Chapter Text
[RIVLAX - Galaxy ZL-735, Sector 4188]
Akira Kogane didn't know which was the bigger problem––the gunshot wound or the swarm of fighter jets on his tail.
Right now, he didn't have time to prioritize one over the other, so he had to settle for flying his ship one-handed while he clamped his free arm across his bleeding abdomen.
He hadn't even had time to determine exactly where the laser beam had hit him; at the time he’d been shot, he’d been too busy running from his pursuers to take a look at it. It had happened so fast––a sudden blow to his lower back that had burned all the way through him and knocked him flat on the ground.
He’d just leapt to his feet and kept on running, fueled by pure adrenaline. He hadn’t fully comprehended that he’d been shot or realized how heavily he was bleeding until he was already in his ship.
The shock had kept him from feeling the pain at first, but now it felt like his whole torso was on fire. Judging by the warmth spreading between his fingers and trickling down his back, it wasn't looking too good, either.
But he couldn't deal with it right now, even as the effects of blood loss started to kick in. The panel in front of him swayed and blurred. Red warning lights flashed and alarms blared, informing him that the ship was damaged beyond repair.
Akira grit his teeth and glanced at the square screen next to his elbow, which displayed a map of the approaching enemies. He cursed. There were still three of them left, and they were gaining on him quickly.
"Come on, come on ..." he hissed, trying not to panic as darkness began to shroud his vision.
He just had to outrun these jets and land somewhere safe. Up ahead, he could see the beckoning glow of the nearest planet he had located––a planet called Rivlax, according to his map––and he prayed he would be able to get there in time. Just a little further––
The sound of another beam firing echoed across the distance, and the impact crashed against the side of the ship half a second later. The jarring hit sent Akira veering sharply to one side, and he cried out in agony as his wound protested at the sudden movement.
Stars burst and dissipated across his vision as he miraculously managed to right the ship again. He breathed raggedly as he slowly raised his head, and he nearly sobbed in relief when he saw he was still on course for Rivlax. It was close enough now that he could see the dark brown hue of its surface, the gray clouds swirling in its atmosphere.
Another, even more violent hit slammed into the back of the ship, sending Akira reeling backwards, the back of his helmet slamming against the seat.
Groaning, he blinked at the hovering diagnostics in front of him. From what he managed to comprehend, his ship was as good as dead. Another hit and he was done for.
His eyes flitted to the map again, where he could see that the three fighter jets were still ganging up on him. At this point, he realized, he had no choice but to fight them off.
"Fine," he growled under his breath. "I guess this is how we're doing this."
Bracing himself, Akira wheeled the ship around. The damaged metal screeched in protest, but Akira didn't have time to worry about that right now. He just had to pray that the ship's blasters were still intact––if not, he was definitely about to die.
He only had a split second to process the horrific sight in front of him: the three fighters racing towards him at the speed of light, cannons already lighting up in preparation to take him down.
With a yell, Akira set the blasters on full power and fired.
The closest jet took a direct hit, immediately bursting into a sphere of flame. One of its pointed wings went spiraling and hit one of the other jets, taking it out in another impressive explosion.
Just one left.
The remaining jet was still speeding towards Akira's ship head-on, cannons burning so brightly that Akira had to squint against the glare. He managed to steer himself out of the way just in time as a violet beam of light cut through the darkness right underneath him.
He knew he only had an opening of a few seconds and he quickly positioned the ship again, pointing it right at the oncoming fighter. His thumbs pressed over the blaster controls and––
His ship jerked backwards with the force of the beams shooting out of it. At the same time, the ensuing explosion was so close that it rattled violently through the cockpit. Akira squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding blaze of light, and then slowly blinked them open again.
As the afterimage cleared from his vision, he could see the clearing smoke and bits of debris hovering against the backdrop of stars.
Akira breathed out heavily, slumping back against his seat. Dark spots bloomed in front of his eyes and he just lay there for a minute, fighting to stay awake. Red warning flashes and blaring alarms still rose all around him in the cockpit, but at this point it all sounded like it was coming from underwater.
His sense of awareness was edging away bit by bit, but Akira managed to think clearly enough to realize he had to get out of here. Had to get to the surface of Rivlax. Maybe, by some miracle, he would find some people there ... someone who could help him with the damaged ship and his worsening wound.
He kept an arm clamped around his stomach, nearly blacking out at the twisting pain that ensued as he sat up. With his free arm, he reached for the controls with a trembling hand and steered the ship towards Rivlax.
As he began the rapid descent through the planet's atmosphere, he managed to weakly lift up a hand to his helmet and activate the comms.
"Shiro?" he rasped out. "Shiro, do you read me?"
He waited, his pulse thrumming in his ears, but there was no response––only the faint crackling of static.
Akira let out a shaking sigh. "Okay. I don't have a lot of time, but I hope you're alright and that you get this message. I ... I've managed to get away. For now, at least. I'm headed down to some planet called Rivlax in Sector 4188. Sending you my coordinates now."
He punched a few buttons on the control panel and prayed that his location had been sent successfully.
"I'm hoping there's someone on this planet who can help me. My ship is damaged pretty bad and I ... well, I got shot when I was escaping and it's ... not good." He winced as he spoke, peeling his arm away from his abdomen to get a better look at the wound, and his head reeled at what he saw. He quickly wrapped his arm around his middle again. "I––shit, I'm bleeding a lot. So, uh. Hopefully I can get help somewhere, or you can find me before ..."
Before it's too late. He couldn't even bring himself to say it. Wouldn’t even allow himself to think it.
Now he was headed through the thick layer of clouds above Rivlax, the beige fog obscuring his view of the planet’s surface.
Akira was starting to feel strange––cold and distant––as his vision started to go black at the edges. That was probably a bad sign.
"Shiro ..." he managed to say again, although now his voice was so weak he wondered if it was even audible. Even though he could feel himself slipping away and his words slurred together, he still struggled to relay the rest of his message.
"I think ... think I'm gonna pass out pretty soon but uh ... I just. I really hope you're still alive. I––I probably don't say this enough, but I've always thought of you as my brother. I hope you know that. And I can't––" His eyes stung, and his breath shuddered out of him. "Can't lose you, too. Not after everything. So, please ... please, be okay. We're both gonna make it out of this. I don't know how, but we have to. I ... I'll see you soon. Promise."
He signed off, just as his ship broke through the clouds.
And that's when he saw the planet below him, and his stomach dropped with dread.
From what he could see, Rivlax was nothing but a wasteland. Nothing for miles except for heaps of garbage, ruins of old ships, billowing dust clouds. No sign of civilization anywhere.
And no sign of anyone who could help him.
"Shit," he muttered.
And that was the last thing he remembered before everything went black.
--
[KAANJOR, Zyntica Outpost, Galaxy ZL-735, Sector 4184]
It was late in the afternoon, and the heat was starting to get to Lance's head. The tarp propped up over their booth provided some shade, but Lance was still sweating through his clothes.
He rolled up his jacket sleeves for about the one hundredth time and glared enviously at Hunk, who had been smart enough to wear a sleeveless shirt today. He was busy talking to a customer––some green-skinned, scaly creature with more arms than Lance could count. Lance couldn't really hear what he was saying over the clamor of the busy marketplace, but he could hear the cheerful, upbeat note in his friend's voice and he couldn't help but smile a little at that.
But then he went right back to pouting, impatiently crossing his arms as he surveyed the array of items on the table in front of him. Lance was always meticulous in his setup of their wares, arranging the collection in neat rows. A few curious passersby had picked up some of the objects and observed them, but most of the time they had ended up putting them back out of their original places. Sighing, Lance started to arrange everything again and hoped it would be the last time he had to do this for the day.
For a few minutes, he contented himself with nudging everything back into place, but his concentration was broken by someone loudly clearing their throat.
"Ah-hem!"
Lance looked up, startled, but he didn't see anyone standing in front of the table. All he saw was the row of booths across from them and the crowd of aliens of countless species bustling down the dusty street.
He thought maybe he had imagined the noise, when the top of a small creature's head appeared over the edge of the table––a pair of large, curling horns, followed by a frog-like face with bulging eyes, slitted nostrils, and a wide mouth. The alien––an Arusian, Lance was fairly certain––grunted with effort as he hefted himself onto one of the stools Lance and Hunk had set in place for their smaller customers.
"Hey," Lance said, forcing a friendly smile. "How are you doing today? Anything I can help you with?"
The Arusian made a noncommittal noise and started putting his tiny hands on every nearby object he could reach––a small ceramic vase, a few metal gears, a knife with green jewels in its handle. His elbows knocked a few things out of place, and Lance struggled not to seethe in frustration.
"Just looking, thank you," the Arusian said, picking up some kind of woven basket and inspecting it with one eye closed.
"Seems to be what everyone is doing today," Lance grumbled.
"What was that?"
"I said, if you need any help just let me know."
The Arusian seemed to pay him no attention as he continued sorting through the pile of wares. Every once in awhile, he inquired about the price of one thing or another, but at Lance's responses he always harrumphed and put the object back. If it had been earlier in the day, Lance might have bargained more with him, but at this point in the afternoon, he just didn't care anymore.
He snuck a glance over at Hunk, who was still haggling with the many-armed green creature, who didn't seem pleased.
"45 gac?" he heard the creature blubbering. "That's ridiculous!"
Hunk laughed nervously and gave some response Lance couldn't quite hear except it included phrases like "non-negotiable" and "extremely rare." But whatever he'd said didn't seem to sway the alien, who abruptly turned and marched away from the booth. Hunk's shoulders sagged in disappointment as he scratched the back of his head.
Lance was just about to offer him some words of comfort when he heard a loud clattering noise in front of him, and he sharply turned his head. He half-expected to discover that the Arusian was trying to steal something, but instead he was met with an even more unexpected sight: the small alien was literally trying to crawl onto the table.
"Whoa, what the heck are you doing?" Lance exclaimed as the Arusian scrambled up, scattering objects left and right.
He received no answer. The Arusian suddenly seemed fixated on something, his large eyes focused on a spot right next to Lance's head. Confused, Lance turned around to see what was behind him––but there was nothing but a battered brick wall. That's when Lance realized the Arusian was looking at him.
Before he could protest, the Arusian hopped forward and grasped at the glimmer of a thin gold chain peeking out from underneath Lance's collar. All of a sudden, Lance understood what he was after.
"Hey, don't touch that!" he protested, grabbing the alien's wrist, but it was too late. The Arusian had already tugged out the talisman Lance kept tucked under his shirt.
The creature was surprisingly strong for his size, yanking the medallion forward with such force that Lance's forehead nearly knocked against the Arusian's large horns.
"Where did you acquire this?" the Arusian asked, eyes widening with astonishment.
"Family heirloom." It wasn't exactly a lie.
Lance pulled the talisman from the alien's hands and rubbed a thumb over it––a smooth, dark blue gem surrounded by golden rays. At its center was a symbol: a series of intersecting lines that looked almost like the piece of a map with a small heart at its center.
"How much for it?" the Arusian asked eagerly, eyes still fixed on the talisman.
Lance closed his fist around it, angling his body away like that would make the Arusian forget it was there. "What? No, no, no. You don’t understand. It's not for sale."
"I'll pay 200 gac for it."
"200 ..." Lance started to repeat and then shook his head. "What part of 'not for sale' do you not understand? There's like a hundred other things to buy on this table."
The Arusian bristled, large mouth turning downwards in a stubborn frown. "I don't want anything else on the table. The rest of these objects are garbage!"
"Garbage?" Lance sputtered, offended. "You––"
"Hey, hey, hey." Hunk finally stepped in then. He gave Lance a quizzical look and then turned his attention to the Arusian. "What seems to be the problem here?"
"I wish to purchase that talisman," the small alien said, pointing a stubby finger. "But your friend here will not allow it!"
Lance stepped behind Hunk on instinct, hastily tucking the necklace back under his shirt collar.
Hunk crossed his arms. "Well, I assume Lance already told you he's not selling it."
"But I want to purchase it! I offered 200 gac."
Hunk raised an eyebrow but didn't budge. "Listen, man. I'm sorry. You can buy anything else we have laid out here, but you're not buying that."
"Well, then!" the Arusian huffed, putting his hands on his hips. "I'm not buying anything at all!"
"Fine, so get lost," Lance snapped.
"Lance," Hunk said warningly before addressing the Arusian again. "I'm gonna have to ask you to get off our table, sir."
"It would be my pleasure."
The small alien shot one more sneering look at Lance before he hopped off the table and scuttled off into the crowd.
Hunk released a heavy sigh. "Lance, you've gotta stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Being rude to our customers."
"I wasn't being rude! He was the one being rude."
"I know, I know. You get weird about people asking about your talisman, but––"
"Ugh, save it. I'm so tired." Lance rested his forehead against Hunk's shoulder. "Can we just leave, please?"
"Yeah, yeah," Hunk sighed and wiped a hand on his arm when Lance stood up straight again. "Eew, you're super sweaty, Lance."
"Well, if you hadn't noticed, it's super hot out."
"... Just like I warned you it would be, and yet you wore long sleeves anyway. You could take the jacket off, at least."
Lance scowled, adjusting the collar of his olive-green jacket. “Uh, I don’t think so. I have to look cool.”
“And you could look just as cool without a jacket on.”
“But––”
Their argument was interrupted by someone clearing their throat.
Lance whirled around at the noise. “Didn’t I tell you to––”
But it wasn’t the Arusian again. This time, it was a teenage girl––at least, Lance was pretty sure she was a teenager, but she was so short and looked so young it was kind of hard to tell. Her pale, freckled face was smudged with dirt, and her light brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. A large pair of goggles sat on top of her head. Next to her shoulder, a triangular drone hovered in the air, the green light at its center blinking.
The girl looked oddly nervous as her brown eyes shifted between Lance and Hunk, her shoulders hunching slightly. “Uh … hi.”
Lance raised an eyebrow. “Hey. We were just packing up shop, so––”
“I’m not looking to buy,” the girl said quickly.
“Okay. Well, we don’t want whatever you’re selling, either.”
The girl frowned. “I’m not selling anything.” She had a small, battered rucksack slung over one shoulder, which she hefted higher onto her back. “Do you guys have a ship?”
Lance and Hunk exchanged a questioning glance. Hunk shrugged in bewilderment.
“Uh, yeah. We’ve got a ship,” Lance said slowly, looking at the girl sideways. “Why?”
She took a deep breath, as if she were bracing herself for something. "'Cause I'm looking to catch a ride."
The sudden request caught Lance off-guard, and it took a few seconds for him to process the words. "You ... what?" He rubbed his temples. "No, no. Sorry, kid. We don't transport hitchhikers."
"I'm not hitchhiking," the girl argued, stiffening at the word "kid" like it was the worst insult she'd ever heard. "I'm ... I need to get somewhere."
"And where's that?"
She fell strangely quiet at the question before she gave a rushed answer. "I just need to get as far as the Galjor cluster. That's all."
"Huh. Well, we are kinda headed in that direction," Hunk mused, and Lance glared at him. "What? We are! We have to go pick up some stuff from Xannova, anyway. We could just drop her off on the way there."
"That's gonna take a couple days. You know that, right? We don't need a detour, and we definitely don't need to be babysitting some kid."
"I can hear you, you know," the girl said. "And I'm seventeen, by the way. Not much younger than you, I'm guessing. You're both like, what, twenty?"
Lance didn't say anything because the truth was he was only nineteen, actually. But she didn't need to know that.
"Whoa, yeah," Hunk said brightly. "Guessed right on the first try! About me, anyway. Lance is––"
"Anyway," Lance cut him off. "It doesn't matter. You're not coming with us."
He took out a large wooden crate from underneath the table and started piling their wares into it. It took a few seconds for him to realize that neither Hunk nor the girl had moved, and they were both staring at him.
"What? What is it?" Lance turned towards Hunk. "Wait ... you're not actually considering it, are you?"
"Well ..." Hunk said slowly. He hunched his shoulders, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, Lance. I know you’re tired and want to leave. But we could at least hear her out.”
Lance looked back at the girl, who had lowered her head and was looking back up at him with a cautious expression. She looked so small and vulnerable that he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy. It didn’t help that even her little drone seemed sad, drooping in the air and letting out a series of beeps that somehow managed to sound forlorn.
Lance let out a defeated sigh, plopping his hands down on either side of the crate.
“Okay, fine. I’m sorry. Let’s start over. What’s your name?”
At the question, the girl stood up straighter and squared her shoulders as if she'd rehearsed an answer. "Right, guess I forgot to introduce myself." She stuck out a hand, on which she was wearing a tattered leather glove that looked several sizes too big for her. "I'm Pidge. Pidge Gunderson."
Warily, Lance reached across the table to grasp her hand. "I'm Lance.”
He had a disorienting feeling all of a sudden like he had met her somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where. He and Hunk frequented a lot of trading outposts in this galaxy, though, so it didn’t seem out of the question.
Before Lance could say anything about it, Pidge had turned to Hunk to shake his hand as well.
"So, what business do you have out in the Galjor cluster?" Lance asked when their introductions were done, trying to sound casual rather than suspicious. He continued collecting the objects from the table and arranging them in the crate.
"I'm ... on my way to meet my brother," Pidge answered haltingly.
"Oh, cool," said Hunk. "Where in the cluster is he? 'Cause, you know, that's kind of a big area ... lots of different planets."
Pidge shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm not meeting him in Galjor. I just need to get to some kind of transport hub. I don't have enough money to buy my own ship yet."
Lance raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to get transport out of Galjor? It's kinda ... seedy."
Pidge crossed her arms, jutting out her chin. "I think I can fend for myself."
"Okay, your funeral," Lance muttered, and Hunk shot him a warning look.
"Anyway," Hunk said. "So, if your brother's not in Galjor, then where is he?"
"Oh, he's uh ..." Pidge scratched the back of her head. "On Zuleraan. Doing scientific research."
"Wow, awesome!"
Hunk sidled around the table, pulling out another crate to pack stuff into. Lance had almost finished filling the first one.
"Well," Hunk said slowly, "I don't mind taking Pidge here along with us. What do you think, Lance?"
“What?” Lance exclaimed, almost dropping the ceramic vase he was holding.
"It'd just be for a couple days, Lance. And we'd really be helping her out."
"Okay, but how do we know she's not like ... I don't know, some criminal on the run or something? I mean, she's heading to Galjor. Don't you think that's kinda suspicious?"
"Once again, I can hear you," Pidge said.
Lance sighed in frustration. At this point, he was so tired and sweaty he was about ready to cave in. But he didn't want to let it go just yet.
"If you come with us––and that's a big if––what's in it for us?"
Pidge hesitated and reached into the side pocket of her brown overalls. "Uh ... I mean, I've got maybe like 50 gac. But I was hoping to use that to get to Zuleraan. So, I don't know. I could help out around your ship ... ?"
"Help out on the ship?" Lance huffed. "Doing what, exactly?" He eyed her outfit––the overalls, the goggles, the belt of tools. "What are you, anyway? A mechanic? 'Cause we don't need another mechanic. Hunk's already got that covered."
Hunk shrugged. "I don't know, I could use an extra pair of hands. Might help speed up some of the repairs. Just to warn you, our ship is ... not in the greatest shape."
Lance gasped as if he’d been stabbed. “Hey, don’t insult my girl like that!”
“I’m sorry, but you know Blue is kinda ... old.”
“Excuse me! She has character.”
“It’s okay,” Pidge cut in. “I don’t mind what condition your ship is in. And yeah, to answer your question, I’m a pretty good mechanic. But actually, technology and robotics are more of my area of expertise." She adjusted the goggles on top of her head.
"Yeah, I've been admiring your little droid there," Hunk said. He stepped up closer to the floating robot in question. It made a startled whirring noise at Hunk's approach and dove behind Pidge.
"It's okay, buddy. Don't be shy," Pidge said, lifting a gloved hand to gently pat the droid. It snuck out from behind her but remained close to her shoulder. "This is Rover."
"Hey, Rover," Hunk greeted the droid. "I'm Hunk!"
Rover drifted a little closer to him and made a bright chirruping noise as if to return the greeting.
"Aw, he's so cute!" Hunk clapped a hand to his chest as he paced around the droid, crouching down slightly to see it from a better angle. "Don't tell me you made him yourself."
"Not exactly," Pidge admitted. "He's actually a modified medical droid. He used to be my mom's. She was an army doctor during the Trona-Julinak War."
"Medical droid, huh?" Hunk frowned and reached out to poke a curious finger at Rover, who skittered away from him with a series of offended noises.
"Sorry, he's kinda shy and doesn't like to be touched," said Pidge, stepping between Hunk and Rover. "Anyway ... he's mostly just a companion droid now, but he still has all the built-in med droid appliances. Like being able to scan for injuries and stuff. He’s taught me a lot, since I’m trying to train to be a medic, too. And I’ve learned a ton from Rover. He's pretty high-tech!"
Rover chirped proudly at the praise.
"I can see that," Hunk said with a laugh. "What a cool little guy. And he's a med droid, too ... That could come in handy. Right, Lance?"
Lance shrugged nonchalantly as he hefted one of the full crates into his arms. "What're the chances that we'll need a med droid in the next two days?"
"You never know ..."
Now Hunk, Pidge, and even Rover turned towards Lance expectantly, waiting for him to make the final call. Lance still wasn't sure whether to trust Pidge––something about her story seemed off––but she was making that innocent face again. And now Hunk was looking at Lance pleadingly, too; Lance could tell his best friend was excited to find someone to nerd out with over technology. Something around Lance's heart softened a little. Maybe he was being unnecessarily suspicious.
Just as he was about to open his mouth to say something, he noticed a slight movement behind Hunk, and his gaze snapped towards the source. There was a short figure standing by a booth across from them––a creature in a dark robe with large bat-like ears, yellow eyes, and one long fang protruding from his mouth. While the afternoon crowd started to dissipate from the marketplace, this one alien stood stock-still in the shadows. His mouth moved a bit, and Lance realized he was talking into some kind of comm device in his clawed hand.
Also, he was looking right at Lance.
Lance quickly looked away from the creature to avoid eye contact. "You know what?" he said, voice a little high-pitched with sudden anxiety. "Fine. She can come with us."
"Really?" Pidge burst. Her whole face practically lit up, and she grinned crookedly in a way that reminded Lance of his little niece back home––his chest tightened a bit at the thought. "You mean it?"
"Yeah, I mean it," said Lance. As he spoke, he looked at Hunk meaningfully and gestured towards the other crate with his head. "But we're leaving right now, so like ... no time to say goodbye to your parents or anything."
Pidge's smile faltered at that, and she stared at the ground. "Don't worry," she said tightly. "Won't be a problem."
It took a second for Lance to comprehend what she meant, and he felt a wrenching guilt in his stomach. But before he could utter an apology, he saw the bat-eared creature tucking his comm device away and shooting Lance another look.
Lance tensed. "Okay, well then, uh ... yeah, let's get out of here."
Hunk seemed to take the hint, and he grabbed the other crate.
They took off into the crowd––Lance at the lead, Hunk close behind him, and Pidge stumbling after them. Lance barely even thought about losing his companions in the throng; all he could think about was moving forward at a steady pace, trying to get lost in the sea of alien creatures. With every step he took, he was aware of his talisman bumping against his chest beneath his shirt.
He became so caught up in trying to escape the marketplace that he didn't realize just how fast he was walking until a hand clapped down on his shoulder. Lance whirled around, heart pounding wildly.
It was just Hunk, who was staring at him with his brow furrowed in concern. "Lance, hey. Slow down for a sec."
He glanced over his shoulder and Lance followed his gaze to see Pidge squeezing her way between two very tall fuschia-colored aliens with long antennae chatting in the middle of the street.
"'Scuse me, sorry," she said hurriedly and then came to a skidding halt in front of Hunk and Lance. She bent over, grabbing her knees as she tried to catch her breath. Rover came zooming out from behind her a moment later, beeping rapidly. "Jeez, do we have to walk so fast? Are you trying to leave me behind on purpose?"
"No," Lance said defensively. He scanned their surroundings, searching the narrow alley for any sign of the alien who'd been spying on him.
"Lance?" Hunk said, breaking his concentration. "Dude, are you okay?"
"Yes ... yeah," Lance stammered. He lowered his voice a little. "Listen, I'll talk to you when we get back to the ship, okay?"
Hunk's eyes widened with sudden understanding. "Oh. Okay."
Pidge now stood between them, looking back and forth during their exchange with a perplexed frown on her face. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Did I miss something?"
"Nope," said Lance. "Let's go."
They soon reached the landing area, which was located on a wide, flat plateau. With no shade whatsoever, the open space was so blazing hot that heat shimmered in the air. Ships of numerous shapes and sizes were docked in haphazard rows. At this hour, when the market was coming to a close, many of the ships were taking off. The roar of engines filled the air, and ships swarmed across the afternoon sky like locusts.
"There she is," Lance said with a grin when he caught sight of their ship up ahead.
It was sitting in the shade of a much larger vessel––what looked like some kind of hulking cargo ship. But Blue was still a good-sized ship with a pointed front, an extensive body, and long wings. Evidently, the name of the ship came from its blue exterior, although by now the paint was chipped, scarred, and faded.
"That's your ship?" Pidge said, running alongside Hunk and Lance to keep up with them.
"Why, you got a problem with her?" Lance asked, side-eyeing Pidge.
"No, I just ... expected something a lot smaller, actually. Are there other people on the ship besides you two?"
"Not usually," said Lance with a shrug. "But sometimes we're lugging around a lot of cargo, so having the extra space helps."
They stopped right under the ship.
"Hey, Blue! Can you open up for us, please?" Lance called up to it.
Almost instantly, a grumble of metal answered him. A panel on the underside of the ship slid away, and a long gangway snaked out until it touched the ground.
"Thanks, girl."
Lance started up the steps, lugging along his large crate of unsold items. He could hear the creaking footsteps of Hunk and Pidge following after him.
"Whoa, how'd you do that?" Pidge exclaimed.
"Do what?"
At the top of the stairs, Lance turned around to raise an eyebrow at Pidge questioningly. She stared back at him in astonishment.
"You told the ship to open up and it just ... did it? Does your ship respond to verbal commands?"
"Yeah, she's always done that," Lance said with a shrug. "At least for me, anyway. She doesn't listen to Hunk so much. Blue just likes me better. Probably 'cause I don't go around insulting her all the time."
"Yeah, yeah," Hunk muttered, climbing onboard.
As soon as all three of them were inside, the gangway started to retract again. They were now standing at the entrance of the cockpit. Pidge peered inside with widening eyes at the curved dashboard of blinking lights, switches, and levers.
"Whoa."
Lance grinned. "Not bad, huh?" Although he was still wary of letting a newcomer onboard, he was always excited to show off his ship. "We gotta take these crates down to the cargo area and then get out of here. Once I set Blue on auto-pilot, we can show you around."
They turned a nearby corner to an automatic door, which slid to the side with a rusty creak to reveal a dark staircase. The fluorescent lights along its walls flickered on as the trio descended into the space beneath.
The cargo area was spacious, but it was so packed with equipment and wares that it felt cramped. Crates and boxes lined the walls almost to the ceiling.
Pidge lingered on the bottom step as Hunk and Lance found a space to put their crates down. Rover buzzed around the room, turning in a circle as he thoroughly inspected his surroundings.
"Wow, you guys sure are carrying a lot of junk around," Pidge commented, surveying the area.
"It's not junk," said Lance, and then promptly tripped over a box and righted himself again. "It's ... treasure."
"So, you guys are like, what? Pirates?"
Lance shrugged. "In a way."
"Not really," Hunk said at the same time, wiping sweat from his brow and adjusting his headband. "Pirates steal from people. We don't steal, we just scavenge and sell stuff."
"Is that all?" Pidge asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," Lance said tightly. "Why are you getting so nosy all of a sudden?"
"I'm not being nosy. Just curious."
Lance shouldered past her and started up the stairs again. "Well, anyway ... we'd better get this ship moving."
He sauntered into the cockpit and broke into a smile when Blue's dashboard lit up for him. She always did that, although he wasn't sure how––some kind of motion sensors, he was guessing. But it somehow felt more friendly than that, like the ship was happy to see him.
"Hi, Blue! Missed you too, girl."
He lowered himself into the pilot's chair and patted the dashboard affectionately.
"Does he always do this?" he heard Pidge whisper from somewhere behind him.
"What, talk to the ship all the time?" said Hunk. "Oh, yeah. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."
Lance scowled as he started pressing buttons and flicking switches. "Don't listen to them, Blue. They're just jealous that you and I have such a strong connection. Now, here we go ..."
A strong vibration shuddered through the cockpit as Blue's engine rumbled to life. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance saw Pidge stumble a little and grab onto the back of the co-pilot chair, where Hunk had started to sit down.
"Ready for take-off?" Lance asked his companions, raising his voice over the noise.
Hunk gave him a salute. "Aye-aye, captain!"
Pidge looked a little pale, but she nodded.
"Okay, you probably want to hang onto something," Lance warned her. Pidge held tighter to the back of Hunk's chair in response, and Rover hovered closer to her.
With a wicked smile, Lance took hold of the main controls and drove them forward.
Despite her age, Blue was always capable of a smooth take-off––and as always, she shot up into the air like a bullet. Lance whooped in exhilaration as they soared upward, leaving the crowded docking area of Zyntica Outpost behind.
Pidge screamed and ducked behind Hunk's chair as Lance wove through the crowded airfield, threading between the other ships with practiced precision. It wasn't long before Blue broke into the planet's atmosphere, and Lance grinned again as he put the ship into hyperdrive.
He never grew tired of this feeling––the thrilling drop in his stomach every time they left the ground, as they soared through the air, as they raced into the stars. And it was something particularly special with Blue. He'd flown other ships before, but he felt such an unbreakable connection with Blue––like the two of them were one and the same, like the ship had a life of its own.
There was a brief, disorienting feeling as they leapt out of the atmosphere and into space. The sensation had always reminded Lance of diving into deep water. First there was a moment of shock, followed by a quiet sense of peace. One moment they were moving at the speed of light, and the next they were drifting through the darkness. Suddenly, the burning afternoon light on Kaanjor felt like it had been lifetimes ago, and now all that surrounded them was the calming glow of the stars.
Lance leaned back in the piloting chair, crossing his arms behind his head and propping his feet up on the dashboard. "Nice job, girl," he said up to the ceiling. "You've still got it."
Meanwhile, Pidge was wheezing as she got to her feet again. Rover circled her with alarmed little noises.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm okay, buddy," she told her concerned droid. Then she shot a glare at Lance. "God ... do you always fly like that?"
He scowled back at her. "Like what?"
"I don't know, like you're trying to get us killed?"
"Yeah, he's been that way since we were in flight school," Hunk chimed in. "Once again, you'll get used to it."
"Excuse me, but I happen to be a very good pilot, so I don't know what you guys are talking about. Also, I trust Blue. She's not gonna let anything happen to us."
Pidge looked around the cockpit like she expected to find some visible evidence of Lance's claims. "But ... it's a ship."
"So?"
"It's not sentient."
Lance gasped and leaned forward to put a hand on Blue's dashboard again. "You didn't hear that, girl."
"Trust me, I've had this conversation with him about a hundred times," Hunk told Pidge. "It's a lost cause."
"Anyway," Lance said pointedly, "now that Blue's on auto-pilot, we can give Pidge that tour I mentioned. You wanna see around the ship?"
Pidge still looked a little dazed from their take-off, but she managed a nod and a smile. "Yeah! That'd be great." Rover chirped in agreement.
They all moved out of the cockpit and into the corridor beyond. Lance led the way, walking backwards at a casual pace with his thumbs hooked through his belt loops. Pidge stumbled and put a hand against the wall, and Lance chuckled.
"Getting your space legs, huh? Have you ever even been on a ship before?"
"Of course I've been on a ship before," she said, straightening again with a frown. "It's just been a while, okay?"
"Okay, okay." Lance decided not to pry any further. For now. He gestured to the door on their left. "You've already seen the storage area. Not that interesting. To your right is the kitchen."
"That's where all the magic happens," Hunk said with a wink.
"Yeah, as well as being a genius engineer, Hunk is the best chef in the universe," Lance said, smiling. "I'm telling you, no matter what planet we go to, he can make an incredible meal out of whatever he can find there."
"Aw, Lance."
"Just telling it like it is, buddy."
They walked past another doorway, which slid open when Lance pressed a hand against the panel on its right. “This is the armory––which will only open for me and Hunk’s handprints, so don’t try anything.”
Pidge crossed her arms. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Lance gestured inside so she could see that the walls of the small room were adorned with weapons––mostly small blasters, a lot of long-range rifles, a few knives and even a couple of swords.
“Jeez,” Pidge breathed. “Where’d you get all these?”
“Oh, you know,” Lance said casually, waving the door closed again. “Bought some of them, but a lot of them were scavenged. We actually don’t use them all that often, but it’s a nice collection, huh? And, who knows, they all might come in handy someday.”
Next, they walked past the closet-sized bathroom, which consisted of not much other than a toilet, a single rusty shower head surrounded by a plastic curtain, a sink surrounded by a mess of shaving supplies as well as hair products and face creams (“I take my daily beauty routine very seriously,” Lance explained), and an accompanying mirror which was foggy with age.
The bedrooms were across the hallway: Lance’s and then Hunk’s, and then a small spare room where Pidge tossed her rucksack onto the cot in the corner.
“And lastly,” Lance said, “we have the med bay over here. Luckily, we don’t use it much, but I figured you wanted to see it since you said you’re interested in medical stuff.”
Pidge shouldered past him, eyes shifting around the room in curiosity. It was a pretty standard medical bay––white walls and a tiled floor, a cot in one corner that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. A counter ran along one wall, with a sink at one end and cabinets above it. Pidge stood on her toes to open one of the cabinets, reaching a hand inside to inspect the various supplies.
“You sure understand privacy, don’t you,” Lance deadpanned as he strolled into the room. Hunk hovered near the doorway.
Rover zipped around in the air above Pidge’s head, lighting up the crowded cabinet with his built-in flashlight.
“Man, most of this stuff expired deca-phoebs ago,” Pidge said, wrinkling her nose at a sealed bottle of orange liquid. “I wouldn’t ingest any of this if I were you.”
“Wasn’t planning on it, unless we run out of nunvil,” Lance said with a smirk. He leaned back against the wall next to the door, his arms crossed.
Pidge rolled her eyes. “Very funny.” She took down yet another bottle and glanced at the label––but this time, instead of a look of disgust, her eyes widened in shock. “No way. Balmeran healing serum?”
“Bal—What now?” Lance said. He shot Hunk a questioning look, but his friend only shrugged in response.
“It’s a serum derived from the crystals of a Balmera,” Pidge explained. The two boys continued to stare at her blankly. “Balmeras are living planets. They generate massive amounts of quintessence. Unfortunately, most of them have been mined to their deaths.”
Her shoulders sagged as she continued to cradle the small bottle between her gloved hands, like it was the most precious treasure in the world.
“I don’t even know if there’s any living Balmeras left. But yeah, this serum is extremely rare––super powerful, too. It can literally bring someone back from the brink of death, although it has to be used carefully, ‘cause too much can kill you.”
She held the bottle up to the light, squinting at the tiny amount of golden liquid at the bottom. “There’s probably only enough in here to save one person, anyway. And I don’t know if it expires. But seriously, where did you get this?”
Lance shrugged. “We got the ship used––bought it off this guy named Blaytz who was some kinda war veteran. He didn’t really clean it out before he gave it to us, so a lot of the old stuff is his.”
“Huh,” Pidge muttered, putting the serum back on the shelf. “I’m just surprised someone would give away something so valuable. Maybe he didn’t know how powerful that stuff is.”
“Maybe not,” said Hunk. “He seemed to also be kind of in a rush to get the ship off his hands. I got the vibe it brought back bad memories for him or something. Plus he just seemed really eager to leave the space-travel life behind and settle down with his husband.”
"Man, I can't imagine that," Lance said with a scoff.
"What? Getting married?"
"Uh, no. You know I'm a hopeless romantic, Hunk. I meant giving up space travel. Like, there's so much to explore, I can't imagine ever getting sick of it. Also, I can't imagine giving up Blue."
He patted the wall as if the ship could hear him.
"Speaking of marriage, maybe you should just marry Blue," said Hunk.
"Hmm. Do you think that's legal on any planets?"
"Oh, my God. Please don't tell me you're serious."
"Well," Pidge said, cutting into their conversation. "As thrilling as this discussion is, I'm really tired and I think I need a minute to just settle in and take a nap or something. So, if you need me, I'll be across the hall."
She walked out of the med bay with Rover in tow, not waiting for a response.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Lance crept back out into the hallway and gave Hunk a meaningful look as he gestured towards the cockpit. "Secret meeting?" he whispered loudly.
Hunk gave a solemn nod.
Once they were back inside the cockpit, the doors slid shut behind them. Lance approached the dashboard, giving the controls and various screens a once-over to check for anything noteworthy before he turned back to Hunk again.
"So, what's up?" Hunk asked, walking over. He sat down in his co-pilot chair, swiveling around to face Lance.
Lance remained standing, hands on his hips. After a moment, he reached up to run a hand through his hair and released a long sigh.
"I think someone was spying on me today."
Hunk sat up straight, gripping the armrests of the chair. "What? Again? Is that why you were acting so weird?"
Normally, Lance would have been offended by that statement. But right now, he was too nervous to care.
"Yeah. It was right after that argument I had with the Arusian. There was this guy ... some little dude, huge ears, wearing a dark cloak thing. He was looking at me and talking into a comm."
"Oh, no." Hunk leaned back, running a hand over his face. "Do you think he recognized you?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just being paranoid."
Lance paced around the small space, too antsy to sit down.
"Damn it, I knew this was a bad idea. We should never have smuggled that scaultrite. I'm sorry, Hunk. I feel like this is my fault."
He finally collapsed in the pilot chair, legs stretched out in front of him.
"Hey, don't say that," Hunk reassured him, reaching out to pat his knee. "It was just as much my fault as yours. But those days are behind us, right? No more smuggling. Just scavenging."
"Just scavenging," Lance agreed. He huffed, crossing his arms. “Still can’t believe Rolo ratted us out.”
“I told you he was super shady, I’m just saying.”
“Right, like you’ve said a million times before. I get it.”
Lance tilted his head back, staring up through the domed glass above them and watching the stars drift past in a slow crawl. Absently, he touched the fine gold chain at his throat and pulled the talisman out. It felt oddly warm between his fingers.
“Anyway, we should probably figure out what our next course is.”
“Right, that,” Hunk sighed. He touched a few buttons, bringing up several holographic maps and scanning them. “Hmm, well … we’ve gotta get to Xannova eventually to pick up that shipment. We should probably sell some stuff while we’re there.”
“You’re right.” Lance dropped the talisman against his chest again and rubbed at his temples. “We probably need a new haul, ‘cause our current wares don’t seem to be selling. How much did you make today?”
Hunk shrugged, reaching into his pants pocket to pull out a handful of crumpled bills and coins. “I don’t know, like 50 gac?”
“Better than me, I think I only got like 30. At least that’s enough to get us through the next couple weeks.”
“Hmm,” Hunk muttered as he shoved the money back into his pocket. But then suddenly, his face brightened. “Wait. Isn’t Rivlax pretty close to here?”
Lance slowly began to sit up in his seat. “Yeah, I think it’s only a couple sectors away. Why?”
“Well … I know you said you didn’t want to detour too much, but it might be a good idea to stop there and see if there’s anything good. We haven’t checked it out in a while, and it’s only about one varga off-course.”
As he spoke, Hunk rapidly tapped at the dashboard, zooming in on various places on the map in front of him.
“Good thinking, Hunk,” Lance said, snapping his fingers. “I think it could be worth the detour. We don’t want to show up at Xannova empty-handed.”
“Exactly. So ... should we do it, then?”
Lance gave a single nod, already leaning forward to put his hands on the controls.
“Set a course for Rivlax.”
--
[RIVLAX - Galaxy ZL-735, Sector 4188]
Blue dove through the atmosphere of Rivlax at top speed as wispy clouds whooshed across the windshield.
“Shouldn’t we have warned Pidge that we’re about to make a landing?” Hunk yelled over the noise.
Lance had been preoccupied with piloting the ship, but he looked up at Hunk’s reminder. “Huh? Oh, yeah.” He pressed a button on the dashboard, activating the ship’s loudspeaker system. “Hey, Pidge! We’re about to make a quick pit stop, so prepare for landing. It might be a little rough, so uh … you might want to hold onto something.”
He shut the loudspeaker off. “Hopefully she heard that.”
As they raced towards the surface of the planet, Lance slowed Blue down a little. The clouds in front of them cleared to reveal the wasteland below. In a way, it was actually kind of breath-taking. The mountains of garbage formed almost organic shapes across the landscape, bits of metal and glass glinting in the setting sun. It was nearing twilight on Rivlax, and the sky was blood-red as the last light was starting to fade.
Their landing was surprisingly smooth, despite the planet’s uneven exterior. Luckily, Lance had managed to find a patch of somewhat flat ground and lowered Blue to a stop.
“Nice landing, Blue,” he complimented the ship with a smile.
Right then, the door to the cockpit slid open and Pidge stood in the doorway, rubbing at one of her eyes. Her hair was a mess, and one of the straps of her overalls was slightly askew. Rover hovered behind her.
“Maybe give me more of a warning next time you decide to land,” Pidge grumbled. “I was napping and practically fell out of bed.”
She looked like she was about to complain some more, when she suddenly caught sight of the view outside and stopped short. “Whoa. Where are we?”
“Rivlax,” Lance answered, rising to his feet and stretching his arms above his head. “A waste planet. Used to be inhabited, but it hasn’t been for deca-phoebs. Now it’s just where travelers ditch their trash.”
“So … we’re on a trash planet?” Pidge said slowly, like she wasn’t sure she fully understood. “Uh, why are we here again?”
Lance elbowed his way past her into the corridor. “Gotta scavenge some more stuff to sell. Don’t worry, it should only take a couple vargas at most.”
“A couple vargas?”
“Hey, you’re the one who insisted so much on coming along with us.” Lance pressed a hand against a panel on the wall. “By the way, you might want to hold your breath. It doesn’t smell great.”
As he spoke, the sound of grinding metal pierced the air, and a panel in the floor slid open as the gangway started to lower towards the ground.
Lance led the way down with Pidge close behind and Hunk following after her. They walked out from underneath Blue and stopped next to the ship. Lance surveyed the dismal scenery with an oddly eager smile, looking up at the enormous heaps of garbage on either side of them.
“Oh, jeez.” Pidge covered her mouth and nose with both hands. “You were right, it smells awful,” she complained, voice muffled behind her gloves.
“I mean, you can always wait back on the ship if you want,” Lance said with the shrug of one shoulder. “You don’t have to come with us.”
“No way.” Pidge shuddered. “This place gives me the creeps. Feels like some kinda huge graveyard. I’m sticking with you guys.”
The trio started to wind their way between the walls of discarded trash. Rover zipped on ahead of them, scanning various parts of the waste with his flashlight. Lance rolled his sleeves up and waded into the nearest pile up to his knees, nose wrinkling slightly at the stench––but at this point, he’d grown used to walking through garbage.
He caught a glimmer of metal through the rubble and pulled it out. It looked like some recycled scrap from a rusty old ship, a faded symbol printed on the side. From what he could determine, it was a cheap material that wouldn’t do them much good. With a sigh, he tossed it aside and kept searching.
Nothing good was turning up. As Lance continued sorting through the selection of garbage, all he found that was somewhat interesting was what looked like the arm of some old-fashioned droid and a small hand-mirror with a crack across its surface.
Nearby, Pidge picked up a small wooden box and opened it––only to scream and throw it away when a bunch of slug-like creatures crawled out of it.
Lance cackled. “Probably should’ve warned you about the grubs.”
Pidge shot him a death-glare as she shook a remaining slimy bug off her glove.
“Any luck over there, Hunk?” Lance called over his shoulder.
“Nothing yet,” Hunk shouted from the neighboring junk pile. He pulled out some kind of bent metal pole and frowned at it before dropping it. He was just about to lean over again when suddenly his gaze flitted upward, and he froze. “Whoa … do you guys see that?”
Lance straightened, turning in the direction Hunk had pointed. Almost right away, he saw it: a dark streak against the red sky, leading down from the clouds and extending towards the ground where it disappeared behind a mountain of trash.
“What is that?” Lance murmured, squinting and shielding his eyes with one hand.
“Looks like smoke,” Pidge said.
“Yeah, like some big burning thing came falling down from the sky,” said Hunk, taking a few steps forward to get a better look.
"Big burning thing?" Lance frowned. "Like what? A meteor?"
"Maybe. Or ... a ship crashed over there."
Lance's eyes widened as the realization hit him, and then he stumbled down from the garbage pile, sending items scattering in all directions.
"Lance, wait! Where are you going?"
Hunk caught his wrist as he reached the ground, but Lance tugged his arm free.
"What do you mean, where am I going? I'm gonna go check it out."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Are you kidding me? We've gotta get over there. If it is a crashed ship, then that means one of two things. One, it's an unmanned cargo ship full of goods, which means we've hit the jackpot. Or, two, there are people on that ship––and if that's the case, we need to help them."
"Lance––" Hunk started to say, but Lance had already turned and started running.
He didn't take his eyes off the sky as he ran, fixated on that dark line scarring the horizon. The closer he got to it, the clearer he could see that it was, in fact, smoke. It looked like it hadn't been there for long, judging by how dark it still was, but it was rapidly dissipating. Lance pushed himself further, afraid that it would evaporate completely before he found its source.
It wasn't an easy trek, thanks to the debris scattered everywhere. Lance scrambled over one mound of trash after another, and he could hear Hunk and Pidge crashing through the garbage after him.
But at last, Lance came to a skidding stop, eyes following the smoke to where it stopped. His breath caught in his throat.
A dark red ship––a fighter jet, judging by its sleek shape and small size––was buried halfway in a pile of waste. One of its wings was bent at a strange angle and burned black, and a smoking hole had been blown into its side.
Pidge stopped with a gasp next to Lance, and Hunk faintly murmured, "Oh, no."
Lance barely heard them. He felt strange and dizzy, like there was no ground underneath his feet. When he spoke, it felt like someone else was speaking through him.
"Come on, let's go."
He didn't even wait for a response before he started forward, only to be stopped again as Hunk grabbed the back of his jacket.
"Lance, hold on a second."
As much as Lance wanted to dash straight for the ship, he turned to face his friend, and the worried expression on Hunk's face made his stomach sink.
"I don't know if we should go in there. That doesn't look like a cargo ship, and if there is anyone in it ..." He paused and took a deep breath. "It––It might be too late."
Lance only hesitated for a second before he pulled himself out of Hunk's grip.
"Or it might not be."
"Hunk is right," Pidge cut in, her brow furrowing as she stared at the wreckage. "It really doesn't look good. Not to mention, it might not be safe to go in there with all the smoke. Plus it's possible the ship is about to burst into flames or something."
"All the better reason to get in there," Lance said, already turning to climb the slope towards the ship. "I'm not leaving someone in there if they're in danger."
At this point, his companions seemed to understand there was no stopping him. Lance clambered up the sliding pile of garbage––scraps of metal and glass that cut into his palms and crunched underneath his boots.
A strange, inescapable feeling pulsed in his chest. Maybe he was imagining it, but he could have sworn his talisman was burning hot against his skin beneath his shirt, tugging him forward with a magnetic force.
When he reached the top, he was breathing hard. Wiping a hand across his brow, he stumbled the last few steps up to the exposed side of the ship. The smoke stung his eyes and burned in his throat, but he pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth and scrambled upwards, one foot finding purchase on the edge of the jagged hole.
It was too dark to see inside in the fading light. All Lance could make out was a smoky, charred-out interior. If he squinted, he could make out some kind of dark, open doorway that probably led into the cockpit, which was buried under debris.
Lance looked over his shoulder to call down to Hunk and Pidge, who were both cautiously picking their way up the slope.
"I'm going in!"
Hunk tripped, skidding on some loose rubble before he righted himself again. "I don't know, Lance. It looks really dangerous––"
"Pidge, is it okay if Rover goes with me?" Lance asked, ignoring Hunk's warning. “I need him to light the way. It’s super dark in there.”
Pidge stopped a few feet away, looking up at the droid floating by her shoulder. Rover made a series of beeping noises, like he was conveying something to her.
“Okay,” Pidge said hesitantly. "He says he'll do it. Just ... make sure he doesn't get damaged, okay?"
"Yeah, I'll be careful. I promise," Lance said sincerely.
He gestured for Rover to take the lead, and the little droid drifted over to him and dove down into the hull of the ship.
Lance leapt inside after Rover, stumbling a little when the ship rocked to the side with the sudden movement. One of his arms flailed out, but something solid nudged up against his side, keeping him upright. Lance realized it was Rover who had caught him and found that the droid was surprisingly sturdy.
“Wow, thanks little guy.”
Rover beeped cheerfully in reply. Then he moved ahead of Lance again, turning on his flashlight. A bluish glow filled the cabin, illuminating the blackened walls and the fog of smoke.
Lance coughed into his elbow and kept his arm over his face as he peered through the opening ahead of him. Rover moved towards it, and as he hovered close to the doorway, the ring of light fell across the back of a pilot’s chair and a glimpse of the dashboard in front of it. Shattered glass glinted on the floor.
Without daring to breathe, Lance moved forward through the open doorway and stumbled. His foot slid in something and he cursed as he grabbed the back of the pilot’s chair for support …
And that’s when he saw the figure slumped in the seat.
The sight was too horrific for him to comprehend at first––it felt nightmarish and distant, like it couldn’t be real. And yet there it was: a person wearing some kind of black flightsuit, their reflective helmet obscuring their face, a limp arm draped across their stomach where the cloth of their suit was torn, revealing the shocking crimson of blood underneath. Red stained the controls on the dashboard and pooled on the floor.
Lance’s head reeled, his whole body going stiff with shock before the panic started to set in. The breath left his lungs sharply like he’d been punched in the stomach.
“Shit,” he gasped. “Oh … Jesus.”
He didn’t know what he was doing, but somehow he found himself falling to his knees next to the motionless figure in the chair. His mind raced to find scattered bits of knowledge, everything he’d been taught in flight school about dealing with emergencies like this, but it all seemed useless at the moment.
“Hey,” he managed to say. His mouth felt dry, his throat burning from inhaling smoke and the metallic scent of blood. Somehow he was reaching out and putting a hand on the pilot’s shoulder, his fingers going numb when the person remained unresponsive. “Can you hear me? Hey.”
His instinct was to shake them awake, but he gathered his wits just enough to remember you were not supposed to do that to an injured person because their spine could be broken or they could have internal bleeding or …
He had to do something.
Stop the bleeding.
Do something.
Frantically, Lance started to tear his jacket off, bunching it into a ball. He moved the pilot’s arm aside just enough that he could press the jacket against the wound. Through the haze of panic, he could hear himself murmuring something (it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay) even though he doubted the person could hear him. He realized, distantly, they had already lost so much blood that it might not even make a difference.
… In fact, it occurred to him that he hadn’t even checked if they were still alive.
Lance stuttered out something that might have been a curse or a prayer or some strange combination of both. He squeezed his stinging eyes shut as he leaned forward, still keeping pressure on the wound as he pressed an ear to the pilot’s chest.
At first, he heard nothing. But then, there it was: a heartbeat, faint and sluggish, but still there. A single, rattling breath.
Lance sat up again, a sound escaping him––a shuddering noise that was almost a laugh, almost a cry. He took in the sight of this person lying before him, somehow, impossibly, still clinging to life. And he had a strange and staggering feeling that, no matter the outcome of this situation, everything was about to change.
“Hey guys?” he called out, finally finding his voice. “I’m gonna need a little help down here.”