THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

Before long you find you're enjoying the challenge of catching these unpredictable throws, and the tension headache from being around all these adults is starting to subside. When she finally throws a steak knife -- handle first, because she's not a terrible coworker -- that got left in a dishwasher, you happily tape it to the top of the roomba before setting the bot down and switching it on.

It beeps a few times, running self-checks, and then starts sweeping. You give Chance a dorky thumbs-up.

 

She actually cracks a smile, and finishes sorting the last few pieces of one pile into two others. Then she comes over and looks at the roomba.

"So what's the knife for?" she asks, then curses and hops back when the roomba rotates unexpectedly and chops into her workboot. "You little shit!"

 

"Inspiration struck, Chance," you say solemnly.

 

"YOU!" she roars, and stalks over to get right into Bel's face. Once there, using every inch of height and sweep of age she has on Bel, she leans in menacingly, and says, "I knew you had a personality somewhere in there. Come pound rocks with us, kid."

 

A big, genuine grin breaks over your face. "Sounds awesome." You roll up your sleeves and follow.

 

After a very busy— and somewhat hungover— day of your own, you finish your rounds off in swinging back by the mechanics' lair, just to be nosy about how your miniature Kadros has been fitting in. They're all hard at work chopping huge chunks off the asteroid and ferrying them across the hanger to the adjacent foundryblock for smelting, and the noise and heat and smell of the activities are like getting hammers right to the sensory apparatus. Apparati? You get a set of of auditory dampening clamps settled onto your ears— a bit awkwardly, with the fins and all— and meander around, checking in with the crew that can stand your presence and doing a spot of heavy lifting here and there.

You find Kadros in the very thick of things, looking as much a sweaty dust-gremlin as anyone.

"I say, haven't you been up since yesterday?" you roar at him over the various dins. It's perversely satisfying to be the one to scold Bel about overwork, for once.

 

Sensory overload closed around you like an impenetrable static blanket at least an hour ago; you are now a machine for breaking rocks, and have no ability to process anything else. You don't even notice that Erskin is in the room, let alone that he's addressing you.

 

Oh, hell, he's got that particular sort of stare, the one he gets when he's stuck on things. You're never really sure what to do about it at the best of times—you're even less confident about handling this younger and more volatile version. Hoping for the best, you take the grinding machine out of his hands and give it to someone else, then take his arm and start pulling, hoping he doesn't blow up at you for it.

"TIME TO GO," you yell at him.

 

Wild-eyed, you flail out of his grip before your brain catches up with what's happening. You let him steer you out of the room and take your ear protection off. The world begins to come back into focus. "What's up?" you say, a bit too loud because your head's still ringing. "Did something happen? Where's Lycaon?"

 

"You've been on shift for a full night cycle at least," you tell him, loudly and slowly. "Someone else can take care of your friend for awhile. You need sleep."

 

You blink. "I'm fine. I can finish out the shift. I've gone harder for longer. Also I'm not going to just ditch him, he'd freak."

 

"I'm sure you could work until the moons turn to pudding, but tonight you are done nontheless. You have...." you check your phone, "...ten minutes to hand him off to Chance or Heinsz. Then be back here." You point at the ground in front of you, then sweep your arm out grandly.

That ought to be enough time for him to say goodbye, and exhaustion to catch up. If not, you can just drag him around some more.

 

You scowl, stubborn: "It'll take as long as it takes, Captain. I'm the one who dragged him out of hiding, that means I'm responsible for him, I won't just leave him hanging. But... I'll try to be efficient about it," you concede.

Getting out a handful of hankies for wiping off the worst of the asteroid dust, you stumble off in search of Lycaon. He couldn't handle the noise of the mining area, and is probably sweeping out the storage areas or cleaning the break room.

 

Lycaon is cleaning the breakroom. He's gotten brave enough to beat the googly-eyed plant savagely to death and drag the mashed-up remains out into the hallway, then made ferocious inroads on the layers of oil and grease and asteroid dust everywhere. He's still jittery enough to throw a bottle of cleaning solution at Bel's head when the blueblood walks up, though.

 

You catch it and set it aside without rancor. You're actually kind of proud of him for it. "Nice work in here," you approve. "Hey, so, our shift's over. We need to go talk to Heinsz about your sleeping arrangements. She said she'd get you a residential block."

 

"Oh. Okay." Lycaon puts the rest of his cleaning supplies in the sink and follows Bel, though he starts clinging to him as soon as they're around people again, especially the busy, noisy crowds nearer the workblocks.

 

Heinsz is in the shop office, fortunately, rather than the mining bay. You knock on the frame of the open door. "Boss? You said you'd handle Lycaon's residential assignment?"

 

She looks up from coordinating something bright and noisy on her data pad. Actually, she might just be playing candy cull. "Right. Yeah, I'll get him set up. You coming along, chickie, or are you done for the day?"

 

"The Captain says I'm done," you shrug ruefully. "He already found me a place. I'll come collect Lycaon tomorrow evening." You pat Lycaon's clutching hand reassuringly. "Heinsz will take care of you. Get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow."

 

Lycaon nods unhappily and slinks over to stand by Heinsz, who pats his hip with absent kindness and keeps working on her tablet. She waves Bel out of the office.

——

When Bel finally gets back to you, you pull out your phone and make a big show of tapping your foot and examining the time, your face set in a mock-severe expression.