THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

For some reason, this makes you more furious instead of less, but you force yourself not to act on it, because this is as close to compromise as you're going to get. "Fine," you spit out. "I can't do anything about you criticizing my 'hardass quotient' as you call it, and I'm sick of trying to convince you. Just... look, just give me something to do besides watch you drool on a couch pillow. That is not my hive. And you're not my Captain. You're not my Erskin. My Erskin did his level best to get murdered every time I took my eyes off him, and sometimes while I was watching. So to get lectured by you now as if I was doing that, when I was in frankly the least danger I've been in all perigee, it's -- it's so offensive I want to throw up, frankly." Whoops, you weren't going to argue anymore. You were going to be the bigger troll. You shake your head sharply. "Never mind, forget I said anything. Just give me something to do besides cower in other-Bel's hive."

 

"While you're on my ship, I'm your Captain," you tell him, and squeeze his shoulders— gently, but very firmly. "You don't have to like it but you do have to put up with it."

You continue, briskly now that you've finally got him pointed out of tantrum town: "If you need to keep busy, I can entirely understand that and there's honestly no shortage of important tasks we could use an energetic new hand on. I assume your ID is in order? Your horns are different enough from the Commander's and your hair is much longer, so if you'd wear another sign— perhaps cygnus, rather than aquila? they're supposedly quarrelsome bastards too—I doubt anyone'd recognize you. You even talk a trifle differently.

"Are you any good with machines? I'd rather not dump you in security, it'd take half the week to get you up to speed in administrangulation, and the Commander's never liked stooping to peasant work so I'm not even going to ask if you'd like to help out in hydroponics or cooking."

 

You show him your new ID as Hanbel Chania. "I already picked Corvus, because I can black out the top of the Aquila on my clothes and get something like it." You scoff. "Unless your Bel diverged in a really weird way, it's nothing to do with peasant work and everything to do with being terrible at plants and food. I'm a passable mechanic."

To show willing, you get a comb out of your sylladex and start putting your hair in two braids on the spot, since Commander Bel in the pictures he showed you wore his in a high ponytail like you prefer to do.

You're not sure if Lycaon is still around, and you don't want to give him away by looking for him. Maybe when Erskin gives you your assignment, though, you can bring him along and get him in with the mechanics or whatever, so he'll be all right once you're gone.

 

"Oh, is that why he kicked so hard over kitchen shifts? Well, I never met a blueblood who didn't at least know which end of the spanner to hit things with." You pat his cheek a few times, teasingly, and step back before you do anything more inappropriate. "Alright, say goodbye to your jumpy arboreal friend and I'll drive you to the mechanics' office. I expect at this point of the day Heinsz is getting some sleep or some sex like the rest of everyone with working cognition sponges, but someone'll be around at some point, and you know what to do with computers. You can putter about on your own initiative till anyone says otherwise."

(he won't mind if bel asks to bring the guy along or anything)

 

Okay, so Lycaon wasn't very well hidden and all your bluffing was for nothing. At least Erskin isn't addressing him directly and scaring the hell out of him. "Can I bring him along?" you venture, and Erskin shrugs agreement. "Okay, give me a second, please."

When Erskin is a little way off, you turn up to Lycaon's hiding place and give him an encouraging smile. "I got us a job!"

 

Lycaon stares at the captain, trembling worse than a leaf and with terror-sweat dripping from his chin. He doesn't even try to speak, just climbs jerkily down from the tree and takes Bel's hand, his attitude as miserable and despairing as if Bel were a squad of guards sent to take him to his execution. His execution by torture.

"O-okay," he says quietly, after a few false starts, and sniffles.

Erskin yawns, glances at the enormous, dirty, quaking troll from the corner of his eye, then looks casually away and strolls out of the park and to his waiting cart with studied unconcern. He opens the back of the cart, still without looking at either of them, and settles in to the driver's seat. His hands clench on the steering wheel like he's angry, but his face is still very calm.

 

Rather than addressing Lycaon's worries directly, you just talk in reassuring tones and keep hold of his hand while you get on the cart and it starts moving. "We're going to be mechanics. I know my way around machinery, but if you don't, you can do stuff like sweep up metal shavings and put away parts while you learn. I think it'll be good work."

 

"I don't know anything," Lycaon eventually whispers. "They... they took it all. I wasn't supposed to be for anything but hurting."

You make an involuntary, half-swallowed little growl, then go as still and blank as you can when Lycaon cringes even further into Bel's side.

"This is a good ship," you say gently. "You'll do good work here."

Stars, you wish you'd had the excuse— and the ability— to tear that flying freakshow apart.

 

You pat Lycaon's shoulder gently, letting go of your anger at Erskin for now. "He's a decent guy, Lycaon, I promise. We were yelling because I'm his kismesis's double, not because he's an angry person. I haven't worked under him because my universe's Erskin is pre-ascension like me and not in charge of anything, but I'm pretty sure he's a way better boss than your old ones. He let you stick with me, right? And he let me pick what kind of work to do? It's going to be okay."

 

"Hold up, I'm not in charge of anything?" you ask, surprised. "I don't precisely remember how it's supposed to go for the naval aristocracy still on planet and not stranded in deserts but that doesn't sound right. Who takes care of you, then?"

 

"What do you mean, takes care of me? I have a moirail and a lusus. My Erskin is mostly interested in being bitten by vampires, lately." You can't hide your deep grief at this. "I had to rescue him from this... this... she was killing him. And I don't think he's even accepted that yet, he's already looking for another one. I just spent a perigee living in a rental aircar looking for him, trying to rescue him, fighting rainbow drinkers on their own turf -- he ditched his moirail. They were on a road trip to have special moirail time together and Erskin ditched him to go play juice box for Cloris Fucking Vhines, and it ended up with me soaked in blood." You take a deep breath to calm yourself for Lycaon's sake. "That is a large part of why I've been so snappish with you about tonight's little adventure. From my point of view, it was very relaxing and productive. I didn't get hurt or hurt anyone. I made a friend. I played scavenger hunt with a frog. It was nice."

 

You grimace, feeling an odd, multi-layered regret. "I suppose I must be prone to courting disaster at eight sweeps in any universe. I'm sorry. You need—" you wince a little, correct yourself, "—deserve better. From what I understand you've gotten used to taking care of everything yourself here, too, and hang any so-called superiors who try and stop you. I've had a devil of a time getting you even halfway trained out of it."

You see the flare of indignation that last bit sparks in him, and grin provokingly despite yourself.

 

You roll your eyes, but good-naturedly. "You'd have more luck if you weren't so prone to hyperbole, Erskin. Bels are extremely literal."

 

"I have never exaggerated about anything in my life, ever," you tell him, still grinning.

 

"You're one thousand percent truthful, eh?" You chuckle.

 

"A million!" you shoot back. "Oh, here we are." You park in front of the mechanical blocks' front office and lever yourself out of the cart, yawning and stretching. You're still so tired, and your head and hip are starting to ache in counterpoint.

When you lead the way into the office, you find Heinsz sacked out on one of the squashy, greasy, half-alive couches, bare-chested with someone else's bra tangled between her horns.

"Heinsz!" you yell, and the rustblood startles awake and throws a screwdriver at your head. You duck and laugh as she groggily curses you out, then sits up and tries to get the sphere saddles off her head.

"What's up, who's this?" she demands. The green silk bra absolutely doesn't fit her when she tries to put it on, it's like a shoulder-mounted frilly eyepatch. You observe her attempts at orb wrangling appreciatively until she snaps her fingers in your face a few times.

"This is Hanbel and Lycaon, they need reassigning. The blue's still in fairly good shape, if prone to a bit of pointless defiance, but the brown's been just smashed all to hell and needs careful handling."

"More carnival kids, huh?"

You shrug. "You know how it is after a bad ship comes through. It takes awhile for all the transfers to be accounted for."

"Yeah, I hear you," she says, looking over the two new hands. Lycaon, trembling and thin-skinned, and Hanbel, a touch younger than any normal ensign. They don't look like trolls with very nice backstories.

"Alright, yeah, you two kids can do some inventory if you're up at this hour, we were gonna get started this evening but fuck it. Come on, I'll get you a data pad and some wash basins."

She levers herself upright and stomps off to the backroom, gesturing them to follow. Before Bel goes past you, you hook a finger into the collar of his shirt and lean in.

"You seem to have some sort of hemoegalitarian ideals, and that's excellent, because that rustblood is now your department head and if she says jump you had better ask which damn direction. I don't want to hear a fucking hint from her that you've gotten stuffy or stubborn or proud or you are going to like your next job posting a great deal less. Are we clear?"

 

"Sure," you say, kind of surprised he feels he needs to say that. "She's the boss, it's fine."

When he lets go, you turn away, but turn back and blurt impulsively, "Thanks. For worrying. I mean, you're way off base because I wasn't in danger but it's. Nice. Worrywart." You hurry after the mechanic boss lady before he can reply.

"I'm okay with machines and good with computers," you tell her helpfully. "And I'm strong and I like cleaning and organizing. Lycaon doesn't, um, remember what his skillset is. But he's a hard worker." You don't know that for sure, but you don't figure he could've survived down there if he wasn't.

 

Heinsz claps Bel low on his back, just over his butt, rather than bothering to reach for his shoulder. "That's good. You can catalogue the equipment and he can scrub it and put it back. We need to figure out what we're missing, what we're short of, and what we don't have to worry about after fixing up that three-ring battleship last week, then replace or repair it all before the ruffianihilators show up. You don't have to get everything done today, but the more you can get done before the regular gang comes in with hangovers the more popular you're gonna be. Welcome to the glamorous life of a carrier, kiddo."

Behind them, Erskin flops onto one disgusting couch and passes out immediately. After she's showed Bel all around the storage blocks and familiarized him with the inventory programs, she heads back to the front office, and climbs on to the same couch as the Captain. Without waking up, he rolls over so she's protected between his body and the back of the couch, and she snorts, scruffles one of his ragged fins, and falls asleep.

 

"Aww, that's cute." You snap a picture of them before leading Lycaon into the first storage block to get started.

Cleaning takes longer than cataloguing, so at the end of the first storage unit you set the inventory pad aside and sit down to help Lycaon. "This is pretty restful. How are you doing?"

 

"Better," he says. "This is easy." He finishes scrubbing the gunk off a level and puts it aside on a drying cloth. "...I'm still hungry, though, sir."