THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

You're too tired to hide your amusement at this. "Quit clowning, I only took seven minutes."

 

"You're as disgustingly efficient as ever, Commander," you smile, and then wince. "Sorry. Come on, I left my cart outside. If you're very good I'll let you criticize my driving."

 

"I'm excellent, so I'll take you up on that."

Once on the cart, though, instead of kibitzing, you say, "So Commander Me is disgustingly efficient, is he? Tell me more."

 

"Well, as you might imagine, he's tall, handsome, good at everything... speaks two hundred alien languages... graduated top in his class at murder school... at least one sun shines out of his ass, which makes concupiscent activity a little tricky sometimes. He can shoot any gun ever invented and some that only exist conceptually. He has seventeen abs, and each of them has a cool name."

 

You snicker. "One of those claims is clearly untrue. I think he probably only speaks a dozen languages."

 

"Oh, no, he can't lie. It's hilarious to watch him make an attempt. That was how I found out about the abs— he originally tried to say that he only had sixteen, but I knew something was up."

 

"Joking aside, is it true he's no good at lying? You've implied it a couple times already. I'm wondering where we diverged to make that the case, because I'm perfectly adequate at it."

 

You glance at him, suddenly interested. "The best he can do, really, is stonewall. He gets extremely awkward when he's trying to come up with actual falsehoods, it's obvious as anything, though he can joke around a bit. What about you, are you some sort of dashing rebel spy type?"

 

"No, I'm just interested in data security and counter-intel," you lie easily, and the recursiveness of the moment pleases you deeply. "I guess he was more interested in tactics than strategy, if he ended up on the front lines. Or did he try for an Intelligenocide posting but piss off someone important?"

 

You narrow your eyes at him for a long moment, to see if he'll squirm, then let it pass. Perhaps his version of Galley is young and unabducted and not suspicious at all for some on-planet idealist to fall in love with.

"I wouldn't be surprised if that was what happened, he's got an absolute knack for pissing off important people. He certainly got Wavebane angry at us in a tearing hurry, his first week or so aboard. And he got shipped here from the Marines for not-quite-actually exploding his superior officer. I suspect he's been pissing people off for a good long time.

"Say— how old is your Galley?"

 

"Eleven sweeps. Where this universe's Galley killed his crazy captain, mine crashed the ship. He was trying to suicide, but ironically, he was the only survivor instead. I feel like I can tell you this because this Galley can't be held accountable for it, but if you're thinking of trying to punish me for aiding and abetting, keep in mind you won't get your Commander back if anything happens to me." You deliver this blandly, appraising; you suspect he must be pretty cavalier about rebellion in the lower castes, or he wouldn't have survived Galley being off the chain, but you can't be sure.

 

"It's a speedo and bunny ears."

 

"You are a dashing rebel spy," you grin. "Do you have a little uniform? Is it a catsuit?"

 

"Oooh, Mr Kadros, ooh," you retort, and then a thought occurs to you and you slam the cart to a halt and sit there holding the steering wheel very tightly. You turn to Bel again.

"Did you come over here with your sylladex intact?" you ask intently. "I mean— do you have information on your computers? In your journals? Did those come across?"

 

Startled and suspicious, you deflect: "Why do you ask?"

 

You take a few quick breaths, not quite daring to line everything up in your head, or look at him again.

"If you came over here with information, we can send you back with information," you say. "And I can't be held accountable for treason against the Empire. Against this Empire."

 

Your eyes widen, but you hold your peace. After a long moment, you say, "Let me think about it. I'm very tired. Tomorrow?" You don't trust yourself with such a momentous decision when you're blurred with fatigue.

 

You nod, give a weak, high-pitched little laugh, and start the cart back up. "Right, sorry. You need to take care of yourself."

 

"So do you," you point out. "We both have people relying on us."

 

"I'm doing my best," you say, and manage a smile. You're quiet the rest of the drive to his place, preoccupied. You've just proposed a pretty huge and terrible thing as if it was of no more consequence than sending this younger version of your kismeses off with a little gift bag. He could die. You're an asshole. But he could die anyway, harboring someone like Galley, and there's so much you could do to help. If it didn't blow up on both of you.

You pull to a stop in front of his hive. "Here you are," you tell him. "I think Pancho's about done with her shift. She can keep you in line overday, I expect."