan, but even if they stayed within bounds, chances were the three of them teaming up would make things a hell of a lot more chaotic for awhile.
Maybe it'd be a good time to apply for another ship-to-ship transfer. Christian smirked to himself at the idea of a few months in a new place and new faces, but then caught Steve's eye as the tech glanced over at him. He felt his stomach flip over a little even as he gave Steve an easy smile. Steve just laughed at nothing Christian could figure; then Steve shook his head, turning his attention back to his reader. Christian felt it on the tip of his tongue to assure him he wasn't going anywhere, which was absurd enough, as the thought had only been a passing fancy. He'd have to be insane to want to give the gossip-mongers even more to scold him for, anyhow.
"You almost done there?" he asked, judging by the way Steve had been tapping impatiently at the screens that he was to the point of cleaning up log files.
"Yeah," Steve said, nodding.
"Wanna grab a bite to eat?"
Steve slipped his stylus in-between his teeth, typing quickly on the keyboard for a moment. Then he took it out, sliding it back into his shirt pocket. "I was in the middle of something when the alarm went," he began. Christian felt -- something, back at the base of his throat, at Steve's words and he had no idea what that was about. But then Steve titled his head towards him and said, "I was working on that new song, the one I played bits of for you last week? Might have got the words worked out. Wanna come by and we can play it through? See if it works?"
Christian found himself grinning, shoving aside the relief he suddenly felt as nonsense. "That sounds awesome, man. We can grab some sandwiches from the mess and head back to your place."
Steve nodded. "Lemme lock all this back up and I'm good to go." It only took a few minutes, sliding the keyboard and screens back into position and keying in the final check-off. Christian bounced to his feet and waited patiently while Steve stowed his flight boards into position, knowing that the next time he sat down to fly, everything would be in perfect working order.
He gave Steve a clap on the shoulder and said, "Thanks, man. You take good care of her."
"Me and the ship techs down in the bay, you mean," Steve said, and Christian nodded. The robotic mechanics took care of the ship itself, the nuts and bolts of the remote Christian flew.
"And I'll buy all of them a beer next time we're in port," he promised. "I'll even buy them two."
Steve just laughed, and slipped an arm across Christian's shoulders as they walked out of the flight room. "They'll appreciate it, I'm sure. Especially when you offer to drink it for them."
A few days later Christian was sitting in the mess hall eating lunch. He hadn't tried to identify the meal he'd been given -- the cooks did what they could with the supplies they received and the few crops they had room to grow, but the Thunderbird was located on the very edge of human-space, weeks away from the nearest permanent station and another month away from the closest system of colonized planets. They were a good half a year's travel from the Solar System where Christian had grown up, and even if he didn't miss the place that much, there were times he did.
Mealtimes were highest on that list of times. He glanced down at the brown fluffy mash and tasted it again, trying to figure out if they'd had dried oranges or dried beet flakes to work with. Another taste didn't tell him anything other than the cooks had used a liberal hand with the salt and green pepper like always, trying to liven up the flavor of the rice and protein powder that served as the basis of every single meal.
He took a drink of his coffee -- that at least was real enough, even if it was made from instant. He tried not to think about his uncle, whom he remembered dimly from when he'd been a very young boy. His uncle had died from complications from the same epidemic that had killed his parents, leaving Christian as a pre-teen to be shuffled off into the military academies. He had fond memories of sitting at the kitchen table with a plate in front of him piled high with food from the garden they'd kept out back. Brightly colored fruits and vegetables and his uncle clanking pots and pans while he whistled tunes Christian had never learned the names of.
Across the table from him Aldis sat down, his tray hitting the table with a sudden clatter. "What're you daydreaming about that's got you looking all happy and wistful, huh?" Aldis demanded with a doubtful glance down at his tray. "Because if you say 'real food' I'm gonna have to strangle you with your own belt."
"Real coffee, fresh ground, so you can smell it through the whole apartment," Christian said, because torturing Aldis was one of his favorite past-times. Aldis gave a soft groan, hanging his head as Christian continued. "You remember the smell of sausages frying up in the skillet? And onions, man, the way you'd get one whiff and--"
Aldis was holding out his fork, inches away from Christian's throat. "I will use this, so help me, and not a single person here will blame me for it."
"You asked what I was thinking about," Christian said, as innocently as he could. "Is it my fault I was thinking about a real home-cooked dinner with fresh bread and butter?" He laughed and jerked back out of Aldis' reach, as the other pilot stabbed his fork forward.
"Tell me why I sit with you," Aldis demanded.
"I don't know, man." Christian shrugged. "Why did you sit with me if you're gonna be all grumpy-ass about it?"
"I'll tell you why I sat with you. How long have I been here?"
Christian blinked. "Five minutes?"
"No, on the Thunderbird. I got here a year and a half ago."
"So?" Christian was used to not always knowing what the hell Aldis was talking about, but he'd usually chalked that up to Aldis having grown up on a space station half a system away from the Solar System. He was full of slang and habits that didn't make any sense to anyone who hadn't also grown up a space-walker. But even for Aldis, this was perplexing.
"So," Aldis was continuing, poking a little at his food and tentatively taking a bit. His face lit up and he suddenly began eating. "Man, why didn't you tell me they did something right for a change?"
"Are you serious?" Christian looked at the food on his plate. It looked identical to what Aldis had. He reached over with his own fork and stole a bite off Aldis' plate on the off-chance the kitchen had somehow produced identical-looking but different-tasting meals. One bite proved that they hadn't. He made a face. "You really like that?"
"It doesn't taste like anything but peppers," Aldis said, still eating. "And I am grateful. Last week they had this dish that tasted like rubber and walnuts."
"How would you know what rubber tastes like?"
Aldis ignored him for a few more bites, then he asked, "I've been here long enough, right?"
"Long enough for what?" Christian had no idea if this was a serious conversation or not, unless-- oh. "You worried about your Flight Board rank?" he asked, trying to sound sympathetic and understanding. Every new pilot went through the same thing, once they'd got on board and settled into a squadron. "Come on, 32 isn't bad. Anything in the top fifty is gonna guarantee you a promotion."
But Aldis rolled his eyes. "I am not worried about my rank. I have every intention of beating Collins' ass next week in drills and then after the next round of patrols when they see how precision my take-offs and landings are, I will be in the top 20, thank you very much. I'm not talking about my Flight Board rank. I'm talking about how I've been here long enough to know what the fuck I'm talking about."
"That makes one of us, Aldis, because I don't have a fucking clue."
"Which is why I sat down, enduring your cruel abuse, to explain--" Aldis stopped suddenly and Christian couldn't blame him. They both watched as Zoe walked by, with identical appreciative smiles. Aldis shook his head. "Damn, that is one fine woman." He'd said it to Christian, but loudly enough for Zoe to overhear.
Christian wasn't all that surprised when she looked back at Aldis. She'd been toying with him for weeks, teasing and saying no but Christian and pretty much everyone else -- except Aldis -- had seen how she was just reeling him in slowly. But now she gave Aldis a look and said, "Then maybe you better get it while it's hot."
For a second Aldis sat, frozen -- clearly unable to believe his luck. Then he was on his feet and shoving his tray towards Christian. He paused and said quickly, "I had this speech all planned how you're an idiot and you're wasting good time, man, but I got to go. Trust me; it was brilliant and all that. Bye!" And he was off, high-tailing it after Zoe who was smiling at him and letting him take her by the arm.
All over the mess hall heads were bent together and Christian knew he could count on one hand how many minutes it would take for word to spread across the ship. He could have got out his own hand-comm and made a few first-calls himself, and Jared for one would probably complain at him later if he didn't send the news to him right away.
Instead he sat there and ran Aldis' last words back over in his head. He hadn't possibly meant to lecture him about Steve? Of all the things Christian had been expecting when Aldis had sat down, it hadn't been that. Not that it was anything new or surprising to get lectured, but Aldis was one of the most blind people on the entire ship when it came to romance. If he'd been any better at catching clues he could have hooked up with Zoe a hell of a lot sooner. She'd made all the right moves when Aldis had first noticed her, but Aldis simply hadn't realised she was giving out the signals for 'come and get it.' So she'd changed her game, toying with him and amusing herself and the rest of the ship with how long it would take.
Obviously she'd gotten tired of waiting, and had given Aldis a 'yes' he'd been able to figure out. Practically an engraved invitation, Christian thought, which made him think again about what Aldis had said and the fact that he'd noticed what Christian knew wasn't even there to be seen. Hell, if Steve were pining for him, he would have come out and said so, any time in the last several years that he'd had the chance. Christian shook his head. It was all part of the shipboard's fantasy and Aldis had just gotten sucked in.
Maybe he'd been coached, told what was going on and prodded to talk to Christian. Right now Jared and Jensen could be out in the hallway, waiting. Or maybe this explained Tim's smirks whenever he saw Christian. It made a lot more sense that Aldis had been set up, than that he'd seen something that wasn't even there--
Christian relaxed, suddenly. A guy as bad as Aldis at reading signals sent his own way would definitely be getting wrong what he saw between others. Between the gossip and the fact that, yeah, he and Steve were close and they'd slept together in the past, spent a lot of time together -- practically all their time nowadays, but that was because they enjoyed each other's company. So it wasn't surprising at all that Aldis would believe what he was told. Christian toyed with his food and decided he really wasn't interested in finishing it. He'd have left it for Aldis, but he doubted the other man would surface again until tomorrow.
He carried both of their trays back to the recycler and left them, knowing the proteins and carbs would get broken back down and used for fertilizer in the greenhouses. The urge suddenly struck him to head down to the Botany labs and beg some of it off them, along with a couple tiny pots and whatever seeds they could spare. It wouldn't be much, but maybe he could grow something, even just enough for a single meal. It'd be worth it for that one taste of something freshly grown and he could even save up his mail allotment and order some seeds. Build a planter out of scraps, like Janey had done all throughout her and Kavan's quarters.
It still wouldn't amount to much; Janey had never grown food, preferring flowers and herbs to make their rooms smell more like home. There were others on board who did grow food; Christian hadn't paid much attention but he knew some did, taking precious footage from their personal quarters and filling them with container gardens. Christian figured he could grow something small and plentiful, like tomatoes or radishes and maybe even get a handful of meals every few cycles. He'd been intending to use his next mail allotment to get a small keyboard, or even a synth-guitar for himself. He didn't really mind just singing along with Steve and letting the other man play, and besides, Christian was beginning to think it might be a good idea if he started spending a little less time with Steve. Having a container garden to mess with would give him something to do and it would also give him other people to hang out with. Zoe had stuff growing in her quarters, he could hunt her and the others up, get some advice on what to plant and where to order the best seed.
He walked away from the mess hall, no longer really hearing the whispers about Zoe and Aldis. It was a good, solid idea and Christian knew it was probably long past time he should have done something to stop everyone from talking nonsense. Steve and he would still be friends, naturally, but a little less time in each other's pockets was probably exactly what they needed.
Three weeks later Christian was settled into his pilot's seat, screens down and all systems go. He was flying look-out for an arriving supply shuttle, the same one that would turn around in another week and take Janey and Kavan to their new home. Janey was bouncing off the walls in excitement while Kavan looked a cross between delighted and terrified. Everyone on board was looking forward to the arrival of new supplies and personal mail. The supply shuttles arrived twice a year, one bringing in personnel of transfers and new Academy graduates.
The shuttle coming in today was crammed full of food, repair parts, and medical supplies as well as personal mail. Everything they couldn't afford to bring in when the shuttle was full of people was brought in now, and without it the Thunderbird would have to head towards established human space to re-supply, leaving the entire sector unguarded for the eight weeks it would take the battlecruiser to make the journey.
Even so, Christian was the only one running look-out on this edge of the approach path. Marcy and Jose were flying decoy look-outs in other sectors, keeping the number of patrol ships low so as not to alert the Tlantlen that something important was coming. When the annual personnel shuttles arrived, they had their own escorts of manned fighters, enough to protect them for the entire trip. They couldn't afford the fuel to escort the smaller supply shuttle -- but just about everyone stationed to a battlecruiser on the edge of human space agreed the risk was worth it to not go an entire year between supply runs.
Of course, Christian didn't know how the shuttle pilots felt about it, but they were well paid and served shorter terms of service, so he didn't figure many of them complained where anyone could overhear them. He knew David, the shuttle pilot heading towards them now, loved his job and considered it well worth his while. Christian was looking forward to seeing the man again, and not just because he'd promised to bring a crate of whiskey in payment for the previous year when he'd lost everything to Christian in a poker game.
The Tlantlen hadn't been seen in this sector for a while, now, and bets were split between it meaning they'd turned their attention to some other area or were holding back and planning something big. Christian had no idea which way it would go, but the tight feeling in the pit of his stomach kept him alert as he flew his fighter through a series of random-seeming patterns. If any Tlantlen ships spotted him, he didn't want them to plot the course of the incoming shuttle from his own flight trajectories. The battlecruiser’s command deck was in contact with the shuttle and tracking it in, so all Christian had to do was keep an eye out and run interference if he spotted anything.
He heard someone walk into the pilot's room behind him but didn't bother to glance back. The screens were showing him the space around his fighter, almost as if he were sitting in a cockpit onboard her. He flicked through every angle quickly as he could, looking for tell-tale signs of movement. Whoever had come in didn't say a word, clearly whoever it was knew what Christian was doing and knew better than to distract him. He cycled through the screens again and was about to ask himself if he could risk a look over his shoulder when he saw the shimmer of engines.
He'd aimed his fighter towards them before he'd even thought about it. He sat forward, the seat moving with him and he kept all the screens active, just in case a few ships were coming in from one direction while more came in from another. He could hear the ping of his comm automatically notifying the battlecruiser’s command that Tlantlen fighters had been spotted, and saw, suddenly, that their course would take them right through the shuttle's incoming flight path in another half an hour.
Christian tightened his grip on the controls and flew directly towards them. He'd know soon enough if they knew about the shuttle or if they were simply lucky: if they all came at him or if a few stayed to engage while the rest took off for the shuttle's position. Seconds ticked and he drew closer, the Tlantlen ships gaining size on his screens and his mouth went dry.
There were ten fighters, a full squadron. Normally the number sent in to engage the battlecruiser herself, far more than were needed to fly down and destroy a simple supply ship. They were all angling towards his fighter as well. Bad luck, then, that their approach was bringing them towards it -- and worse luck for Christian, because even as he confirmed the number of fighters he was pulling down his full-face shield and keying in the linkup.
Flying a remote-fighter worked in deep space most of the time. Infinitesimal delays in response didn't matter with the maneuvering of fighters in the dead of space when there were equal numbers of fighters from both sides. Missing a ship usually meant someone else would get it, and losing an unmanned fighter meant building another out of spare parts and harassing the unlucky pilot until they were able to fly again.
Ten to one odds meant that Christian had to close that delay until it was nothing. Linking his control panels to the fighter and tying in his helmet readouts would bring him in sync with his fighter until it was like he was almost there, practically sitting in the fighter itself. The helmet closed off all sights of the pilot's room, replaced with the screens he'd have see sitting in the cockpit. All visual information from the pilot's room itself were cut off, his visor and radio switching in to bring him only what was coming to the fighter. As he heard the soft ping letting him know his controls were tight-linked to the fighter, he spun his ship towards the incoming squadron and tried not to think about just how fast he was going to have to be.
It was how pilots died in combat. Linked in to their ships, the pilot's helmets and controls reacted instantly when the fighter reacted -- and shorted out the same moment the fighters were destroyed. Feedback from the destruction coursed through the panels and pilot's helmet, usually killing them in seconds.
He didn't think about the stories of the poor bastards who didn't die right away, skulls and bodies burned from the inside out. Instead Christian flew his fighter, glancing down at the small screen at his right hand where the small red dot of the shuttle could be seen. Too far away from the battlecruiser, even though the rest of the squadron would already be scrambling. Christian couldn't hear them enter the room, hearing only the sound of his fighter's engines cycling and the laser cannons humming, ready to fire.
It would take them only minutes to get into their chairs, but would take much longer for their fighters to reach the area of space Christian was flying through. He saw the first of the Tlantlen fighters coming into view, needle-tip silver nose of the alien space-craft tilting towards him. Christian fired, then fired again before he'd even had a chance to know if he'd hit. Then he was turning, spinning his fighter around and aiming again, firing and letting the shipboard targeting system fine-tune the shot but he was still the one to squeeze the trigger, letting instinct and years of flying be what made his hands move.
He was already headed for the third enemy fighter when the squadron of Tlantlen split apart, four ships to one side and five to another; confirmation of the explosion that destroyed the lead ship was delayed, the burst of light shielded by his helmet to protect his eyesight. He heard a silent count begin in his head and brushed it aside. He'd be surrounded in seconds and there was no point in keeping track of how many were left. He fired again and spun his fighter again, dropping out of the sphere the Tlantlen ships were trying to create. He flipped his fighter over and fired, heard the ship's computer register another kill.
There were voices in the distance, pilots talking over their radios but muted from Christian's helmet so as not to distract him. When they got close their comms would link to his to coordinate any fighting left to be done, but for now he was out here alone. He slammed on his thrusters and narrowly escape the slice of Tlantlen lasers, and all thoughts of the other pilots vanished from his mind. There was a Tlantlen ship in front of him and he fired reflexively, fired again and jerked the control stick down, felt the vibrations coursing through his fighter as lasers burst behind him. He turned, again, and had a moment to confirm that all the Tlantlen fighters were here to engage him. They hadn't noticed the shuttle; another five minutes and the supply shuttle would have a safe approach, well-protected by the rest of the Thunderbird's fighters. All he had to do was keep them occupied for that much longer, keep any of them from looking around to see anything other than himself.
He aimed his ship straight at the left wing of the next Tlantlen fighter, spinning away at the last second, firing even though he knew he'd have missed. If he'd stayed to aim longer he'd have been blown to smithereens. Christian took a long run into space beyond the hindmost Tlantlen fighter, drawing them in a long circle to follow. They'd lost two fighters to him already; chances were they weren't going to just let him go. The Tlantlen had shown themselves to be stubbornly loyal, avenging destroyed fighters and refusing to abandon wounded ships. Captured Tlantlen killed themselves as soon as they could, spouting badly-translated threats about wiping the galaxy clean of human vermin. They didn't understand much about the Tlantlen, but they understood fighting back against something that wanted to wipe them out and it hadn't taken long after the first attack for the first human battlecruiser to hit the boundary between human and Tlantlen space. That had been nearly twenty years ago and the Tlantlen hadn't changed a bit, not responding to overtures of negotiation or even bothering to communicate at all beyond repeating their desire for a human-free galaxy.
Christian planned to use that hatred and obsession to his advantage, pissing them off enough to put everything they had into destroying his fighter. It was only luck, he knew, that the humans' level of technology was matched by the Tlantlen. But it meant the fighting came down to the person flying the ship. Even still out-numbered eight to one, Christian knew he had a good chance to keep the shuttle safe.
He fired, fired again, and saw the explosion of another fighter. Not the one he'd thought he was aiming at, but the way they were swarming him now meant he could hardly avoid hitting one. His own fighter rocked, the shields flickering as two volleys struck him. He spun into an escape again, firing as he went, not concerned with saving his fighter's power for the flight back to base. He reached over and flicked a switch, diverting reserve engine power into his laser cannons.
There was another soft blip on the lower right-hand screen and he risked a glance down as he hit a hard turn. The shuttle was closer to safety and there, at the very edge of his screen, were the first of several yellow dots of incoming fighters from the Thunderbird.
The Tlantlen still had a chance to catch the shuttle before the fighters reached it if they noticed it now. There was no way they'd reach him in time, he'd known that the moment he'd spotted the Tlantlen squadron on his screens. All he could hope for was time to get away long enough to disengage his link, get himself away from the panels before they blew.
But not yet. One and a half more minutes before the shuttle would be far enough away. Christian thought fondly of the whiskey David was bringing and turned his ship again, feeling when the tail of his ship was hit. His fighter rocked and Christian fired blindly, twice, hitting the control stick and feeling the sluggish response. A Tlantlen fighter flew past him and he tensed, firing again. His engines were almost out of power, the laser cannons halfway charged. No more fancy maneuvers. Christian wrenched the control stick sideways, seeing a pair of Tlantlen ships in his forward screen. He fired even as he saw the bolts of energy coming at him and he felt them slamming into him, felt the first spark of pain in his fingertips and everything around him went suddenly white.
~~~
Continue to part two
Author: james (zortified)
Pairing: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson (secondary: Jared/Jensen)
Fandom: Kane RPS/Leverage RPS/Supernatural RPS
Genre: Slash
Warning: none
Notes: thanks to katbcoll for the beta! Written for the
j2_kane_bigbang. Many thanks to deannawesson for the art!Word Count: ~13,700
Rating: R
Summary: Christian is a fighter pilot serving in deep space in the fight against the invading Tlantlen. Steve is his ship tech and friend. Everyone else thinks there's more to it.
The targeting field of the 8-X62 spun in the center of Christian's screen, twirling so rapidly on its Y-axis that any rookie peering over his shoulder -- or a comm observer -- would get motion sickness trying to follow it. With a wide grin Christian tracked the crosshairs of the target, thumb resting lightly on the trigger, waiting for the moment when instinct pressed it down.
He didn't think about it, simply sat and waited and left himself completely open, every sense trained on the screen and the small blue light of the enemy ship. He could feel it coming, one second, two, then his thumb was pressing and the laser cannons were firing even before he was even completely aware of having made the decision.
He heard loud whoops behind him from other pilots around the flight room but ignored them for another moment, waiting. A moment later it flashed on his screen: target destroyed. The cannons on his fighter went into cycle, prepping for another round but Christian already knew the field was clear.
A glance upwards at the wide-field screens verified this, no blue indicators of enemy ships anywhere at all. As he watched, the commander's official all-clear flashed across every screen in the flight room and Christian finally joined in on the celebration. Tugging his helmet off, he leapt up and tossed it onto its hook on the back of his chair, knowing the automated systems would bring the fighter ships back to base and tuck them safely into their berths until needed again.
All around him fighter pilots were slapping each other on the back and raising their fists in triumph. It had been a good fight, Christian knew, and he exchanged a one-armed hug with Randel and slapped palms with a pilot whose face he didn't see through the tangle of cheering pilots. They'd got through the fight without any loss of fighters, and a full complement of Tlantlen ships had been destroyed -- not a single one had even had the chance to turn tail and run.
There was a movement behind him and Christian didn't have to look back to know who it was; a moment later arms slipped around his waist and half-picked him up. Laughing, Christian wriggled an elbow free and nudged his assailant in the ribs. "Freak, put me down! What if your better half sees you molesting strangers?"
From behind -- and annoyingly, above him -- Jared laughed at him. "He'd tell me to bring you home for supper."
With another laugh, Christian got himself free and turned to face the other pilot. They'd been friends since Jared and his co-pilot Jensen had been assigned to the Thunderbird fresh out of the Academy. Christian already had a good three years of combat experience under his belt when the two wet-behind-the-ears Academy graduates had come aboard; he and the other veterans had delighted in hazing the youngsters and discovering they gave back as good as they got.
Jared had, at least, while Jensen had always been slow to annoy and quick with an indulgent smile, he'd never said or done much to retaliate. That had all been left to Jared -- or so they'd thought, until Christian had gotten to know them better and realised Jensen had been the one planning the counter-pranks the entire time. The pair had promptly been assigned hazing duty for all future rookies coming aboard the battlecruiser.
Christian's wing, Delta Squadron, had officially taken the two pilots into their fold following the pair's third confirmed kill. They flew a tandem-ship with opposing turrets, with Jensen flying and Jared firing and it hadn't taken them long at all to rank up into the top ten on the Flight Leaders' board.
Christian was still ranked number three, a position he'd held for years and wasn't about to relinquish. The Flight Commander held the second spot, and the first spot was reserved by tradition for the list of pilots lost in combat. Christian had no intention of climbing higher than his current rank -- nor did he intend to fall in rank, either. He had a good number of years on most of the other pilots, and despite all the teasing and joking from Jared about knocking him off one way or another, Christian had no real worries about losing his place.
It didn't stop him from scowling at Jared as the other man started counting on his fingers the number of ships he and Jensen had destroyed in today's battle. "You still move your lips when you read, don't you?" Christian said as Jared stopped on '6.'
Jared grinned, widely. "I make Jensen read my bedtime stories to me. How many'd you get?" he asked, peering over Christian's shoulder towards the flight screens of Christian's fighter.
"You looked it up before you came over here to gloat," Christian told him, because they'd been flying together for far too long by now. Hell, Christian could probably re-count the entire conversation Jared and Jensen would have had in their cockpit without any prompting.
"I never!" Jared gave him a look of pure innocence.
"Your flight instructors never fell for that look; I ain't falling for it either," Christian told him. "And I got eight, which is more than the pair of you -- six divided by two is only three, isn't it?" he asked, giving Jared back an innocent look of his own.
"Jesus, you think you two'd come up with new post-battle banter," came a weary voice. Christian watched with amusement as Jared reached over without looking and loped his arm around Jensen's shoulders, tugging him close like they hadn't just seen each other five minutes ago.
"Ordered some, but it hasn't arrived on the supply shuttle yet," Christian told him. Then he rolled his eyes at the way Jared's grip tightened on Jensen. "You know he ain't gonna get lost, right? Nobody's gonna steal him away from you if you let him loose to breathe."
Jared scowled and pulled Jensen closer -- by the neck, Christian noted, and Jensen just sighed, looking like he'd long grown used to being man-handled by his spouse. "You never know," Jared said, eyeing the room suspiciously. "Someone might not know he's taken."
There was a laugh as Beth stepped up beside them. "You're kidding, right? There's only twelve hundred people on board this battlecruiser and every single one of them knows who the old married couple is."
With a grin, Christian added, "It's part of the orientation for new transfers. Y'all's faces are in the handbook labeled 'old boring people who'd rather go home and be domestic than stay in the rec room losing at cards all night'."
"That's because I'm not allowed to play poker anymore," Jared pouted.
"After you lost six months' worth of our leave," Jensen retorted, still apparently content to stay locked in Jared's grip.
Jared opened his mouth, moved it up and down a bit, then finally he settled on the puppy-eyes look that Christian -- and everyone else -- had grown far too accustomed to seeing.
Jensen just sighed. "No."
"I didn't actually ask you anything," Jared pointed out.
"The answer is still 'no.' Are you going to let me go so I can hit the showers, ever?"
Jared's face lit up in glee and he let go of Jensen, then grabbed him by the arm and tugged him away from Christian and Beth. "Bye!"
"Oh, Lord," Christian said. "Save me from ever losing my mind and getting married."
"I don't think it's being married that makes them that way," Beth said, thoughtfully. "They're just both naturally dorky." She smiled, wrinkling her nose and making Christian laugh. She'd half-unzipped the top of her flight suit, and Christian debated letting her see him looking. He tried to do the math -- three months ago she'd been officially Seeing No One in retaliation for her girlfriend getting promoted and transferred to another battlecruiser. Beth hadn't been heartbroken, exactly, but she'd been up for the same promotion and despite Jenny's numbers being undeniably better than hers, Beth hadn't declared herself fit for company for quite some time afterwards. But then last month she'd shared quarters with Matt, and after moving back into her own rooms she'd been dating three or four different folks, so maybe the coast was clear to indulge in some friendly ogling.
Suddenly her hand was covering his face, and Christian blinked in surprise. "Too soon?" he asked.
"I don't mind," Beth said, though her voice was surprisingly serious. "But you might take a look first at who just walked in."
Christian looked, even though he knew what she'd seen. The techs were filing in as the pilots made their way out. They'd be testing the computers and flight systems to make sure everything was ready to go for the next battle-alarm. They'd also be checking over flight logs and tracking down the slightest inconsistency in the programming to make sure the controls responded exactly the way the fighter pilot's reflexes expected them to. Most of them were computer geeks by birth, a few were engineers and mechanics who'd transferred in when needed.
Christian had no real idea how Steve had gotten into flight tech. He'd asked once but instead of answering Steve had pulled out a synth-guitar and started to play; Christian had never got around to asking again. Steve was currently headed to Christian's chair, not even glancing their way. Christian felt his throat tighten, and he glared at Beth. "I keep telling everyone--"
Beth put her hand over his mouth, lightly but no less decisively stopping him. She looked at him, something odd and quiet in her eyes, then she simply turned and walked out, exchanging pleasantries with Tim, her own tech.
Christian caught Tim looking at him and he scowled, because he knew what everyone said when they gossiped about him and Steve. Only problem was there was no him and Steve. Everyone on the cruiser seemed to think otherwise, however, and no amount of arguing or pointing out the facts seemed to make any difference.
There had never been a 'him and Steve' in the sense everybody thought. They'd come on board the Thunderbird together, been billeted in adjoining barracks like all the other new pilots and techs before graduating into individual quarters. Sure, they'd hit it off back at the Academy and they'd spent a lot of their free time in each other's company. They were friends who shared a lot of interests, and -- normally -- consenting adults could sleep together as often as they liked without anybody needing to turn it into something it wasn't.
When Christian had taken a rotation on the Tallahassee, he'd considered himself unattached and available, and for a year he'd enjoyed the company of anyone who asked nicely. Then when he'd returned to home-base he'd found Steve just the same as ever, friends and the best fighter-tech a guy could ask for, and everyone else on the cruiser acting like he'd cheated on a contracted lifemate. He could have just said that theirs was an open relationship, but he didn't see why he had to lie about being in a relationship at all just to get folks off his back.
No amount of arguing would convince anyone otherwise, so Christian was content to let it drop, as always, and simply headed over to watch Steve work. Steve gave him a smile, easy and laid back, and Christian felt his shoulders loosen. If he'd done something wrong, surely it would be Steve mad at him. But Steve had never said a word about it, just resumed their friendship as if Christian had never left. They'd even slept together again, although not for a good while. Along the line they'd stopped and now, thinking back, Christian realised he didn't know just how long ago it had been.
He didn't even know if Steve had picked up somebody else; the only gossip Christian ever heard about Steve was shit where Christian had been along for the ride -- if not the one instigating it. If there was other gossip, Christian didn't hear it, probably because he just didn't often hang out with other crew. A guy could only take so much of starry-eyed 'tell us what it's really like to be a fighter pilot' before he had to grab himself a bottle of engineering-room rice wine and hide in his room for a week.
When he'd been fresh out of the Pilot's Academy he'd used it to get all the company he'd desired and more, but even he had to admit he was getting old and the appeal of wide-eyed young girls and boys willing to tumble the sheets dimmed in the face of spending a few hours with someone who actually knew him and cared.
He sat down in the observer's chair just behind where Steve was working. Steve glanced back at him and gave him a brief smile before turning his attention back to the screens. Christian knew he wasn't interrupting the tech's work; Steve was good at what he did, fingers running over the keyboard as easily as they ran over the lines on his guitar. Sometimes Christian wondered if Steve saw the similarity, if he thought about his tech work as anything like the music he played.
He knew that had it not been for the Tlantlen, Steve would probably be a musician back home. Sometimes they talked about their plans for after the war was over. Right now they had the name of the bar and the size of the stage, but hadn't settled on just which planet or station to put it on. Christian smiled and rested his boot on the edge of the panel, far enough away from Steve's work to not be in the way.
"Heard Janey and Keven are bucking for a return," he said, recalling the talk he'd heard just before the battle-alarm had brought them all running down to the flight room.
Steve nodded. "They're ready to start a family. Rumor has it they'll get their return processed pretty quickly. Commander Chen signed off on it as soon as they went to her and asked. Just have to get the admin to approve it. Everyone knows starting a family's the quickest way to get transferred back home," he added with a shrug. The government was still trying to populate half a dozen colonies they'd opened before the Tlantlen showed up, and between those and crewing a dozen battlecruisers throughout the boundaries between human-space and Tlantlen space, the human population was stretched pretty thin.
"Anyone tell them they could just adopt Jared and Jensen?" Christian asked, and he watched in delighted satisfaction as Steve laughed.
"Then they'd get shuttled out for a psych evaluation," Steve pointed out and Christian had to nod in agreement. They continued to chat while Steve worked, though it didn't take long to catch each other up on what little news the other had missed. One thing about being on a small ship was that anything that happened was spread like wildfire and within half an hour everyone knew every detail. Gossip didn't stay new and interesting for long and it was one reason the Commander turned a blind eye to such antics like full-scale prank wars.
As Christian had learned well, however, it also meant the entire ship's complement knew every detail about whatever private life he might or might not have had, and very few of them were shy about sharing their opinions. He wasn't nearly as bothered by everyone knowing stuff as he was by the fact he couldn't convince them that they had it wrong.
But his flight instructor back at the Academy had been pretty blunt when she'd explained what to expect from life aboard a battleship. She'd said that folks would create drama where there wasn't any, because it kept them entertained -- and boredom was worse than fighting the Tlantlen, if only because it lasted for weeks and a battle would be over in minutes. Once he'd realised there was no real harm in it, Christian had decided he didn't mind playing the role of the Romeo who didn't even know he wanted Juliet. It gave everyone something to talk about and helped pass the time when you didn't know how many more years it would be before you got to go back home.
Easy as it was for couples like Janey and Kavan to get transferred back home, they'd been together for three years, proving their relationship and intention to stay together. Once they got back they'd be obligated to move to whatever colony they were sent to, living on an assigned homestead and would even be expected to have a minimum of four children. They could increase the size of their allotted homestead by having more children, but for the next twenty years their lifestyles would be dictated by the needs of their new home. Anybody who wanted to get out of war service by starting a family wasn't necessarily getting an easy life in exchange, but Christian knew that for Janey and Kavan, it was a lifestyle that would suit them a hell of a lot better than sitting in a tin can in space fighting alien invaders.
For himself, Christian didn't so much mind the tin can. He had a talent for flying and he had good friends on board. And while he didn't want to see the invasion continue, he hadn't left all that much behind that he was desperate to get back to. His only family was long gone, and he'd entered the Academy as early as allowed. It would be nice to get back, start the bar he and Steve kept talking about, but he didn't feel the rush to get his feet back on solid ground. For what it was worth, he was content to be right where he was -- gossip about his love life non-withstanding.
As Steve bent his head down over the keyboard, focusing on the displays of code stringing across his reader, Christian leaned back in the observer's chair, rotating slightly back and forth and glancing over at the other techs. He caught Tim watching him and gave him a half-smile, getting a half-smirk in return. It made him wonder if Tim had taken to hanging out with Jared and Jensen -- the tech had a wicked sense of humor, not quite as immature as Jared's which was a blessing in disguise, to say the least. But if the three of them were teaming up, Christian knew the rest of them were going to be in a galaxy of trouble.
He'd have to keep an eye on him. Better yet, he'd have to stay out of the way and let the Flight Sergeant keep an eye on them. Morgan tolerated a lot, following Commander Chen's lead, but there came a point where he slammed on the brakes and threatened to start putting people in lockup.
He'd actually put Jared in the ship's lone cell once, keeping him there for nearly an hour before letting him out again. Of course, Morgan had told him it would be for a week when he'd shut Jared up, and Jensen had been prepared to camp out in Morgan's office the entire time. As any of the vets on board could have told them, Morgan hadn't really had any intention of keeping him locked up that long, but it had served the purpose of demonstrating that there was a line and if it got crossed, there would be consequences.
Jared's one hour was the longest sentence anybody had ever served on the Thunderbird and Jared had been bragging about that fact for the last two years, daring each new set of rookies to be the one to top his time. Luckily, most of them took one look at Morgan's face when he warned them not to and decided it wasn't worth it. Christian didn't think Tim had it in him to run afoul of Morgan, but even if they stayed within bounds, chances were the three of them teaming up would make things a hell of a lot more chaotic for awhile.
Maybe it'd be a good time to apply for another ship-to-ship transfer. Christian smirked to himself at the idea of a few months in a new place and new faces, but then caught Steve's eye as the tech glanced over at him. He felt his stomach flip over a little even as he gave Steve an easy smile. Steve just laughed at nothing Christian could figure; then Steve shook his head, turning his attention back to his reader. Christian felt it on the tip of his tongue to assure him he wasn't going anywhere, which was absurd enough, as the thought had only been a passing fancy. He'd have to be insane to want to give the gossip-mongers even more to scold him for, anyhow.
"You almost done there?" he asked, judging by the way Steve had been tapping impatiently at the screens that he was to the point of cleaning up log files.
"Yeah," Steve said, nodding.
"Wanna grab a bite to eat?"
Steve slipped his stylus in-between his teeth, typing quickly on the keyboard for a moment. Then he took it out, sliding it back into his shirt pocket. "I was in the middle of something when the alarm went," he began. Christian felt -- something, back at the base of his throat, at Steve's words and he had no idea what that was about. But then Steve titled his head towards him and said, "I was working on that new song, the one I played bits of for you last week? Might have got the words worked out. Wanna come by and we can play it through? See if it works?"
Christian found himself grinning, shoving aside the relief he suddenly felt as nonsense. "That sounds awesome, man. We can grab some sandwiches from the mess and head back to your place."
Steve nodded. "Lemme lock all this back up and I'm good to go." It only took a few minutes, sliding the keyboard and screens back into position and keying in the final check-off. Christian bounced to his feet and waited patiently while Steve stowed his flight boards into position, knowing that the next time he sat down to fly, everything would be in perfect working order.
He gave Steve a clap on the shoulder and said, "Thanks, man. You take good care of her."
"Me and the ship techs down in the bay, you mean," Steve said, and Christian nodded. The robotic mechanics took care of the ship itself, the nuts and bolts of the remote Christian flew.
"And I'll buy all of them a beer next time we're in port," he promised. "I'll even buy them two."
Steve just laughed, and slipped an arm across Christian's shoulders as they walked out of the flight room. "They'll appreciate it, I'm sure. Especially when you offer to drink it for them."
A few days later Christian was sitting in the mess hall eating lunch. He hadn't tried to identify the meal he'd been given -- the cooks did what they could with the supplies they received and the few crops they had room to grow, but the Thunderbird was located on the very edge of human-space, weeks away from the nearest permanent station and another month away from the closest system of colonized planets. They were a good half a year's travel from the Solar System where Christian had grown up, and even if he didn't miss the place that much, there were times he did.
Mealtimes were highest on that list of times. He glanced down at the brown fluffy mash and tasted it again, trying to figure out if they'd had dried oranges or dried beet flakes to work with. Another taste didn't tell him anything other than the cooks had used a liberal hand with the salt and green pepper like always, trying to liven up the flavor of the rice and protein powder that served as the basis of every single meal.
He took a drink of his coffee -- that at least was real enough, even if it was made from instant. He tried not to think about his uncle, whom he remembered dimly from when he'd been a very young boy. His uncle had died from complications from the same epidemic that had killed his parents, leaving Christian as a pre-teen to be shuffled off into the military academies. He had fond memories of sitting at the kitchen table with a plate in front of him piled high with food from the garden they'd kept out back. Brightly colored fruits and vegetables and his uncle clanking pots and pans while he whistled tunes Christian had never learned the names of.
Across the table from him Aldis sat down, his tray hitting the table with a sudden clatter. "What're you daydreaming about that's got you looking all happy and wistful, huh?" Aldis demanded with a doubtful glance down at his tray. "Because if you say 'real food' I'm gonna have to strangle you with your own belt."
"Real coffee, fresh ground, so you can smell it through the whole apartment," Christian said, because torturing Aldis was one of his favorite past-times. Aldis gave a soft groan, hanging his head as Christian continued. "You remember the smell of sausages frying up in the skillet? And onions, man, the way you'd get one whiff and--"
Aldis was holding out his fork, inches away from Christian's throat. "I will use this, so help me, and not a single person here will blame me for it."
"You asked what I was thinking about," Christian said, as innocently as he could. "Is it my fault I was thinking about a real home-cooked dinner with fresh bread and butter?" He laughed and jerked back out of Aldis' reach, as the other pilot stabbed his fork forward.
"Tell me why I sit with you," Aldis demanded.
"I don't know, man." Christian shrugged. "Why did you sit with me if you're gonna be all grumpy-ass about it?"
"I'll tell you why I sat with you. How long have I been here?"
Christian blinked. "Five minutes?"
"No, on the Thunderbird. I got here a year and a half ago."
"So?" Christian was used to not always knowing what the hell Aldis was talking about, but he'd usually chalked that up to Aldis having grown up on a space station half a system away from the Solar System. He was full of slang and habits that didn't make any sense to anyone who hadn't also grown up a space-walker. But even for Aldis, this was perplexing.
"So," Aldis was continuing, poking a little at his food and tentatively taking a bit. His face lit up and he suddenly began eating. "Man, why didn't you tell me they did something right for a change?"
"Are you serious?" Christian looked at the food on his plate. It looked identical to what Aldis had. He reached over with his own fork and stole a bite off Aldis' plate on the off-chance the kitchen had somehow produced identical-looking but different-tasting meals. One bite proved that they hadn't. He made a face. "You really like that?"
"It doesn't taste like anything but peppers," Aldis said, still eating. "And I am grateful. Last week they had this dish that tasted like rubber and walnuts."
"How would you know what rubber tastes like?"
Aldis ignored him for a few more bites, then he asked, "I've been here long enough, right?"
"Long enough for what?" Christian had no idea if this was a serious conversation or not, unless-- oh. "You worried about your Flight Board rank?" he asked, trying to sound sympathetic and understanding. Every new pilot went through the same thing, once they'd got on board and settled into a squadron. "Come on, 32 isn't bad. Anything in the top fifty is gonna guarantee you a promotion."
But Aldis rolled his eyes. "I am not worried about my rank. I have every intention of beating Collins' ass next week in drills and then after the next round of patrols when they see how precision my take-offs and landings are, I will be in the top 20, thank you very much. I'm not talking about my Flight Board rank. I'm talking about how I've been here long enough to know what the fuck I'm talking about."
"That makes one of us, Aldis, because I don't have a fucking clue."
"Which is why I sat down, enduring your cruel abuse, to explain--" Aldis stopped suddenly and Christian couldn't blame him. They both watched as Zoe walked by, with identical appreciative smiles. Aldis shook his head. "Damn, that is one fine woman." He'd said it to Christian, but loudly enough for Zoe to overhear.
Christian wasn't all that surprised when she looked back at Aldis. She'd been toying with him for weeks, teasing and saying no but Christian and pretty much everyone else -- except Aldis -- had seen how she was just reeling him in slowly. But now she gave Aldis a look and said, "Then maybe you better get it while it's hot."
For a second Aldis sat, frozen -- clearly unable to believe his luck. Then he was on his feet and shoving his tray towards Christian. He paused and said quickly, "I had this speech all planned how you're an idiot and you're wasting good time, man, but I got to go. Trust me; it was brilliant and all that. Bye!" And he was off, high-tailing it after Zoe who was smiling at him and letting him take her by the arm.
All over the mess hall heads were bent together and Christian knew he could count on one hand how many minutes it would take for word to spread across the ship. He could have got out his own hand-comm and made a few first-calls himself, and Jared for one would probably complain at him later if he didn't send the news to him right away.
Instead he sat there and ran Aldis' last words back over in his head. He hadn't possibly meant to lecture him about Steve? Of all the things Christian had been expecting when Aldis had sat down, it hadn't been that. Not that it was anything new or surprising to get lectured, but Aldis was one of the most blind people on the entire ship when it came to romance. If he'd been any better at catching clues he could have hooked up with Zoe a hell of a lot sooner. She'd made all the right moves when Aldis had first noticed her, but Aldis simply hadn't realised she was giving out the signals for 'come and get it.' So she'd changed her game, toying with him and amusing herself and the rest of the ship with how long it would take.
Obviously she'd gotten tired of waiting, and had given Aldis a 'yes' he'd been able to figure out. Practically an engraved invitation, Christian thought, which made him think again about what Aldis had said and the fact that he'd noticed what Christian knew wasn't even there to be seen. Hell, if Steve were pining for him, he would have come out and said so, any time in the last several years that he'd had the chance. Christian shook his head. It was all part of the shipboard's fantasy and Aldis had just gotten sucked in.
Maybe he'd been coached, told what was going on and prodded to talk to Christian. Right now Jared and Jensen could be out in the hallway, waiting. Or maybe this explained Tim's smirks whenever he saw Christian. It made a lot more sense that Aldis had been set up, than that he'd seen something that wasn't even there--
Christian relaxed, suddenly. A guy as bad as Aldis at reading signals sent his own way would definitely be getting wrong what he saw between others. Between the gossip and the fact that, yeah, he and Steve were close and they'd slept together in the past, spent a lot of time together -- practically all their time nowadays, but that was because they enjoyed each other's company. So it wasn't surprising at all that Aldis would believe what he was told. Christian toyed with his food and decided he really wasn't interested in finishing it. He'd have left it for Aldis, but he doubted the other man would surface again until tomorrow.
He carried both of their trays back to the recycler and left them, knowing the proteins and carbs would get broken back down and used for fertilizer in the greenhouses. The urge suddenly struck him to head down to the Botany labs and beg some of it off them, along with a couple tiny pots and whatever seeds they could spare. It wouldn't be much, but maybe he could grow something, even just enough for a single meal. It'd be worth it for that one taste of something freshly grown and he could even save up his mail allotment and order some seeds. Build a planter out of scraps, like Janey had done all throughout her and Kavan's quarters.
It still wouldn't amount to much; Janey had never grown food, preferring flowers and herbs to make their rooms smell more like home. There were others on board who did grow food; Christian hadn't paid much attention but he knew some did, taking precious footage from their personal quarters and filling them with container gardens. Christian figured he could grow something small and plentiful, like tomatoes or radishes and maybe even get a handful of meals every few cycles. He'd been intending to use his next mail allotment to get a small keyboard, or even a synth-guitar for himself. He didn't really mind just singing along with Steve and letting the other man play, and besides, Christian was beginning to think it might be a good idea if he started spending a little less time with Steve. Having a container garden to mess with would give him something to do and it would also give him other people to hang out with. Zoe had stuff growing in her quarters, he could hunt her and the others up, get some advice on what to plant and where to order the best seed.
He walked away from the mess hall, no longer really hearing the whispers about Zoe and Aldis. It was a good, solid idea and Christian knew it was probably long past time he should have done something to stop everyone from talking nonsense. Steve and he would still be friends, naturally, but a little less time in each other's pockets was probably exactly what they needed.
Three weeks later Christian was settled into his pilot's seat, screens down and all systems go. He was flying look-out for an arriving supply shuttle, the same one that would turn around in another week and take Janey and Kavan to their new home. Janey was bouncing off the walls in excitement while Kavan looked a cross between delighted and terrified. Everyone on board was looking forward to the arrival of new supplies and personal mail. The supply shuttles arrived twice a year, one bringing in personnel of transfers and new Academy graduates.
The shuttle coming in today was crammed full of food, repair parts, and medical supplies as well as personal mail. Everything they couldn't afford to bring in when the shuttle was full of people was brought in now, and without it the Thunderbird would have to head towards established human space to re-supply, leaving the entire sector unguarded for the eight weeks it would take the battlecruiser to make the journey.
Even so, Christian was the only one running look-out on this edge of the approach path. Marcy and Jose were flying decoy look-outs in other sectors, keeping the number of patrol ships low so as not to alert the Tlantlen that something important was coming. When the annual personnel shuttles arrived, they had their own escorts of manned fighters, enough to protect them for the entire trip. They couldn't afford the fuel to escort the smaller supply shuttle -- but just about everyone stationed to a battlecruiser on the edge of human space agreed the risk was worth it to not go an entire year between supply runs.
Of course, Christian didn't know how the shuttle pilots felt about it, but they were well paid and served shorter terms of service, so he didn't figure many of them complained where anyone could overhear them. He knew David, the shuttle pilot heading towards them now, loved his job and considered it well worth his while. Christian was looking forward to seeing the man again, and not just because he'd promised to bring a crate of whiskey in payment for the previous year when he'd lost everything to Christian in a poker game.
The Tlantlen hadn't been seen in this sector for a while, now, and bets were split between it meaning they'd turned their attention to some other area or were holding back and planning something big. Christian had no idea which way it would go, but the tight feeling in the pit of his stomach kept him alert as he flew his fighter through a series of random-seeming patterns. If any Tlantlen ships spotted him, he didn't want them to plot the course of the incoming shuttle from his own flight trajectories. The battlecruiser’s command deck was in contact with the shuttle and tracking it in, so all Christian had to do was keep an eye out and run interference if he spotted anything.
He heard someone walk into the pilot's room behind him but didn't bother to glance back. The screens were showing him the space around his fighter, almost as if he were sitting in a cockpit onboard her. He flicked through every angle quickly as he could, looking for tell-tale signs of movement. Whoever had come in didn't say a word, clearly whoever it was knew what Christian was doing and knew better than to distract him. He cycled through the screens again and was about to ask himself if he could risk a look over his shoulder when he saw the shimmer of engines.
He'd aimed his fighter towards them before he'd even thought about it. He sat forward, the seat moving with him and he kept all the screens active, just in case a few ships were coming in from one direction while more came in from another. He could hear the ping of his comm automatically notifying the battlecruiser’s command that Tlantlen fighters had been spotted, and saw, suddenly, that their course would take them right through the shuttle's incoming flight path in another half an hour.
Christian tightened his grip on the controls and flew directly towards them. He'd know soon enough if they knew about the shuttle or if they were simply lucky: if they all came at him or if a few stayed to engage while the rest took off for the shuttle's position. Seconds ticked and he drew closer, the Tlantlen ships gaining size on his screens and his mouth went dry.
There were ten fighters, a full squadron. Normally the number sent in to engage the battlecruiser herself, far more than were needed to fly down and destroy a simple supply ship. They were all angling towards his fighter as well. Bad luck, then, that their approach was bringing them towards it -- and worse luck for Christian, because even as he confirmed the number of fighters he was pulling down his full-face shield and keying in the linkup.
Flying a remote-fighter worked in deep space most of the time. Infinitesimal delays in response didn't matter with the maneuvering of fighters in the dead of space when there were equal numbers of fighters from both sides. Missing a ship usually meant someone else would get it, and losing an unmanned fighter meant building another out of spare parts and harassing the unlucky pilot until they were able to fly again.
Ten to one odds meant that Christian had to close that delay until it was nothing. Linking his control panels to the fighter and tying in his helmet readouts would bring him in sync with his fighter until it was like he was almost there, practically sitting in the fighter itself. The helmet closed off all sights of the pilot's room, replaced with the screens he'd have see sitting in the cockpit. All visual information from the pilot's room itself were cut off, his visor and radio switching in to bring him only what was coming to the fighter. As he heard the soft ping letting him know his controls were tight-linked to the fighter, he spun his ship towards the incoming squadron and tried not to think about just how fast he was going to have to be.
It was how pilots died in combat. Linked in to their ships, the pilot's helmets and controls reacted instantly when the fighter reacted -- and shorted out the same moment the fighters were destroyed. Feedback from the destruction coursed through the panels and pilot's helmet, usually killing them in seconds.
He didn't think about the stories of the poor bastards who didn't die right away, skulls and bodies burned from the inside out. Instead Christian flew his fighter, glancing down at the small screen at his right hand where the small red dot of the shuttle could be seen. Too far away from the battlecruiser, even though the rest of the squadron would already be scrambling. Christian couldn't hear them enter the room, hearing only the sound of his fighter's engines cycling and the laser cannons humming, ready to fire.
It would take them only minutes to get into their chairs, but would take much longer for their fighters to reach the area of space Christian was flying through. He saw the first of the Tlantlen fighters coming into view, needle-tip silver nose of the alien space-craft tilting towards him. Christian fired, then fired again before he'd even had a chance to know if he'd hit. Then he was turning, spinning his fighter around and aiming again, firing and letting the shipboard targeting system fine-tune the shot but he was still the one to squeeze the trigger, letting instinct and years of flying be what made his hands move.
He was already headed for the third enemy fighter when the squadron of Tlantlen split apart, four ships to one side and five to another; confirmation of the explosion that destroyed the lead ship was delayed, the burst of light shielded by his helmet to protect his eyesight. He heard a silent count begin in his head and brushed it aside. He'd be surrounded in seconds and there was no point in keeping track of how many were left. He fired again and spun his fighter again, dropping out of the sphere the Tlantlen ships were trying to create. He flipped his fighter over and fired, heard the ship's computer register another kill.
There were voices in the distance, pilots talking over their radios but muted from Christian's helmet so as not to distract him. When they got close their comms would link to his to coordinate any fighting left to be done, but for now he was out here alone. He slammed on his thrusters and narrowly escape the slice of Tlantlen lasers, and all thoughts of the other pilots vanished from his mind. There was a Tlantlen ship in front of him and he fired reflexively, fired again and jerked the control stick down, felt the vibrations coursing through his fighter as lasers burst behind him. He turned, again, and had a moment to confirm that all the Tlantlen fighters were here to engage him. They hadn't noticed the shuttle; another five minutes and the supply shuttle would have a safe approach, well-protected by the rest of the Thunderbird's fighters. All he had to do was keep them occupied for that much longer, keep any of them from looking around to see anything other than himself.
He aimed his ship straight at the left wing of the next Tlantlen fighter, spinning away at the last second, firing even though he knew he'd have missed. If he'd stayed to aim longer he'd have been blown to smithereens. Christian took a long run into space beyond the hindmost Tlantlen fighter, drawing them in a long circle to follow. They'd lost two fighters to him already; chances were they weren't going to just let him go. The Tlantlen had shown themselves to be stubbornly loyal, avenging destroyed fighters and refusing to abandon wounded ships. Captured Tlantlen killed themselves as soon as they could, spouting badly-translated threats about wiping the galaxy clean of human vermin. They didn't understand much about the Tlantlen, but they understood fighting back against something that wanted to wipe them out and it hadn't taken long after the first attack for the first human battlecruiser to hit the boundary between human and Tlantlen space. That had been nearly twenty years ago and the Tlantlen hadn't changed a bit, not responding to overtures of negotiation or even bothering to communicate at all beyond repeating their desire for a human-free galaxy.
Christian planned to use that hatred and obsession to his advantage, pissing them off enough to put everything they had into destroying his fighter. It was only luck, he knew, that the humans' level of technology was matched by the Tlantlen. But it meant the fighting came down to the person flying the ship. Even still out-numbered eight to one, Christian knew he had a good chance to keep the shuttle safe.
He fired, fired again, and saw the explosion of another fighter. Not the one he'd thought he was aiming at, but the way they were swarming him now meant he could hardly avoid hitting one. His own fighter rocked, the shields flickering as two volleys struck him. He spun into an escape again, firing as he went, not concerned with saving his fighter's power for the flight back to base. He reached over and flicked a switch, diverting reserve engine power into his laser cannons.
There was another soft blip on the lower right-hand screen and he risked a glance down as he hit a hard turn. The shuttle was closer to safety and there, at the very edge of his screen, were the first of several yellow dots of incoming fighters from the Thunderbird.
The Tlantlen still had a chance to catch the shuttle before the fighters reached it if they noticed it now. There was no way they'd reach him in time, he'd known that the moment he'd spotted the Tlantlen squadron on his screens. All he could hope for was time to get away long enough to disengage his link, get himself away from the panels before they blew.
But not yet. One and a half more minutes before the shuttle would be far enough away. Christian thought fondly of the whiskey David was bringing and turned his ship again, feeling when the tail of his ship was hit. His fighter rocked and Christian fired blindly, twice, hitting the control stick and feeling the sluggish response. A Tlantlen fighter flew past him and he tensed, firing again. His engines were almost out of power, the laser cannons halfway charged. No more fancy maneuvers. Christian wrenched the control stick sideways, seeing a pair of Tlantlen ships in his forward screen. He fired even as he saw the bolts of energy coming at him and he felt them slamming into him, felt the first spark of pain in his fingertips and everything around him went suddenly white.
~~~
Continue to part two