Work Text:
*Deedoleet … deedoleet … deedoleet…*
The softly chiming alarm continued its gentle song. Easy to ignore if he wanted to. Easy to turn away and forget.
But he sat with his eyes fixed to the flashing blue light. Chest a riot of emotion and worry.
He reached over and depressed the button and the chiming stopped.
"Yeah, all right…" he sighed heavily as a hundred different scenarios ran through his mind.
Firing up his engines he gave a series of controlled bursts with his correction jets to get faced in the right direction, which was 'up' relative to his previous orientation. Course calculations set automatically by the navigation system, he approved the route and undid his straps. The feeling of familiar weightlessness never got old. He drifted purposely around, gathering medical supplies and hoped he wouldn't need them for himself by the time this was over.
He would be more surprised if the Earth Sphere forces didn't impersonate an injured Colony spacecraft to try and get hold of some of the rebellion forces.
Just his bad luck that he was the one to pick up the signal. And that he couldn't live with himself if he didn't go and check.
Away kit now assembled, he drifted back to his seat and strapped in as he hit the universal hailing frequency and checked yet again that the code he'd written for the radar jammer was still showing him to be nothing more than a one, or two man scouting skiff. Made for long trips to asteroids to see if they were good for mining.
"Downed craft, attention downed craft. This is Scavenger's Halo designation L2-05197. Do you copy?" He fell silent waiting.
"Downed craft, downed craft, this is Scavenger's Halo offering assistance. Do you copy?" Silence again. His heart started to sink. He'd hail them a few more times. He wasn't going to look for bodies. He didn't have time for the dead. He needed to protect the living. But what if the comms were down?
"Help! Ni hao! We're here!" Came the crystal clear reply, voice holding a tone of frantic, barely controlled fear.
"Copy that. This is Scavenger's Halo designation L2-05197. How can I help?"
"Uh...uh this is Phoenix Feather designation...um… L5-712. We…. we're hurt. Our engines are broken. People are dead. I… I don't know what happened."
This was not the person in charge, clearly. He sounded very young. Plus the L5 -700 series was a pleasure craft. What was it doing all the way out here? It only added to his suspicions. But to hell with comm-control. A pleasure craft and some young panicked kid? He put more emotion into his voice hoping it would come through and calm the kid down.
"Okay, okay kid calm down." He said soothingly. "I'll get you out of there. I'm here to help. What's your name?"
"Han Zhang Wei." He said shakily.
"Okay Han, how many people are still alive?"
"Twenty-two." The kid answered. And he could tell the kid was taking some huge breaths to try and calm down.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Twenty-three people...in this O2 recycling system? For the amount of time it'd take to get them someplace, anyplace safe? Not to mention the potential for intelligence leaks…
"Fuck it." He whispered to himself. "Okay Han. Here's what we're gonna do buddy..." He laid out a brief outline of his plan. "...
You got all that Han?"
"Yes. I… I think so." He sounded calmer at least.
Carefully, as easy as he could, he made contact with the dead ship. And ran a scan of it, getting a look at where there was damage, and where the survivors were. It looked like he was smashing the other ship flat, grasped in the hand of a craft five times its size. In spite of the seriousness of the situation he couldn't help the grin of amusement at the thought that his Scythe probably looked like a kid playing with a toy spaceship when seen from far off.
It was nothing to push along a neatly organized slew of supplies that weighed more than he did. The tricky thing was not letting them run wild. The bundle may have felt weightless, but that didn't affect mass one bit.
"Han, I'm heading your way." He spoke into his helmet's comm. Nothing.
"Han, Phoenix Feather, this is Scavenger's Halo do you copy?"
"Yes! We're here! Please hurry!" Han answered, he sounded breathless.
That was the bad part of piloting a Gundam, it wasn't a two person job. He really could have used a second set of hands.
He cycled out the atmosphere from where his ship met up with the dead one. Welding torch already aflame as he sliced into the nose. Weldering torches in space could be a bulky damn affair, having to supply both the gas mix and the fuel. It wasn't his favorite toy to play with.
Pulling a section of steel away and securing it with a cord, next to the medical supplies. He accessed his suit's controls from the panel on his arm, glowing with amber light, and the flood lights on his helmet flared to light.
"Nothing creepier than a dead ship." He muttered softly into the still darkness. A man's lifeless body floated a few lengths away. "Hmm 'cept maybe that." He just secured it with a cord out of the walkway he'd be bringing the living through in a few minutes. No time for the dead. Not yet.
He worked his way to the center of the ship, dragging the bulky, awkward welding torch array behind him.
"Han, I'm at the door. Is everyone suited up?" He asked.
"Yes, we're ready." He answered and he sounded calmer than he had since they'd made contact. But in the background he heard someone shouting 'no'.
He let the torch float free, hand going to his pistol. "Talk to me man, y'all ready or not?" Guns were unusual in space travel.
"No!" A woman's voice came over the comms. "We don't have enough suits!" And in the background this time he heard Han arguing in Mandarin.
"Okay, okay. Let me think, stop yelling." He broadcast on the comms. "Let me think…" he whispered to himself.
The problem was, there was no good way to get atmosphere to this door. Center of the ship. Not any way to get his docking platform anywhere near this room and dead space on all sides.
A wide, wicked grin broke his face. "Han, I have an idea. It's crazy, and it won't be fun for y'all. But, I think it'll work. Or… it won't. And… there'll be an explosive decompression… Depends on how much more stress your ship can take." He explained and waited a moment. "But I can promise, I'll pick up every single person still alive." He said softly.
He could practically hear them talking on the other side of the bulkhead his hand was pressed against. To risk it? It might not work. How much longer could those that were already injured go without medical attention? But if it could save others?
"Okay. Try your crazy idea." Han agreed finally.
He was already back in his ship when Han answered. People clung hard to hope. He'd guessed they'd make this choice.
"Okay, you guys get secure. This'll spin you like a top. Strap in. Wedge under something. Tie down. And hold on tight. Tell me when you're all secured. This'll take me a little while."
He zoomed back to his cockpit and strapped himself in. He ran the scans of the ship again, quickly typing out parameters of what he was looking for.
This was going to be like surgery with a crowbar. Messy. But with a little skill and a hell of a lot of luck, maybe he could have the crowbar, act like a scalpel.
The computer kept giving him failure warnings. Trying to impress upon him the fact that what he was asking of it, just wasn't in it's programming and wasn't really possible.
So he kicked in the proverbial backdoor, and wrote out some new code to follow.
Was Deathscythe supposed to use it's radar as a targeting system?
No.
Was it possible?
Technically. Probably.
Was there a huge margin for error?
Hell yes.
But he was trying to think of something else, even as he wrote out instructions for this crazy plan.
There was so much wrong with this. Not the least of which was the change to his radar signature. In the vastness of space, he'd suddenly seem a lot bigger if anyone was looking his way.
He took a minute to do nothing, just took a few deep breaths. Quiet. Centered.
"It'll be easy." He grinned to himself. "Just color inside the lines." He gave the console above his head an affectionate pat, ignoring the fact that he'd never been to kindergarten, where they taught you to stay within the lines. He detached from the ship increasing it's drift and momentum slightly. But he'd already accounted for that deviation in the code he'd written and the Deathscythe was doing his damnedest to calculate the path needed.
Han had signaled their readiness five minutes ago.
"Okay y'all. Hang on." He said into the comms and the scythe his machine was named for flared to life. But as a single jet of concentrated plasma, not the arching scythe he usually used. More like a pocket knife, than a scythe. If a pocket knife were 182 meters long and twice the width of the ship it was aiming for.
If his math was wrong….
If his code were off….
He'd checked it four times. Now, or never. He let out a slow breath and brought up Scythe's free hand to cup the ship, pushing the plasma blade with the other.
"Always cut away from yourself…" he mumbled absently as a trickle of sweat rolled down the side of his neck. Deathscythe didn't even register the motion. There was no shudder of the craft, no grinding sounds. Scythe was a beast. It was like slicing through butter.
But he knew that it would be massively different on the other ship. People were probably screaming over top of that sickening grating sound that rang hollowly through the ship's remaining atmosphere as the hull was damaged. Quieter than it should've been because it was just an echo through the straining metal of what was happening in the vacuum of space.
But, oh, he'd heard it before. Plenty. Just not right now.
And before he'd taken five breaths it was over. He powered down the plasma weapon with a ragged sigh, engaged the docking platform and ran his now shaky hands over his face.
"God... I'm good!" He hissed with a wide grin as he released himself from his seat. If Scythe had any gravity capabilities to keep engaged, he wouldn't have been able to walk. He'd have still been sitting down, knees like water.
He made certain that his radar program switched back over to the script that masked him to look like a small single person craft.
"How y'all doin' over there Han?" He asked as he barrelled through the narrow hallways of Scythe's arm.
"What the hell did you do?" Han demanded, while a cacophony of Chinese cursing and crying could be heard in the background.
"I did say it'd get a little bumpy." He laughed back. It wasn't an answer.
"I'm going to breach now Han. But you'll be in atmo." He told them.
"Watch out for the fire." He cautioned and banged heavily against the bulkhead so they'd know where his entrance would be.
"Okay." Answered the same woman from before.
He wasted no time in getting started. The moment he broke through the bulkhead a menacing hiss greeted him and he felt a slight pull as his own ship's atmosphere rushed into the room on the other side.
"Han are you guys okay in there?" He demanded, cutting off the torch quickly.
"We're good. But our O2 levels have been very low." The woman answered.
He didn't answer, just started cutting again. After another minute the pressure equalized and the hissing stopped.
"Hi there." He quipped with a wave and a grin as he shouldered the bulkhead out of the way.
The people that were awake looked back at him like he was the second coming.
"Let's go." He prompted after a moment where no one moved.
The whole crowd jerked into motion, the ones still standing bent to help those that had become unconscious. Nine people were without a suit. Nine people would have died for certain if he hadn't tried his crazy plan.
He moved to slide his shoulder under an unconscious man that someone was having trouble moving. Both of them looked like they were about to fall over.
He thought for a moment that someone else was carrying two empty spacesuits, then realized they were children in adult suits.
A third child, old enough to struggle with the suit on their own, shuffled along awkwardly behind. Most of them carried some sort of small bundle with them.
He was strapping oxygen masks to all those without suits before all of the refugees were even on board.
Then he was really wishing this were a job that required a partner, because now he was going to leave them alone on Deathscythe.
"We'll need supplies from your ship. I'm going to go get them. Stay here. Do. Not. Touch. Anything. Understand?" He fixed his gaze to each of those still awake, even the children.
"We'll help." Someone replied and he recognized the voice of the woman from the comms. "We're not injured."
"Perfect, let's jet." He led the way back to the dead ship, followed by three others. He locked the docking platform. If anything happened and the crafts became disconnected, Scythe would maintain atmosphere.
It went quickly, having someone that knew where things were on the ship. And having helping hands. It took less than half the time he'd thought it would. They'd stripped every bit of food and water they had. One of the men grabbed extra clothes, haphazardly and a couple toys and books.
And blessedly, atmo filters.
He giggled happily as he pulled them from their casings and strung a cord through the handles to tote them.
"Your ship uses the same filter?" The woman asked with a note of surprise.
"Nope." Was all he said in reply. But his smile never fell as his L2 street rat, savalager heart, wept at all of the good bits of this ship he was leaving behind.
He entered his 29digit access code and Scythe's docking platform opened up. So did the other door at the far end of the narrow hallway. "If everyone could please move forward." He ordered in a broadcast over the comms. And they continued further into the ship.
His eyes flickered over everything and everyone. Had they taken anything? Planted something? How many of them were hiding weapons under those bulky spacesuits?
Some of those without suits were starting to stir now that they'd been on oxygen for a little while.
They all crammed into the much smaller room and he cycled the doors. All the atmosphere hissing away from the docking platform, getting rushed through the O2 filters, and back into different parts of the ship.
Mostly he kept it all in tanks. It was always just him and Scythe. No reason to pump fresh atmo into unused rooms. He just cycled the rooms on rotation every 36 hours to keep things fresh.
Once it was cycled they repeated the process. Filing into another long hallway.
Finally he tugged off his helmet and the others followed suit.
"Welcome aboard Scavenger's Halo. I'm your captain. Call me Max." He stood with his helmet propped against one hip and the woman that had helped him salvage spoke quickly in Mandarin, translating.
"This is going to be a long, long trip. So I ask that y'all do not touch anything." He stressed again, pulling his long braid from his suit for comfort. He was desperately ready for a shower. "There is no gravity on this ship. These are the medical supplies I've gathered. If you need more. Tell me"
"As I'm sure you can all tell, I'm not set up for passengers. This will be your area while we're together and you're not to leave it. And I'll not come in without your permission, unless it's an emergency." He gestured around the narrow hallway and the smaller room at the end. "Light switch. I'll set it to leave some on, so it's not completely dark at night. Wash stations are there." He pointed to the smaller room at the end. "And you have no kitchen facilities available." He waited for the translation to conclude.
"This is the ship wide comms button, push it only if you need to talk to me. Any questions?" He looked around the crowd.
Someone spoke up and the lady that was translating blushed slightly.
"He wonders aren't you a little young to be a captain?" She said softly after an embarrassed pause.
"Not too young to save you." He answered with a wide grin, locking eyes with the man that had spoken.
"You won't see much of me. I have a ship to run. Later." He said in parting and turned to go with a wave dragging the filters behind him weightlessly.
Of course he opened the comms shipwide for receiving only and listened to their conversation.
"Uncle!" The woman started in a berating tone the moment the door closed. The Mandarin flew quickly back and forth. Almost too quick for him to follow. Almost.
He kept the volume turned low and it became background noise as he plotted the shortest course to someplace safe for them. Adjusted his radar signature to that of a larger ship, a salvager, the sort the L2 colony was famous for. And sent out a broadcast message. A nonemergency call for help on the scavenger frequencies only.
Once that was done, he dropped from his seat and pushed himself into Deathscythe's stomach. Which was the largest room in the ship. Technically, it was the kitchen and living area, but he was usually tinkering with something while he ate, so it had become something of a workshop. He had a hammock in one corner for sleep. He called it a hammock. Everyone in space travel did. But it was really netting that covered you top and bottom. You wouldn't float around the room while asleep. He only slept in his hammock. He didn't like to be that far away from the controls when he slept. So the actual 'bedroom' was in the opposite shoulder from where the refugees were, was just storage.
From here, a simple jump upwards would have him jammed into the pilot's seat.
He started stripping the filters from the Phoenix Feather out of their casings, these would be his last ditch scrubbers. With luck, maybe he wouldn't need them.
He didn't hear from the refugees for two days. Well, they didn't speak to him directly. He had been eavesdropping the entire time and video recording as well. Ears pricked up for key words like war, Gundam, mobile suit, Oz, gun, kill, sabotage and anything that seemed suspicious. And for any patterns of conversation that might be coded.
Then on the second day, they hailed him on the ship's comms. He'd been impatiently waiting for something because the room had gone completely quiet for almost a minute. But still, he waited a full minute before responding. Even though he wasn't busy with anything important, he couldn't let them know that.
"Captain Max speaking, how may I help you?" He answered, not having to fein the tiredness in his voice. He didn't sleep for long, in case he missed something suspicious.
"Hello Captain. This is Han Zhang Wei. We cannot thank you enough and… we would like to have dinner with you. If you have time to join us tonight. We would be honored."
This time the delay wasn't forced, his mind raced.
"Thanks for the offer Han, but I've got a lot on my plate right now." His voice was filled with hesitation.
"Tomorrow then? We have rice and fruit." Han asked. And again he was silent as his mind raced.
"...maybe." He answered simply. "Max out."
Fruit? His mouth watered a little. It'd been months since he'd last had a can of peaches.
"L5 really knows how to tempt a man." He muttered and went back to fiddling with the rocket launcher he was modifying.
Three more days into his cohabitation and he could tell the boredom had set in for them. The kids were crying. Everyone looked listless. For himself he'd have loved to have a bout of boredom, but he couldn't relax with people on his ship.
The next day Han and a couple of the other men stood and moved the rest of the crowd back.
They proceeded to tell a hilarious story about a man, that had fallen in love with a bamboo tree. It had him turning up the volume. It was bawdy and if doors made to withstand the vacuum of space hadn't been between them, he'd have been concerned they would hear him roaring with laughter. A couple parts had him blushing and for that he was heartily glad that piloting a Gundam was a one person job.
Every other day, like clockwork, Han asked him to join them for a meal. And every other day he declined politely. They talked about him and his refusal to eat with them. His avoidance of them and lack of communication or interest in them. Coming very quickly to the conclusion that he was a smuggler. And it seemed that pretty much everybody was okay with that. Not the kind of person you want your kids to hang around a lot but not someone that would murder you in your sleep either.
If only he could be as certain about them. Because even though they talked about him being a smuggler, they still continued to invite him for a meal.
One week into the trip, he queued up the shipwide comms. "Attention all passengers, this is Captain Max. We have an announcement, in just two minutes your trip will be one-third of the way over. It should continue to be smooth sailing folks."
He grinned at their reactions, cheering and hugging and happy tears in a sort of wave as it was translated. He was immediately glad he'd told them. Something to break their monotony.
"Please, come eat with us!" Han called into the intercom happily even though this wasn't the day he would usually ask. "We owe you everything!"
"Maybe." was all he said, hesitant and doubtful, like always. But that night he sponged off as well as he could, having given the only shower to the refugees, and got changed out of the shorts and tank he'd been bumming around in for the last few days.
Clad in his typical black pants and priest-like shirt, hair newly rebraided he gently pushed three rotating crates of meal bars ahead of him. Herding them like sheep with easy pushes.
He rapped on the door solidly,then queued the comms. "Knock, knock." He said softly.
The door opening brought with it a wall of sounds and the scent of other people. It was always the first thing he noticed when he came back from a long time in space. How loud everything was, and how comforting having another living person around was.
To have it happen on his craft, was surreal, even expecting it.
The bobbing crates were pushed aside, bumping gently and not so gently into walls and ceiling. They all rushed forward at one time and Han must have recognized some sign of barely concealed panic on his face, because he started scolding all of them and waving them back.
The oldest man, who'd questioned his age the last time they'd spoken, raised his hands with a smile.
"He says, honored guest be welcome among us. May you always have more than you need." Han translated and he grinned widely, one hand adjusting his long braid nervously.
"Thank you for having me." He answered with an unfeigned awkwardness. "I… uh… I brought ration bars…" he told them, suddenly feeling like it had been a stupid idea. They had rice for crying out loud. No one wanted ration bars.
"Thank you!" The woman he'd spoken with before beamed and he felt like maybe she was actually happy for them. "I'm Han Mai Lin."
"Your name is Han too?" He asked a bit surprised. It was an act. You didn't become mostly fluent in a language without learning how to address people.
She laughed a little. "Han is our last name."
"All of you are related?" He asked and his surprise was genuine. He couldn't even imagine. Having twenty-one relatives. It was insane.
The crowd laughed again. "Yes!" Zhang Wei introduced everyone and how they were all related as they drew him further into the space he'd given them.
It felt different. This didn't feel like part of Deathscythe now. The slightly overhead video feed didn't do justice to how they'd changed the space around them.
Each of the small bundles they'd carried had been opened and apparently, they'd had a lot crammed into them. Most of the bundles had been pieces of fabric and they'd partitioned off a section for the six women and the children, anchored to the floor and ceiling.
He hadn't even considered something like privacy. It wasn't usually something he worried about. Or blankets.
They had paper and crayons some place, because the place was just covered with drawings the kids had done. And other little things, the cord loops from what he'd tied the medical supplies together, made into basic sleeping harnesses. A couple photos, little things. Coupled with the noise and the not unpleasant scent of them. It added up. He felt like he'd gone someplace totally different. Like he was in a station.
"I'll try to remember everyone's name." He said a bit dazedly from the influx of information and everyone was very cheerful. They opened up two big containers. They hissed and the flexible foil crinkled as it expanded.
He recognized the hot-meal kits lots of travelers used instead of ration bars. They were expensive. The Hans cooked another five different packages, all different sizes.
"We are celebrating the Spring Festival." Mai Lin told him as they twisted to face each other. Everyone was busy doing something to prepare for the meal. "The day you saved us, it is the start of the new year for our people. Not January." She explained. "So now we will celebrate it with you."
He hadn't even known it was after January. The last he'd paid attention, was before Christmas. And that had snuck up on him. He'd been very busy the last couple months and in space, the days tended to blur together even worse than a Colony or Earth.
An older woman pressed a wad of fabric into his hands, speaking Mandarin so softly that he couldn't make out what she said over the ruckus. But she smiled at him and gave his cheek a pat.
Before he could protest the gift or ask what it was for someone else pressed a still too warm meal packet into his hands and he clutched the fabric around it to protect his hands.
There was a tear strip at the top and a spork. Then a peel back film. It looked completely untampered with. No premature steam escaping. Coupled with the curatives he'd taken just before he came up here and the tolerance he'd built up for poisons he thought he'd risk it.
It was delicious. Real rice with actually chunks of vegetable and chickpeas, some sort of brown sauce. It was the best thing he'd had since hiding out at that school on Earth with Yuy.
He ate it in very small bites and Zhang Wei and many others were done before him. They stood to perform a story, like they did most nights. But this one had singing and dancing in it and the family clapped along in a fast rhythm, varying pace, that took him a few rounds to get the hang of and everyone laughed, including him as he struggled with it at first. And they did the story in English, for him. Even though one of the men was so accented he'd have had an easier time understanding Mandarin. But they all laughed and laughed until he superstitiously double checked that none of them had been drinking.
So he ate slowly and clapped when it was time. Mumbled along with the words to the song, which didn't get translated. But was about a man and a woman that adopted a child that was actually a comet. Like most of their stories he'd eavesdropped on, it was funny and adventurous. Laughter was appropriate and they all howled with it.
But it was different, being in the thick of this crowd of people. Their laughter actually in his ears and people clapping him on the shoulders. It was better and he laughed so hard he had tears on his cheeks and he was in actual pain.
When the story was done, they broke out the other smaller packets of food and they were all dried fruits and sweet treats for dessert, even chocolate, and they all passed them around, back and forth, everyone getting some of everything.
The older woman who'd patted his cheek pressed something orange into his hands and his eyes went as wide as the fruit.
"No! Is this an orange?! I can't!" He protested in shock and this was the first time he really got an inkling of how well off his passengers were before they'd become stranded. He hadn't even seen a real piece of fruit until 10 months ago. And he was sixteen years old.
"She says you are the reason her grandchildren are alive. You have given her happy tears every night and will continue to do so for as long as she lives. She says you owe her for these tears, and you have to take this small gift." Mai Lin translated softly and the group grew quieter.
He didn't look at Mai Lin as she spoke, eyes fixed to the old woman as he put the fruit into a pocket.
"Tell her that…" he drew a deep breath and took her hands in both of his. For the first time he wished he'd told them he spoke Mandarin, so he could tell her directly.
"I am honored to accept this gift. It is my first orange ever and from now on I will think of you every single time I see this color. Xie xie." He bowed over her hands, pressing them to his forehead and didn't care if saying 'thank you' in Mandarin might be suspicious.
She answered and he was glad he was looking down because he blushed red. He didn't look up until Mai Lin gasped "Grandma!" In a scandalized tone. Maybe they'd think the blush was from the orange.
Zhang Wei was laughing and so we're several others.
"Grandma said she wishes you were a couple years older so you could marry Mai Lin! She says you would make beautiful grandchildren!" He gasped for air and Mai Lin punched him on the arm for translating. And the old lady patted his face again, ignoring his blush and ran a hand over his hair with a smile, before turning away to do whatever old ladies did when they weren't turning him red.
It turned into another story, this one simply about their family. How their grandparents met. How Zhang Wei and Mai Lin's parents had met.
They asked if he had any family. He told them truthfully, he did not. He was an orphan of the war. And that led to talk briefly about how they hated the war in general. No one straying into politics of any sort. No opinions on either side. It was all very skillfully done, diplomatic.
And they wondered how he'd gotten to be captain of his own ship at such a young age. Again he told them the truth.
He'd been recruited young, off the streets. He'd learned very quickly and the guy he worked for trained him and gave him a ship. He did whichever jobs his boss sent his way and he just happened to be in the area to save them.
Then one of the younger kids, twin boys, started fussing. The older child, a girl shyly offered him a drawing. It was so startling and he almost pulled his pistol. Because it was of a grey and black figure, reaching for a spaceship.
It took him a few seconds to realize that it was him, his suit was the same color as Deathscythe. It was him, pulling the spaceship with the happy figures scattered around it.
"I love it. Thank you." He told her with a huge grin. "I'll hang it next to my chair." He promised. Then she was being herded off by several of the women as she broke into a yawn bigger than she was.
He stood as well, deeming it time to leave now that there were children crying. The sound was too much, too painful still. The whole crowd of them followed him to the door, bowing and waving and wishing him a happy new year and asking when he'd be back and to come soon.
He smiled and nodded and promised he would try, if he wasn't busy. And then the door was shut and the sound and noise was turned off like a switch had been thrown.
He leaned against the door and sighed heavily. That had been... hectic. And fun. Wonderful really. The grin stayed on his face the entire rest of the night. He slept better than he had since Earth. Since he'd shared a room with Yuy.
***
The next day when he woke movement startled him and he had a knife in hand before he realized what it was. The picture the girl, Chunhua, had drawn for him. He'd fallen asleep looking at it and it had floated away, his grip slacking in sleep. He rubbed at his eyes, securing the picture to the back of his pilot station and pressing the orange against his nose almost violently and inhaling deeply before securing it at his console and starting his day.
He gathered every blanket type of thing he had. Canvas tarps, blankets, towels, the mattress from the storage-bedroom and more coradage. He took it to them early, before any of them had woken up. He keyed up the comms. "Special delivery." He said softly. After a moment someone's voice came over the radio, telling him to come in. He opened the door and wrangled all the stuff through the door. "For your beds." They looked at him puzzled and he realized that neither one of the men spoke English. So he pantomimed sleeping and they nodded happily and smiled at him, bowing in thanks. Then they waved him in, beckoning. But he waved them off with palms outward and shook his head with a smile. Gesturing over his shoulder. He had things to do. Even though he didn't. 90% of space travel was waiting.
He didn't go back to share dinner with the Hans again. In spite of the now daily offers. But he did start and end each day with a sharp inhalation of the round, bright, fragrant fruit he had yet to peel and eat. Gently pressing the glossy peel to make each new whiff as fragrant as the first had been.
One week later, a ship hailed him. "Unknown craft, this is scavenger vessel Sol's Grace designation L2-15413. What is your situation?"
"Sol's Grace this is Space Rat L2-17192. 'lil over two weeks ago I got a 'gency beacon from an L5-700 series with twenty-two survivors. I'm not set up for passengers. And my atmo scrubbers are threatening to go on strike. Getting kinda nervous. Copy?"
After a moment, "Yeah, copy that. We can adjust our heading to yours and dock in three standard days." Said the man on the other end.
"I'll adjust as well and meet you in two." He confirmed their heading, they confirmed his. And he sighed as his new course showed a thin green line to the rendezvous point. He would be there in one day. Then stationary for one while they caught up.
He'd had to refit one of the scrubbers already. Kicking and jamming and stretching and wrapping the dead Phoenix's salvaged pieces to make a very ugly, very anxiety-inducing bit of tech he liked to call 'cobble'. It was cobbled together and it'd work. For now. If the other ship didn't come through…
No. He wasn't going to borrow trouble. Wasn't going to make those plans. Not yet.
"Attention all passengers, this is Captain Max. I am pleased to announce that in just two days we'll be rendezvousing with a scavenger vessel equipped with gravity and better atmosphere equipment. To help you complete the last leg of your journey to the nearest station in something approaching comfort. Thank you, that is all." He said happily. He was both terrified and relieved. The cheering of the family was a pleasant background noise as he bit nervously on his lip.
Relieved because he could finally get all these people off of his top secret war craft and they would be out of the inherent danger of just being near him.
And terrified because it meant actually bringing more people to the ship. This was the epitome of 'things will get worse before they get better' and it sucked.
But he had no other choice. And he'd known that, the moment he'd decided to save them.
****
Over twenty-four hours later, in place for the off-loading and essentially invisible to radar and the human eye, his background noise changed.
The Hans had grown quieter, even though it was 'midday'. He turned up the volume and enlarged the view of 'their quarters'.
The two eldest men stood solemnly before the group, speaking in even, serious tones.
It took him a few moments to realize they were holding a funeral. And it caught him by surprise. He'd never been to a funeral. He had far too many souls to mourn, he didn't have time to hold a funeral for each of them. Truth be told, he'd barely thought of them.
Oh they were never far from his mind, to be certain. But they'd become something of a talisman to him. A single thing. A thought-form representative of the injustices of the Earth's rule.
They weren't real, individual people anymore. They couldn't be. He couldn't let them be real people anymore.
It was too much to handle, to consider them each one by one.
It was like trying to list off every injury after a terrible accident and having to pay attention to each and every thing wrong with your body and worry about how each wound would heal. How long and painful that road ahead would be.
Overwhelming. Impossible to function. So he ignored everything not life-threatening for the moment and moved forward.
That individuality and respect towards his dead was just one more thing the Earth Sphere Alliance had taken.
For the first time since taking in the passengers, he turned the volume down too low to hear. Barely a whisper.
The down side of this being a single person job, too much time to think. He busied himself with another of his projects. One that would require some elbow grease and percussive maintenance. And if he hammered at a particularly stubborn bit far more than was required, well… the good thing about working alone was no one could comment on his moods.
He startled awake as he often did, knife in hand and bucking against his hammock straps with his teeth bared. Nothing. No one. Taking a deep breath and wiping his cheeks dry he unbuckled.
"Space Rat do you copy?" Came over the comms. The voice that had woken him. It was clear they were repeating. "This is Sol's Grace at rendezvous. Does Space Rat copy?"
"Yeah I copy Sol's Grace." He keyed the comms as he pulled and pushed himself weightlessly up to the pilot's chair.
"What is your ETA to rendezvous?" The other captain asked.
"Sol's Grace L2-15413 this is Space Rat L2-17192, please approve docking request?" Was the only reply he gave. He knew the silence was frantic on their end. They'd be checking instrument read-outs and running extra scans. Even trying to look out the few portholes that model of ship had.
He let the silence ride. He'd already learned in his short time that patience was indeed a virtue.
Instead, he keyed up shipwide comms. "Attention passengers. Please prepare your belongings for final departure. And be aware, docking procedures will be initiated soon. Thank you."
Docking was just a terrible thing. Always sounded like everything had gone wrong and you were about to eat a decompression sandwich. You could feel the ship's metal vibrating around you and hear ominous pings and scrapes. Nerve wracking.
"Space Rat L2-17192, this is Sol's Grace L2-15413 approving docking request." The comms finally spat out. He could hear the displeasure and distrust in the other man's voice. "Our security team will meet you at the hatch."
"Space Rat copies." Was all he replied with, tone even. He'd bet his very last knife that in this case, the security team would be every single person onboard except the pilot. He couldn't help the mischievous grin that spread over his face at Sol's expense.
You didn't accept a docking request from a ship you couldn't see or detect without gaining a few new grey hairs.
The script for docking with every ship ever made to date was something he'd already prewritten. It was 7 keystrokes to run the complex procedure and he didn't have to watch it. Instead, he suited up, checked his gun. High velocity projectiles weren't usually used on spacecraft.
However. If Sol's wanted to double cross him, he was going to have a 'shoot first' policy. It was a good policy.
The ship shuddered and groaned and trembled, then stilled. And he was at the bulkhead of the Hans' room. He slapped the door twice and opened it up without waiting for reply.
With a sense of deja vu he found all but 9 of them wearing suits. Everyone wore spacesuits during docking. When you could. It was one of the first things Colony-borns learned.
His helmet and opaque visor already in place, he keyed up his external comms.
"Stay here." He ordered the crowd and he could tell by the great intaking of breath that they were going to argue with him, the ones that spoke English.
"Stay. Here." He repeated with a serious tone and pushed off the floor to drift over their heads. It always intrigued him, how most people tried to orient themselves with 'the floor' even in zero-g, not wanting to get too high from it.
It was a passing thought as he gripped the handles on the door to stop his motion. He entered the code to open the hatch, then closed it behind him, locking the family in once more.
There was a hissing as some of the atmosphere was pumped out of the docking bay. That was his choice.
Every single person alive had a moment where their stomach would drop in fear when atmosphere rushed out of the ship they were on. He'd purposely created a negative pressure on his side to do that.
It'd give him a five to ten second edge against the larger group of opponents. He could glean a lot in that time. And fire off a lot of rounds.
He kicked the bulkhead solidly a few times and pushed back about five feet. Floating off to one side of the doorway, not directly in the middle. Then came a return set of knocks and the vague, subtle vibration of their doors opening.
He keyed the open sequence on his wristpad and Scythe's door pulled to the side quick and smooth, recessed into the wall before the other ship's had finished opening.
He stood with gun ready and barely heard the muffled curse from the other ship as the atmosphere blew towards him.
He knew the impression he made. He was slim, shorter than they were. They probably thought he was a woman, given his stature. It always threw people, to find out he was 'just a kid'. Adults knew how to deal with other adults. He was an anomaly. It was usually an advantage.
No one reacted for a tense, heavy moment. Though they were restless until the atmosphere stabilized. He'd obviously brought a gun to a knife fight.
"Helmets off." He ordered through his external suit comms, gun barrel steady. First he wanted to make sure he didn't recognize anyone. Seven people stood before him frowning. Four men, three women all different races. It was a good sign. A diverse crew meant they could be accepting of others.
And he recognized none of them. No wanted posters for violent crimes. No previous memorable encounters. And none of them looked overly wrathful or fearful.
Oh they were certainly worried. And the man in the front and center of the group looked like he'd swallowed some nasty medicine. The captain he assumed.
But none of them looked like they'd seek out revenge for this breach of unwritten-no guns etiquette.
"Take whatever you want. Just don't hurt my crew." The man he'd assumed was captain demanded sourly.
He slung his gun around to his back, never having taken the safety off, and unlatched his helmet. He propped it against one hip and stood with his hand on the other.
"It's not like that." He shook his head and grinned, as he stepped forward and he could see their posture relax. "I just needed to make sure you were safe. I'm not turning a group of twenty-two, comprised primarily of women and children over to some scumbag." He shrugged one shoulder, then held out a hand. "Call me Max." The other captain shook his hand readily enough but his gaze was hesitant and maybe a bit confused.
"Peter Jenker." He replied.
"Geez you're just a kid." Someone else murmured. He just grinned wider.
"Yeah I get that a lot. I'm older than I look." His shrugged again and he pulled his braid from within his suit. "Let me get the passengers." He pushed himself backward and banged on the door behind him. An answering knock came almost immediately and he keyed the door open.
All the able bodied people were clustered around the doorway looking ready for a fight. He grinned at them widely and the sigh of relief was audible. Zhang Wei laughed and rushed forward, he couldn't cover his shock quick enough and the single step he took backwards was involuntary. Then the taller man had him pulled into a tight hug before releasing him just as quickly. The force pushed him back against the bulkhead gently and then the whole family was rushing past him, peeling off helmets and chattering loudly and shaking hands with their new rescuers. Dragging their bundles and crates with them.
He steadied himself and watched the new captain and crew interact with the Hans. They had a much easier manner than he did. More personable and approachable. He smiled a little. They'd be fine.
And if every instinct he had was suddenly wrong and Sol's Grace was filled with double crossing, violent scum well…
He'd just add the seven of them to the top of his list.
The transfer of passengers went quick and smooth and was over before he knew it. The Hans were given free reign of the new ship, except the crew quarters. The kids seemed happy to have gravity back again, he could hear their feet pounding against the bulkhead as they laughed and ran. While he continued to drift weightless on his own side of the docking space, feeling ever so slightly the tug of that gravity.
And more strongly the pull of all of that life, that island of humanity.
Sol's captain invited him to stay a day, to see the Hans settled in, generous given how he'd greeted them.
He declined with a wide grin.
"Couldn't dare, got too much to get done." Was all he said as explanation and everyone made sure they were inside of Sol's bay. Suits in place and those without safely tucked into the interior of the ship.
Zhang We, Mai Lin and the two eldest men all bowing low to him, folded in half at the waist.
He was the first one to seal the doorway between the ships, the other followed, felt more than heard through the thick door.
The space's atmo cycled out and then he detached from the other ship and keyed the minor adjustment thrusters to put space between them even as he rushed to his helm to be at the ready with his weapons.
He knew they would try to see him. The crew of Sol's Grace at the very least would be tripping over themselves to get to their portholes. Captain Jenker flying to the bridge to demand just what the hell they'd just docked with.
But he'd never tell. "One thing we're good at, eh Scythe? Keeping secrets." He grinned as he strapped into his chair and maneuvered his craft away from the other ship, slowly.
They only thing they'd see was a vague, strange ripple in space. Like heat waves from a hot piece of machinery or like the stars were being seen through pool of water.
But they'd get an understanding of how vast the craft was the further away he got, when they could see either edge of the wavering expanse that made up the ship.
After several minutes, Sol's Grace hailed him again. He answered without hesitation but said nothing.
"It was a pleasure and an honor to meet you Captian Max." Came Peter's voice, holding a note of something akin to awe. The man sounded almost breathless.
"Don't know what you mean Captain Peter. I was no where near this heading." He grinned as he spoke over the comms and the man laughed a little, disbelieving.
"But if I had been around, it would've been a pleasure."
"Freedom for the Colonies." The man whispered, as if even saying it in the middle of space on a moderately secure comms channel was too public.
"Space Rat out." He sighed out and cut the connection.
Then his ship was silent. The channel to the docking and storage space was still open and recording. But no sound was heard.
He stopped recording.
Set about correcting his course and getting back to his mission.
Cleared his throat, sighed.
Then his fingers danced across the keys and sound broke the silence.
The now familiar sound of Zhang Wei's voice started, telling the first story he'd shared with his family after he'd rescued them.
He pulled out the orange the Han matriarch had given him, pressing it to his nose and inhaling deeply before breaking into the peel with his nails.
Each piece of peel he pulled away got secreted away into a small pouch. The scent of orange was powerful in the small space, the air getting recycled through the filters so that it would linger for months and months after this day.
He put his feet into his chair, knees to his chest and slowly ate each section of the fruit as tears fell hot and his breath came fast and the voices of the Han family's stories filled the vast echoing silence of his life.
End.