#so I have to return to my backlog of comm work

[mhaikkun]

kneel if you want to be punished

[redwineconversation]

Olympique Lyonnais - Bordeaux OLPlay Postgame Interviews

What is love if not eternal suffering? Winning is still cool though.

Blah blah standard disclaimers apply; @OL Comms Dept the backlog is killing me but a PSL would definitely speed things up; being banned for life from a stadium for invasive behavior would solve parasocial relationships REAL quick; y'all know the speech.

This is a Timothee Piron and Coralie Ducher fan account first and everything else second.

LAURA BENKARTH POSTGAME INTERVIEW

[interview is done in English]

Timothee: We have a very happy goalkeeper who is smiling right now. Laura, it was a good game for you I imagine, your first game with Olympique Lyonnais.

Benkarth: Yes, I'm very happy to do my first game for [Olympique] Lyonnais. And also we won, so it's a good evening.

Timothee: How was it for you? It wasn't the most difficult game tonight.

Benkarth: Yeah, it's maybe difficult as a goalkeeper to stay in the game, because a lot of time you have nothing to do except maybe one situation here or there. So it's sometimes difficult for your head to stay in the game. But I think the team played really well, we could have scored some more goals maybe but we're really happy to have the win.

Timothee: There were some special moments, because it was the first game for you in front of the crowd. How did you feel?

Benkarth: Yeah it was nice to play in front of the home fans after these games. I'm really for the team. And it's always nice to play at home.

Timothee: We saw you during the training [session] speaking a lot with Christiane [Endler]. How is the relationship with Christiane?

Benkarth: It's really good. I think we push each other to be on a better level because we can help each other. She's also a really nice person. I like her really because she also helps me a lot with winning. I can also talk some German to her because her dad is German, so that's nice. It's fun with her, in training. Also with the young goalkeeper, Feerine Beldahj, I think we have a really good relationship. A good team spirit in the team.

Journalist: Maybe the team and your teammates told you about the next game. It's a very big one [ehh not really], it's against ASSE.

Benkarth: I've heard that green [ASSE's colors] is forbidden in Lyon. So I'm excited. We'll see what happens next week and we'll try to win.

Journalist: Thank you, Laura. Maybe a word in French?

Benkarth: [in French] Goodbye, have a good night.

Journalist: [in French] Thank you.

ADA HEGERBERG POSTGAME INTERVIEW

Journalist: Ada, how are you feeling after your return?

Hegerberg: I'm really happy. First of all I'm happy to be back with the team again. It's true that - [Hegerberg gets distracted by something off-camera] - it's true that it does a lot of good to be able to play again and be efficient. It was a good starting point.

Journalist: Overall, what do you personally think about your team's beginning of the season so far? It's pretty much perfect, there was the win at the Trophee des Championnes, three league wins, zero goals conceded. It's an ideal start.

Hegerberg: It's an ideal start. It's always good to start off a season in the manner that we did. I don't want to say it puts at ease but it definitely gives a sense of serenity as we continue to work. With a start like that, we can have higher expectations for ourselves. We have to ask more of ourselves because there are some really big games coming up, and it's really just the beginning [of the season]. So, to not have conceded any goals, get the forwards going again, I think all of that is important, especially in terms of confidence. Now it's up to us to continue working hard and get ready for what's coming next.

Journalist: You brought up the forwards. There is a lot of competition this season with the arrivals of Melchie [Dumornay], Kadidiatou Diani. There are three of you who scored this evening, Eugenie [Le Sommer] scored in the first two league games. How do you cope with the competition?

Hegerberg: It's funny because we always hear about the competitiveness this season, but in reality that's been the case the past 10 years I have been at Lyon. I think it needs to be like that. I think it's good for the team when there is competition. We need to push each other. And for me personally, I've always experienced that at Lyon. And it should always be the case if we want to be a competitive club.

Journalist: Can you talk a little about your goal after having come on as a substitute? We saw that you have a really great relationship with the fans, they chanted your name and you applauded them in return. Was it a special moment for you?

Hegerberg: Yeah, like every moment with the fans in the stands. I can't repeat it enough but I think we [Olympique Lyonnais] have an understanding with the fans about our identity. There isn't sports without fans. We like that they show up every game. They need to be there, too, to push us. It's a good feeling. If they're not there, there isn't sport. So it was a good moment. And I hope that we can bring in a lot of people, I'd like to see more and more people come see us play, especially when we play at Groupama because there is more space. It's up to us to perform well. I think it's important to play a good game, because it will attract more people. When you have the results [that Lyon has], it should attract people.

Journalist: Ada, I have one more question for you. What are your personal objectives?

Hegerberg: [big sigh] It's true that I want to win everything with the team. That's the goal, to perform the best that I can, and to do the best job that I can for the team.

SONIA BOMPASTOR POSTGAME INTERVIEW

Journalist: We're with Sonia after this nice 4-0 win. Lyon had a complicated first 20 minutes, they struggled to break through the Bordeaux bloc. But everything fell into place really quickly after that.

Bompastor: Yeah, yeah, it's true. Regarding the game, it was a little difficult. We lacked technical efficiency in the final third. We sometimes made the wrong decisions, we rushed. Now you're right to say that we were faced with Bordeaux's bloc, which was very low and compact, as we were expecting. After that, in terms of the context of the game, the starting lineup had some players who hadn't played in a while, some return from injuries. So in terms of rhythm we knew we had to give them a little bit of time. Once we were able to score that first goal, things went better for us towards the end of the first half.

Journalist: Were you expecting that kind of game?

Bompastor: Yes. In any case, for our preparation we studied Bordeaux's first two games, the first league day against Paris and the second one against Le Havre. We know that in terms of ball possession they play very direct, but defensively they would defend very low with a really compact block, no space between the lines, which wouldn't leave us with any space. They also changed formations during the game as they started in a 4-2-3-1 and finished with a 3-5-2. They tried to make it difficult for us with the two strikers in the second half and tried to block off the midfield with 5 players behind them. So it's never easy, because as I said, there isn't a lot of space, you really have to be technically efficient. Despite all that, I think if we really analyze the game, we created a lot of chances. We could have been more efficient as well and we could have run the score up more. But we also know there is work left to do and we'll focus on that.

Journalist: We saw Kadidiatou Diani's first goal tonight, Ada Hegerberg's first goal as well, she came on as a substitute. I imagine it's really good for you to see your forwards gain confidence.

Bompastor: Yes. Yes, a lot of satisfaction, obviously for them personally. As you just said, it's always important for a forward to have confidence and score goals and make the difference. So I think that mentally it will allow them to feel good, continue working hard and progress, and be at their best level.

Journalist: I have two more quick questions. The first is the ranking, we're now even with Paris FC having won 4-0. We had another clean sheet. Are you completely happy with this game against Bordeaux or is there still room for improvement?

Bompastor: No, not in terms of the objectives you just laid out. Defensively we continue our streak of having clean sheets, so that proves the defensive solidarity we have, that's important. In terms of ball possession, there's still room for improvement, we'll really analyze this game and take away the necessary information to progress and elevate expectations. Now as you said, we're tied for first. I think Paris FC is ahead of us on goal differential, because there hasn't been a head-to-head and I think it's the goal differential that dominates in that situation. If we could have scored a fifth goal that would have been good but it's been a good start to season and it shows there are still some things to go get, and that's good.

Journalist: The next thing to go get is the derby. It's the next matchup for Lyon, it's always a little particular.

Bompastor: Yeah, yeah. A derby is always special. I said before it's not the same rivalry as with the men's team. But the players, the staff, even myself, were really happy that ASSE is back in the first division so that we can have this game, have this derby. And we're looking forward to next Saturday so we can play the type of matches we enjoy.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Desert Sands: Part 5

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, John, Alan, Virgil, Gordon

Back with another section, just to prove I’m still alive.  RL is throwing me through several loops and with uni just around the corner I’m a bit too busy freaking out about that for my muses to want to work, apparently (it’s hardly my first degree but apparently that’s not stopping them from shutting down).  I have some backlog to post, still, but at least for now the days of near-daily updates are over.  Hopefully once I get into the swing of uni my muses will come back...

<<<Part 4

Alan reached across him to place the first cool pack on Scott’s forehead, and they were rewarded with another groan and flutter of eyelashes.

“Scott?” John tried again, aware of Alan echoing the name.  “Are you with us?”

His lips moved slowly, but no sound came out.

“Come on, Scott,” Alan pleaded, placing a second pack by his neck. Whether it was Alan’s words or the pack, John wasn’t sure, but blue eyes opened a crack.

Scott didn’t look at either of them; his eyes were so clouded and unlike their usual vibrant hue that John suspected he was barely awake, and probably entirely unaware of his surroundings.  Still, it was a sign of life, and he renewed his attempts to remove as much of Scott’s uniform as possible.

“No, no, Scott!”  He paused and looked back up at Alan, who had paused in packing a cool pack under Scott’s left armpit to pat his brother’s face lightly.  “Stay awake!”

Scott rolled his head away from the stimulation, his groan sounding more like a moan of protest than an unconscious sound, and John abandoned the half-cut uniform at the hip to join Alan.

“Scott?” he called, cupping his brother’s face in his hands and wincing at the clammy skin.  “Can you hear me?”  He turned to Alan briefly.  “Keep going with the packs.”  The teenager nodded, his face troubled, and John saw him carefully place one over the broken collarbone before returning his attention to Scott, who was still making small, half-conscious noises of the protesting variety and closing his eyes again.  “No you don’t, Scott.  Keep those eyes open.”  It took a couple more pats, but Scott responded, opening his eyes again.  They were slightly clearer, a hopeful sign that awareness was returning to him, and John took the chance to accept a bottle of clean water from Alan and gently wash the worst of the blood from his face, looking for the source.

That got more of a reaction from Scott, who rolled his head into the cool stream.  John caught his chin and kept him still before he put his mouth and nose into the water.

“Easy, Scott,” he soothed, finding a nasty cut above his left eye and carefully bathing it with water to wash out any foreign objects.

“-n.”  Scott’s next moan almost sounded like an attempt at speech, but for all his multilingual fluency, John couldn’t decipher it.  That wasn’t particularly unusual with semi-conscious individuals – John had heard Scott himself returning to consciousness with incoherent sounds over the comms before – but it gave him hope that Scott might not have been fully unconscious the entire time.  After all, the raised shoulder restraints implied that Scott had got himself out of his chair.  Whether that was before or after the head injury was another matter entirely, but that was a consideration for later.

At some point Alan had reclaimed the cutting tool and was continuing the task of stripping off the flight suit, leaving Scott in just his underwear and revealing a multitude of bruises.  John checked the scan’s results again, just to double check that no internal injuries had been flagged up.  They hadn’t, but Scott was still going to be sore for some time until he healed.

It was still too hot inside Thunderbird One, but they had nowhere better to move to and John watched anxiously as the medical scanner recorded Scott’s temperature inch up to one oh five.  The cooling packs were slowing the increase, but doing little to stop it. They did, at least, seem to be helping Scott remain semi-conscious as he made another nonsensical noise.

“We’ll have you out of here soon,” John reassured him, placing some gauze over the gash and securing it in place with medical tape.  They could do a better job later, but it would at least keep it clean until Thunderbird Two arrived.  “Alan, how far out are they?”

A roar of engines answered him before Alan could, and Virgil appeared over the red comm.

“We’re coming in to land now; how is he?”

“Broken collarbone, minor head injury and a temperature of one oh five,” John reported.  “He’s semi-conscious but I don’t know if he’s aware of his surroundings or just responding to the stimulus of the cooling packs.  We can’t cool him down, though; Thunderbird One’s temperature regulator is offline and it’s baking hot in here.”

“Can he be moved?”  Thunderbird One juddered slightly as Thunderbird Two landed beside her, and Virgil’s hologram went through the motions of leaving his seat and heading for the module.

“We’ll need a stretcher,” John sighed.  “I don’t think his shoulder should be moved more than necessary, but I don’t know how you’ll get back out of the dorsal hatch with a stretcher.”

“Thunderbird One’s already unable to fly, more damage won’t make a difference,” Virgil pointed out.  The idea of cutting up one of their Thunderbirds made John wince, but Virgil was right – Thunderbird One was already disabled, and they had to get Scott out as soon as they could.  “Scans put Alan and two other life signs in the cockpit?”

“We’re under the pilot seat,” John confirmed.

“Under it?”  Footsteps echoed through the hull of Thunderbird One as someone – presumably Virgil – walked over the top.

“It looks like Scott tried to get out,” John explained.  “The harness is up and we found him on the floor.”

There was a familiar grumble at that as Virgil presumably once again had some choice words to mutter about idiotic brothers making themselves worse under his breath.  “Okay, stay where you are.  I’m cutting a way in.”

The high-pitched whine of a laser started up as the communication dropped, and John glanced back to see a glowing red spot several paces back at the side of the fuselage.  Scott made another noise of distress as metal clanged down and sunlight streamed in through the new hole in Thunderbird One, silhouetting Virgil and Gordon’s outlines before the last brothers made their way inside.  Gordon was towing the stretcher, but hung back as Virgil nudged Alan out of the way and joined John by Scott’s head.

“Scott, can you hear me?” he asked, leaning over to plant himself in front of hazed blue eyes and extracting a penlight from his toolbelt, which he shined into them.  Scott sluggishly attempted to turn his head away, making more noises of complaint, but Virgil cupped his chin and held him still.  His pupil constricted slowly, confirming John’s fears of a concussion, and Virgil put the penlight away again.  “Scott?”

“Vrrr.”

“Okay, let’s get you out of this heat,” Virgil decided.  “Gordon, get that stretcher over here.”  Knowing that his brothers had far better experience dealing with extraction, John backed off and let his aquanaut brother take his place. He found Alan and watched from beside his youngest brother as Virgil manipulated Scott’s right arm into a sling before gently sliding their eldest brother onto the hover stretcher Gordon had laid down.  “John, Alan, go on ahead.  There isn’t room for four of us to move the stretcher in here.”

Alan hesitated, but it was true that there was very little room to manoeuvre inside Thunderbird One, and a single nudge from John had him scrambling out of the hole in her side.  Thunderbird Two was settled only a few feet away, front hatch lowered, and they headed for it, waiting in the shade beneath the green ‘bird for Virgil and Gordon to emerge with Scott’s stretcher.

It was a long half minute before the bright green of Virgil’s baldric emerged into the blazing sunlight, and John noticed that a foil blanket had been loosely draped over the top of Scott, presumably to protect him from the sun as they hurried the short distance to the platform.  All five of them fit on, although it was a tight squeeze with the stretcher, and John couldn’t help the sigh of relief as they entered the blissfully cool cockpit of a Thunderbird with working aircon.

He was once again bundled out of the way as the hoverstretcher was attached to the ports at the rear of the cockpit and the foil blanket was whisked away. Alan edged forwards next to Gordon as the aquanaut kept talking to Scott, keeping up a steady stream of chatter even as he replaced the cooling packs Alan had applied with fresh ones, pausing for breath whenever Scott made a noise.  Virgil had busied himself with an IV, and was setting it up in Scott’s left arm.  John assumed it was to rehydrate him, and came up behind Alan to look at Scott’s face.

His eyes were still open, and to John’s delight they were no longer staring blankly at nothing, but sluggishly attempting to look around as Gordon finished replacing the old cool packs and kept packing any exposed skin with fresh ones. After a moment they met his and stopped.

“-on?”

That could almost have been an attempt at his name – or Gordon’s – and he stepped closer, Alan stumbling out of his way.

“Scott?” he asked again, resting his hand lightly on what little exposed skin he could reach between cool packs on his brother’s shoulder.  Scott blinked at him, and John could see his eyes clearing. A quick glance at the medical scanner’s data told him that his temperature was finally starting to fall.

“Whyrrere?”  Scott blinked again, and then to John’s delight attempted to sit up, left hand raising to his head.  Virgil was quick to put a stop to the movement, a large hand gently on his chest too difficult for their weakened brother to fight.

“Are you back with us, Scott?” their younger brother asked, guiding his arm back down.  “Don’t move.” John found himself the target of brown eyes.  “Don’t let him.”  He nodded in understanding, returning his attention to Scott as the man groaned.

“W’appened?”

“What do you remember?” John asked, as Virgil busied himself with more medical equipment.

“One sh’down,” Scott slurred, blue eyes fixed firmly on John.  The lack of any further attempts to move concerned him – it was well known that to keep an injured Scott in one place, restraints were often required.  “N’repon’ing. Gonna crssh.”

“You did crash,” John confirmed, letting Gordon move him to the side so he could clean and redress the head wound, to Scott’s disgruntlement.  “How are you feeling?”

Scott frowned, closing his eyes briefly, and Virgil nudged him.  “No sleeping, Scott.”

“N’sleeping,” Scott protested, opening his eyes again.  “Hot.  Cold.”

“That’s the heat exhaustion,” Virgil told him.  “We’re bringing your temperature down.  Once it’s below a hundred I’ll give you something for the pain.”

“Wha’ pain?” Scott groaned, and despite the situation they all managed to find a small smile.  Typical Scott.  “M’n’urting.”

“Sure you’re not,” Virgil humoured him.  “Well, as you’re ‘fine’, I’ll leave you in John’s hands while I get us ready to go home.  Come on, Gordon.  You, too, Alan.”

“’brrd One?” Scott asked suddenly, turning his head to watch them head back to the hatch and dislodging the cooling pack on his forehead.  John retrieved it and held it in position for him.

“They’ll get her home,” he promised.  “Relax, Scott.  We’ve got you.”

Scott looked back at him, brow furrowed underneath the cooling pack. Sensing that his big brother was about to try and get up again, John rested his palm on his chest in a mimicry of Virgil’s earlier action.  He wasn’t as strong as his younger brother, but with heat exhaustion and pain working against him, Scott was still unable to fight him and surrendered with a dark look.

“Whyyre you here?” he asked, and John shook his head fondly.

“Rescuing my brother,” he said, and Scott fixed him with a Look, glancing up meaningfully.  “Thunderbird Five lost your signal,” he admitted.  “I was more use down here.”

“And we will be having a discussion about your travel arrangements,” Virgil cut in, reappearing into the cockpit.  “Sit down and strap in while I get us in the air.”  John took one look at his older brother and fastened the straps to keep him from moving around before obeying, to Scott’s disgruntlement.

“My brrd?”

“We’re not leaving your girl behind, don’t worry,” Virgil assured him. “She’s a bit battered, but nothing Brains can’t handle once we get her home.”

John didn’t think Brains was going to be particularly pleased about constructing an entirely new sweep wing, especially not on top of replacing at least half the external panels and the entire electronics system, but said nothing. He was well aware that he was in for more than one lecture about the crippled space elevator, and with Thunderbird Shadow also in need of major repairs, keeping Brains sweet was going to be all but impossible.

Part 6>>>

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 48)

Jaig Eyes (48/?)

Summary:

Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she’s involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

————————-

Chapter Forty-Eight: Get’shuk

“Something I don’t understand,” Plo Koon voiced, “Is how neither Anakin nor Ahsoka could resist the influence of the Son, but you could.” He turned to look at me at the end.

I shrugged. “Obi-wan did too,” I tried.

Anakin shook his head, struggling to remember. “No, you were there. Before...I don’t remember.”

“Curious, the Force is,” Yoda reasoned, brushing the topic aside for the moment. I fidgeted before them as the old master shared a look with his friend.

“Skywalker,” Windu spoke. “Have you any more to report?”

Anakin, still looking lost in his struggle to recover his memory, shook himself. “No, Master.”

“You are dismissed,” Windu responded, watching as Anakin and Ahsoka left. “Not you,” he called as I turned as well. I stopped, sucking in a deep, calming breath. I could do this.

The others left the room, leaving me alone with Obi-wan and the Council. “Yes?” I asked, trying to appear relaxed. 

“What was it that made Skywalker join with the Son?” Windu asked, his tone dangerous. For a moment, I hesitated. If I told them that we were shown the future, would they be even more cautious around Skywalker than they already were? I swallowed, glancing at Obi-wan. He hadn’t reported that, despite knowing. 

“We were in the Well of the Dark Side. The Son gave us...visions of something horrible. Of his own creation, I’m sure.” I wasn’t so sure. But I believed in Anakin. Believed that he was a good person.

“And how could you have resisted and Skywalker did not?” Kit Fisto asked, rubbing his chin.

I glanced down at my hands briefly. “I’ve had to resist the Dark Side before,” I allowed. “And I continue to do it. Besides, I had help.”

“Help?” Obi-wan asked. “I thought you said you looked away.”

“You couldn’t just not look,” I reasoned. “But in my memories...Jango came to me. He helped me look away. It’s his memory that has always grounded me when I face the darkness.”

The Jedi were quiet for a moment, all watching me. 

Finally, Yoda spoke. “Strong, you have become,” he hummed. “Wrong, we were, to fear you.” There seemed to be some surprise at his words from the Council. Obi-wan, however, just looked proud. 

“Master Yoda is right,” Shaak Ti said in her accented voice, giving me a nod. “We should have trusted you.”

To all of our surprise, I let out a laugh. “No, I appreciate your apology, but I think your worries pushed me to be this way. If I wasn’t forced to go sort everything out, I don’t know if I ever would have.”

I earned some smiles there. “Earned our trust, you have,” Yoda spoke with a solemn nod.

“I appreciate that,” I allowed, crossing my arms. 

“Please, Kida,” Obi-wan said as the Council signed off. “Stay. you can get some food in the dining hall and make repairs to your ship. Or, if you’d like...you’re welcome to stay as you had before. The offer from the Republic still stands.”

I gave him a genuine smile as we left the war room together. “Thank you, Obi-wan, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for that yet.”

“I understand,” he returned. “Of course, feel free to still make repairs and rest before you go. Our ship will be jumping towards the Inner Rim soon, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I’ll stay for the jump.” The jedi gave me a smile before leaving me in the hallway alone.

I received even more glances as I made my way back through the ship, but I did my best to block them out. My ship was still fueling when I got back to it, greeted by Apex reassuring me that the astromechs hadn’t touched it.

We immediately began to run diagnostics, revealing that I had to charge the back up vents, dump the engine backlog, and reboot the converter. I sighed, getting to work in silence. I wasn’t far into my work when I felt the ship shift under my feet, letting me know we’d jumped into hyperspace.

And it wasn’t long after that that I felt a presence approach quietly from behind. I was perched atop my shuttle, working at one of the vents to try and flush debris. Looking up, I saw familiar armor, Jaig eyes staring at me in royal blue.

I swallowed thickly as he looked around for me, scooting closer to the edge. “I’m up here,” I said gently, seeing him jump and look up. I didn’t say anything else, just offering a small smile as I finished working on the vent. 

Rex stayed in silence as I worked, fidgeting below. Finally, when I deemed that the vent was properly cleaned, I slid to the edge of the shuttle and swung down to land deftly on the ground. The clone looked my way for a moment with his hands behind his back. He was rigid. Like he was when we first met.

I sighed. “Rex, I--”

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he cut me off with a soft tone, his voice automated through his helmet.

“Same to you.” I paused, glancing down at the panel I had started mindlessly working on. “Rex...I’m sorry.”

“You had to leave,” he allowed, giving me a small shrug from the gangway.

I looked away. “No. I meant for asking you to come with me. It was...unfair.” He seemed surprised at my words, his proper stance faltering. “I see that now. I know this is where your duty lies.”

Rex let out a breath, the sound weird coming through his modulator. He took off his helmet to let me look into his golden eyes, and stepped up the gangway into the hold of my ship where I worked. “Please believe me when I say that I wish it laid with you. But…”

“I understand, Rex,” I said gently from where I crouched. “I really do. I’m just sorry for putting you in that position. And for being so angry when you answered it right.”

The captain tilted his head at me. “You’ve changed.”

I hummed, “Yes, people have been telling me that a lot lately.”

“I like your new design,” he commented, obviously a little uncomfortable. He gestured to my armor, now painted in crimson. “Any meaning to it or…”

“Of course,” I chuckled. “When is there not to Mandalorian armor?” I turned a little in my crouch to let him see it. 

“Is it for defiance or honoring a parent?” he asked, raising his brow. I heard his unvoiced question, though. Was it for Sith?

“Both, I guess. Obviously for Jango, since he more or less saved me when I was at my lowest. And defiance because...despite resisting the darkness, I’m not fully ignoring my heritage. I know what I’ve descended from. And the knowledge has helped me grow. I won’t just throw it away.”

Rex hummed at me, giving a nod.

“It’s your design still, though,” I added, looking away.

“I noticed.”

It fell silent as I worked on the panel again. I wasn’t sure how I had planned for this all to go. Or how I even wanted it to go. After all this time, I was sure my emotions would have calmed, especially considering the journey I’d been on.

“It’s been a year,” Rex voiced softly, stepping a bit closer, but looking away. “I thought seeing you...would be easier.”

I stopped short, my hand stilling over the panel. “Easier?”

He breathed for a moment. “I know you’re not staying. I thought knowing that would make seeing you easier.” He fidgeted. “Do you ever wish that you’d stayed?”

“No. I needed to go to figure things out.”

“And have you figured them out?”

I smiled gently. “Almost.”

“Will you come back when you do?”

I turned to look at him, finally standing. “I...don’t know.” What would I do? My list of to-do’s ended with fixing my kyber crystal. It completed the journey I’d started on a year before. Would I return to the war effort? It seemed the Jedi were fine with my doing that.

But was I?

Was that my path?

Rex looked down-trodden, nearly jumping out of his skin when his wrist comm beeped. He was being called to the bridge. He sighed, glancing at it and fiddling with his helmet. “Even with your changes, Kida,” he said gently. “What I said back then...before you left...it’s still true.” He put his helmet back on and strode away, leaving me to my thoughts.

I knew what he meant.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

I could still hear the words clearly, despite him having said them a year prior. And he still meant them, apparently. My heart ached, knowing I had to leave. I breathed out slowly, watching him recede. 

I’d fix things one day, I decided in that moment. But for now, I knew that I had to get to a forger. One with a very special skill set. And who wouldn’t ask questions.

“Miss,” Apex interrupted my thought process as my fingers touched the lightsaber still concealed in my pouch. The kyber hummed under my touch, seeming hopeful, rather than in pain. “Diagnostics are nearly finished. We will be ready to launch within the hour.”

“There’s no rush,” I resigned, knowing the Star Destroyer was still in hyperspace. “Do you have this covered?” I asked, glancing over to see some familiarly painted armor in the hangar.

“Of course.”

“Good.” I stashed my weapons away, especially the lightsaber, before making my way over to the clones I recognized in 501st blue. 

Jesse’s face lit up as I arrived, ducking around the crates that littered the hangar. “Kida!” he cried, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “Care to join in?” He gestured to the group that was standing there, holding a ball. Get’shuk.

I chuckled. “I haven’t played in a long time,” I allowed.

“And you won’t be playing today,” Kix said with a stern look to his brother. “Doctor’s orders.”

I scowled, but rolled my eyes with a laugh. “Yes, sir.”

He put his arm around me, dragging me over to the crates to sit with him. Hardcase was there, removing the top half of his armor. “Blacks versus blues,” he explained to my questioning look. He gave me a smile before handing me a cup and jogging into the playing field they’d created with spare crates. 

Sitting comfortably beside Kix, I took a long, slow sip of the clear liquid. I coughed slightly. “Is this tihaar?” I asked.

Kix shrugged. “As close as we could get it.” I couldn’t fight the smile on my face as I took another drink. “So...are you sticking around? I saw the captain talking to you.”

I hummed slightly into my cup. “No. I still have some things to do on my own.”

“After?”

I glanced at him, quirking my brow. “You guys really want me to come back, don’t you?”

Hardcase stopped on the playing pitch, ball in hand. “Well, you’re fun. We like having you watching our backs.” Speaking of, the man got tackled from behind. Hard.

“Focus, Hardcase,” one of his teammates chided, slapping him upside the head as the tattooed clone got up. Beside me, two clones chuckled. They looked younger. Sounded younger, even.

“Those are some of our newer recruits,” Kix said softly when he saw me looking. I took a sip of my drink again, already feeling the warm haze of alcohol. “Dogma, Tup. This is Kida.”

The two seemed more than pleased to be introduced, both turning in their seats immediately. “You’re Kida Fett,” one said. He had long hair that he had pulled up into a top knot and a teardrop tattoo on his cheek.

“You know criminals usually sport that tattoo,” I responded immediately. He glanced away shyly, not sure what to say. “And you,” I quipped, leaning casually. “What’s that supposed to be?” I was referring to the other’s ‘v’ shaped tattoo over his eye and nose.

The second looked insulted, but Jesse only laughed from the pitch. “Now, don’t feel special, boys. She does that to all of us.” The clone caught the ball as he talked, running along the pitch and dodging the other team.

The one with the teardrop chuckled gently. “I’m Tup.” His voice was a bit higher. Definitely younger than the clones I was familiar with. It hurt my heart to know how young he really probably was. Biologically? Probably in his 20s. Physically? He’d been alive for half that time.

“Nice to meet you,” I managed, forcing a genuine smile to my face. “So you must be Dogma, then,” I said to the other.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said formally, straightening his back.

I quirked my brow. “By the books, is he?” I muttered to Kix, making him laugh.

“Eh, he’s a good kid. Loyal soldier.”

I hummed at his comment. Loyal was a good thing. To an extent. I sensed an ominous presence about the particular clone. I wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something foreboding. I shook it off as I continued to watch the game in silence, sipping my drink. 

“I had heard a rumor you came crawling back.” The voice made me jump, nearly spilling liquor on myself. Whirling, I saw a familiar bearded man leaning casually against a crate.

My face broke out in an immediate smile. “Fives?” Hopping off my crate easily, I approached him slowly, taking in his new getup. He grinned, letting me circle him. “Wow, ARC looks good on you,” I teased, taking in the new pauldron and kama. 

“Oh, it looks better on me,” a second voice assured, making me turn to see Echo. Fives punched me in the shoulder gently, right over the kyr’bes. “Nice to see you, kid.”

I rolled my eyes, surprising myself when I dragged them both into a hug. “I’m so glad you guys are alright.”

“More than alright,” Fives bragged as we stepped away. “We’re ARC Troopers now.”

I smiled. “When did you guys graduate?”

“Not too long ago,” Echo explained. “So you didn’t miss too much.”

“Relax, boys,” Kix called from where he still sat on the crates. “She’s not staying.”

“What?” Fives asked, making some of the other clones roll their eyes.

“We just went through this,” Hardcase complained before being decked by the other team again.

I shrugged at the two brothers. “I can’t yet.”

“You say that like you will eventually,” Echo commented, walking with me back to my seat.

“Well,” I looked away. “Maybe.”

“Of course she will,” Fives joked, nudging me over to sit beside me and steal my drink. “She knows she can’t stay away from me.”

“That’s what it is,” I teased back. The group laughed, dissolving into playful banter as the game continued.

At some point, we all became rather intoxicated, the group divided between players, drunk clones singing terribly, and those of us who sat and told war stories and jokes, constantly refilling our drinks.

Amongst it all, though, I felt when he arrived to the scene. His golden eyes watched me from the other side of the hangar where he stood with Skywalker. He took in me enjoying the company of his brothers and felt warm inside.

He was practically projecting, his emotions were so easy to read. I worried that Skywalker would notice, but then again, I was sure he already had. He wasn’t stupid.

But neither was he cruel. He broke the rules for love. Why would he stand in the way of his captain?

I shook myself. Was it love? Maybe it was. Even after all this time, seeing him made my heart soar. Through it all, even when Darth Bane was turning my own thoughts against me, I always thought about Rex. What would things have been like if I weren’t who I was? Or if he wasn’t a clone?

Of course, such speculations would only cause harm. Things were as they were. There was no changing that.

Glancing across the hangar to where I knew I’d find him, I met his gaze. After a moment of merely looking, I offered him a smile. It was small, but real. The corner of his lips quirked slightly at the sight before he nodded slightly and turned back to his general.

As I felt the Star Destroyer lurch out of hyperspace, cuing my time to leave, I came to a decision. Spending the time with the clones. With the jedi. With Rex, even from across the room. I loved it. Sure, it was war. It was loss. It was horrible.

But I never felt more at home than when I was with them.

As I said my goodbyes and made my way to my ship, Apex already readying the engines, I decided that after I fixed my kyber crystal, my next goal was rejoining the war. I would live for balance. And I’d live for the people I cared about.

If joining the war was how to keep them safe, then so be it.

-----------------------

MANDO’A

Get’shuk -- A team game similar to rugby

[thisgarbagepicker]

“Impulse and One-Upmanship” - Reylo Weekly Challenge

Getting back to @two-halves-of-reylo Tumblr weekly challenges to put a dent in the prompt backlog after a very long hiatus — starting with Prompt #17, ‘Escape’.

“Impulse and One-Upmanship” (AO3)

Words: 2,764

Summary: When Kylo makes a reckless attempt to do some good in the galaxy, Rey finds herself making an equally reckless attempt to rescue him from the fallout. Afterward, on the Falcon, they tend to some wounds and face some difficult standing questions.

***

Blaster fire and explosions still rang in Rey’s ears, so maybe she was shouting too loudly. She couldn’t tell, and it didn’t seem to matter whether she was one way or the other. As they hurtled up the boarding ramp and into the mouth of the Falcon, Ben immediately overtook her and veered straight for the gun well before she could even finish the command that he do so. He was running through a limp and leaking blood from somewhere she hadn’t had time to identify. They could figure that out later. His injuries didn’t appear to be life-threatening, and she already knew hers weren’t. Lingering here any longer, on the other hand, would be.

She knew perfectly well by now that the old freighter was deceptive. Despite appearances and the ever-present sense that it was on the verge of collapse, it was quick and maneuverable. Still, it was not made to be piloted alone. Rey had done so before, always in situations like the one she now found herself in, when no other recourse was available. It wasn’t easy. But she’d managed it getting here, and she would manage it until they were out of atmosphere and able to make the jump to hyperspace. Until then, guns were more crucial than convenience.

Impatiently, she waited for the systems to come to life, drumming a hand on the arm of the pilot’s seat and scanning the controls out of habit, watching each light blink awake (too slow, too damn slow, come on), hearing circuits hum and fans whir, and finally enough was done. She punched the acceleration—too much, too fast. The ship jerked and shuddered, then rose from the rocky terrain she’d landed on an hour before and trundled into open air. They were gaining altitude, but slowly.

Rey willed herself to focus and work with what she had as she activated the shields. She was running a few mental calculations to center herself when the comm crackled and issued Ben’s voice. “You’re going to kill us both if you keep pushing it like that.”

She glared at the speaker, aware that Ben couldn’t see her do so. It made her feel better anyway, and she would take what she could get. Who was he to advise her about caution?

“I know how to fly this thing. Shut up and shoot.”

“I will when there’s something to—”

He cut off and she caught the conspicuous shriek of TIE fighters, loud enough to be heard over the noise of her own ship. It was followed moments later by the sound of the Falcon’s laser cannons, then that of an explosion. Two explosions. Three . . . and four.

“Nice shooting,” she offered, feeling momentarily generous as she kept an eye on the horizon. The sound of her own voice grounded her, as it always had when she’d spent nearly all her time alone.

“I know.” Rey rolled her eyes, another look sadly lost on him as he continued speaking. Maybe the one disadvantage of company: other people could talk back. “Return the favor and forget what I said. Push this junk heap or soon we’re going to be facing more than it can handle.”

“Stop telling me how to fly.”

The Falcon climbed higher, faster now and breaking through the clouds. They were probably safe from fire, but she wouldn’t feel at ease until they were out of the planet’s gravity and slicing through the long wash of hyperspace. Thirty more seconds, and that should do it. Would even that be too long? She gripped the hyperdrive lever, her other hand still resting on the steering yoke, both hands steady for all that her knuckles were white and her arms trembling with adrenaline.

Twenty seconds . . . they were out of the clouds, she could see stars and a distant ringed moon . . . ten . . . scratch that, this was enough. She hoped. It had to be. Rey pushed the lever and felt her vision swim as the starscape stretched before her and sent them off into the bright and blue.

                                                                ***

Autopilot activated, Rey rounded the corner into the communal area and found Ben already there, hunched over an open trunk that housed the medical kit. It was also currently home to a random assortment of hardware and maintenance tools, many of them broken, which she had been wanting to find the time to sort and mend. But doing so had never been a top priority, and now she could see that the disorder was causing him some irritation. A wrench flew across the room and clattered over the top of the dejarik table. Rey eyed the situation, picked up the wrench (as Ben sent a pair of pliers off in a similar manner—though that, at least, just bounced off a seat), and approached him.

“Sit down,” she said. The adrenaline was still a rush, and she was grouchy, but she didn’t feel like arguing and hoped he had similar priorities. Sadly, she doubted it, given that she needed to dodge a nondescript pouch that went sailing by her head as she stood behind him. “What are you looking for?”

“Whatever you have in here that’ll stanch this,” he sniped, still digging around in the trunk. He paused briefly to indicate the spot on his right side where blood had been soaking through the fabric of his shirt. That explained the leaking, then. It hadn’t been that much when she intercepted him, though she had little frame of reference. She noticed now that there were little spots of blood on the floor near his foot. “Assuming it’s even possible to find something like that in this mess.”

“Go sit,” she repeated. “You’re just going to make it worse with all this huffing and thrashing,”

“I'm doing neither of those things.”

He stopped his violent searching, though, and stood slowly. He was favoring his left leg. With some effort, he hobbled over to the bench near the dejarik table and eased himself down. He sat for a few seconds, thought better of it, and laid back.

Rey looked over at him and then returned her attention to the issue of the medkit. “Take that off.”

“What?”

“Your shirt. I need to see how bad that is.”

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” he muttered, pushing himself up and beginning to worm his way out of his shirt. She was glad he at least wasn’t arguing with that. “It's just bleeding a lot.”

Rey almost laughed. “Yeah, all over the inside of my ship. That’s not usually a good sign.”

If he hadn't looked at his injury yet, which she knew he hadn’t, she doubted he could adequately evaluate its severity. Though she could admit he probably had a point; if it was truly terrible, he wouldn't be standing or talking. Or sitting up. Or being so snarky—she assumed. She was no medical professional, but she’d had plenty of practice patching herself up over years of solitary life, and to her, he looked all right. Bruised, scratched, a little paler than usual, but all right.

The medkit was indeed proving a pain in the ass to navigate. Chewie helped with maintenance, and he apparently had similar habits to Han. And Rey herself wasn’t particularly tidy. She was regretting that now. Over her shoulder, she called, “What did you do to your leg?”

“Turned an ankle.” He grunted a little when the fabric of the shirt stuck to the bloody mess under his arm, and Rey could actually hear the sound of it peeling away from his skin. “You going to tell me to take my pants off so you can check that minor inconvenience too?”

“Dream on.”

She didn't have time for nonsense. She needed to get back up front and check their progress. Ah, finally. She found an unopened package of bacta patches, a pair of long-nosed tweezers, and an irrigation bulb and disinfectant. It would do in a pinch, which they were. Pleased with herself, Rey rose and joined Ben on the bench. His body was as battered as his face. He had his arm lifted and was prodding at the wound with a finger, face impassively curious.

She held out a hand and waited. “Let me see.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then shifted to give her a better look. The wound was raw and messy, located on his side not far from his pectoral. Though it was large enough to bleed a lot, it did not appear to be unmanageable with what she had at her disposal, for the time being. Good. When she leaned in and put a hand to his elbow to nudge his arm higher, she noticed an odd glint from the far side of the cut. Not good.

“Huh.” She frowned and reached for the tweezers. “You’ve got some metal bit or something lodged in there. Lie down on your side. Keep your arm up out of the way. I’ll try to pull it out. It doesn’t look too big.”

Ben did as she requested, moving to his left side. He curled his right arm up and tucked it under his head to give her as good a vantage point as possible. It actually helped quite a bit, because the motion pulled the skin around the wound nice and taut. The way he was propped, he couldn’t really watch her work, either, which Rey preferred. She didn’t like feeling scrutinized, particularly when she was doing something that required her full attention.

“What did this come from, anyway?” she asked, trying to keep him distracted, though he seemed to be handling that on his own. The way he was lying may have kept her from his line of sight, but it afforded him an opportunity to look around the room. It wasn’t very interesting, in her opinion. Even so, she noticed the way his eyes roamed the walls and ceiling, pausing here and there, his brow twitching occasionally.

“The ship I wrecked. Half of it ended up blown out. That’s probably a chunk of cockpit or control console.”

She was expecting him to be tensed and to have to tell him to relax. He wasn’t much at all. Surely, he’d gone through situations like this enough times for him to be practiced at it. In afterthought, she wondered if her own presence had something to do with it as well. That wasn’t a thought she wanted to dwell on—it was self-indulgent. Stuff like that made it difficult to concentrate.

She used the irrigation bulb to douse the wound in disinfectant. Perhaps she should have done that first, but she’d been too busy sating her curiosity about what he’d been doing to get in this state and require rescuing. The liquid cleared much of the dried blood away and gave her a better view of the puncture site. Feeling more confident, she rinsed her hands and the tweezers in the sterile fluid, then took a breath. “Right. Keep still, I’m pulling it out now.”

Rey glanced at his face to verify he’d heard her, then gripped the exposed edge of the shard with the tweezers, made sure she had it at a good angle, and pulled carefully straight up. It came free easily and cleanly, as far as she could tell, with little to announce its removal beyond a sharp intake of breath from Ben. The whole brief process reminded her of stripping half-exposed chips and wiring from the inside of the wrecks she used to loot. She preferred this—a little blood was better than the risk of electrocution or burns.

Her assumption of the shard’s size hadn’t been wrong. It was maybe two inches long and about an inch wide, hammered thin and melted a little, but surprisingly uniform in shape. The dull silver sheen of it was currently slicked over with Ben’s blood. He started to make as if he was going to sit up, but she pressed a hand to his shoulder.

“Hang on, I still need to cover it. Check this out.” She held the tweezers, still clutching the metal piece, toward him. “Souvenir?”

He gave a huff of reluctant laughter, then winced slightly. “I’ll pass.”

“Hm. Sorry about your ship, anyway.” She set the shard and tweezers down on the dejarik board and returned her attention to the wound. The bleeding had slowed considerably now that Ben wasn’t moving around and foreign objects had been removed. The edges were relatively clean, too; not as ragged as she’d first thought before cleaning it. She grabbed the bulb and soaked the area in disinfectant again, patted it dry with a clean cloth, and cast about for the bacta patch.

“It wasn’t mine,” Ben said. He saw her searching and held the wrapped patch up. She hadn’t noticed, but he’d been fiddling with it as she worked. “I stole it.”

“Impressive. Been there.” She was still more focused on applying the patch, making sure the edges fused cleanly to his skin, but when that was done she offered him a small smile. “What happened to yours?”

“I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

"Sounds like a story.” Rey was throwing the medkit back together—once again, she'd have to consider tidying it up another day. “I've got to go make sure we're still on course, but get dressed and meet me up there. If you want. Co-pilot seat’s still open.”

He nodded mutely, and Rey returned the the cockpit. She sank down into the pilot’s chair and shut off the autopilot, confirmed that the route was sound, and finally let herself relax. Though the concept of relaxation was relative right now. What was she going to do with Ben? The decision to come after him with no backup—to rescue him—had been the very definition of poor impulse control. She’d done something like this once before, hadn’t she, years ago? And how had that ended?

Not well. Kriff.

Watching the stars streak past lost its distractive charm quickly. She was about to click the comm back on, call to the lounge and confirm that Ben was still there, when he did her one better—he limped into the cockpit and sat heavily in the seat she’d offered him almost fifteen minutes before.

“You didn’t need to come,” he said, as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation already.

“I know that. A bit like how you didn’t need to try taking out a First Order manufacturing base on your own.” Now that they were out of direct danger and she had the benefit of thinking about it, the audacity of it was unbelievable, even for him. “What an incredibly stupid thing to do.”

“Yeah, it was.” He was amused—pleased with himself and what he’d done. That had not been the reaction she was going for. “So was flying in after me without a co-pilot.”

He still hadn’t asked how she’d known he needed aid. The answer was understood and unsaid, like the bond that had brought her to his side. Like most things between them.

“I’ve done it before.” They were both alive, so she didn’t see why it mattered how stupid either of their actions had been. Neither of them had any room to criticize half-cocked plans. “Are we going to sit here trying to one-up the other’s stupidity in this?”

“We could.” He shifted in the seat, stretched his injured leg out as far as he could. “Or I could say that I’m happy you did come.”

“So am I.”

She dared to look at him, but he wasn’t paying her any mind. Instead his eyes were scanning the control console, settling on each panel or switch or button or lever, like he was accounting for them all. He was remembering. She felt it, and for an instant she was too. His gaze darted to fleetingly touch a spot above the viewport, empty, then down and back to focus on the numbing, repetitive view of space bleeding past. He looked simultaneously mystified and perfectly at ease.

What she said next felt risky, but it could make nothing worse. What was one more impulsive action after all that? And he looked so . . . right, sitting there. “But will this be the time you don't make me leave you behind afterward?”

Ben was quiet and thoughtful and no longer treating with such flippancy the fact of where they were and what they were doing. The ship droned on around them, vibrating almost imperceptibly as it raced onward.

“Stay the course and find out.”

[phantom-le6]

Episode Reviews - Star Trek: The Next Generation Season 1 (1 of 6)

Well, it’s taken a little while longer than I’d originally planned, but at last I’ve started working my way through the episodes of my Blu-ray collection of Star Trek: The Next Generation, the first of a number of series I will be hoping to tackle in my TV show backlog.  For those who haven’t ready any of my TV show reviews from when I used to post them on Facebook notes, the lay out is very similar to what I do for film reviews.  I usually do one disc’s worth of episode per article (every show I review is one I own on DVD or Blu-ray), and within that, I post a synopsis of the episode’s plot, followed by my review of that episode.  So, if you’ve never watched a certain series and want to skip the plots, or you know the episode from its title alone, just skip the sections headed as ‘plot’ and go straight to the review.

So, now that you know how this is all going to go, let’s warp our way into those first few episodes of TNG’s first season. Reviews, engage…

Episodes 1 & 2: Encounter at Farpoint

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

In 2364, the new flagship of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet's USS Enterprise, travels to the planet Deneb IV for its maiden voyage. Enterprise is to open relations with the simple Bandi people who have somehow been able to tap immense energy reserves and construct Farpoint Station, much to the surprise of the Federation. En route, the Enterprise is met by an omnipotent being who identifies himself as Q, a member of the Q Continuum. Q, appearing a grand inquisitor from Earth’s post-nuclear age, declares that humanity is being put on trial. A suggestion from Captain Picard results in Q deciding that their actions in their upcoming mission will be used to judge their worthiness and determine their fate as a race. Before letting the ship resume its course, Q warns Captain Picard that he is destined to fail. 

As the Enterprise arrives, the crew members explore the offerings of Farpoint Station and establish relations with their Bandi host, Groppler Zorn. The crew becomes suspicious when items they desire seem to appear out of nowhere moments later, and are unable to identify the power source that feeds the station. Deanna Troi, an empath, senses a being with powerful yet despairing emotions nearby, and the crew discover a strange labyrinth beneath the station, but Zorn does not offer an explanation. As the Enterprise crew continues its explorations, a large unknown alien craft enters orbit and begins to fire upon the old Bandi settlement near Farpoint Station, and abducts Zorn. Before Picard orders the ship's phasers to be fired at the craft, Q appears to remind him of humanity's trial and prompts Picard to send an away team to the alien craft. The away team discovers the craft has passages similar to those under Farpoint and they are able to free Zorn. Their actions cause the alien craft to transform into a jellyfish-like space creature, and Picard is able to deduce the mystery of Farpoint Station. He confirms with the apologetic Zorn that the Bandi found a similar lifeform injured on their planet and, while attempting to care for it, they also exploited its ability to synthesize matter to create Farpoint Station. The creature now in orbit is trying to help free its mate by attacking those who hold it captive. 

Though Q goads Picard into using violence, Picard refuses, instead ordering the Enterprise to fire a vivifying energy beam onto Farpoint after the station is evacuated. The beam allows the land-bound creature to transform back into its jellyfish-like form, and it flies into orbit to join its fellow being. As the crew watches the reunion of the alien creatures, Q reluctantly tells Picard that they have succeeded in their test, but hints that they will meet again.

Review:

As someone born a couple of years before this show first aired, I missed this pilot and much of the earlier seasons in their original appearance, only getting to see anything of the show in the early-to-mid-1990’s when my family first got Sky TV and I watched some of the later episodes and re-runs of some earlier episodes on Sky 1.  Thank goodness for those being my introduction to the show, because as pilot episodes go, this one isn’t great.  Granted, very few pilots are ever completely brilliant because the show is starting out anew and will take a while to establish what it is, and there’s no guarantee how long that will take.  For some shows, it could be a matter of only a few episodes, such as The West Wing or Friends, whereas others might be more like the Simpsons and M*A*S*H, taking more than just their first season to really find themselves.

 The biggest problem this pilot has is a lack of exposition to explain what the show is really about.  Ok, we’re on a starship crewed mainly by humans, travelling the galaxy to explore what’s out there, but that’s all you get.  That might be sufficient for people who were versed in the franchise of Star Trek from the three-season long original series and the various films it spawned, but what about new audience members?  Other shows have made similar assumptions that everyone will know what their show is about based on existing media, and for me it always spoils the pilot.  In my view, the only good pilot assumes at least its audience will know nothing about what the show will be about and will tailor at least half its content to educating them in that era, with the rest of the content being about placating the existing fanbase if the show is continuing a franchise or adapting it from another medium.

The episode is also plagued by some poor character interactions, especially Picard’s over-the-top anger at Wesley for no good reason, Troi’s over-the-top whining when she’s in empath-mode, and the less said about Tasha Yar’s histrionics in front of Q during the fake trial set-up the better.  Really, it’s down to the performances of Riker, Data, Wesley’s mother Dr Beverly Crusher, Geordi and Worf to elevate the episode to decent, and for Q to be the better guest character than Zorn.  This episode is also where Colm Meaney makes his debut as Miles O’Brien, who would spend several seasons as a secondary recurring character in TNG before making the switch to spin-off series Deep Space Nine (which I reviewed some years ago on Facebook) as a series regular.

There’s not much depth or real issue exploration in this episode, we don’t really learn what Star Fleet is or what it represents (the words Yar uses during her court-room meltdown before being thankfully frozen), and really all we do get is some basic character introduction and a Trek show that starts off more on impulse, or at least low warp.  Overall score for this combined episode is about 6 out of 10, and I’m probably being a bit charitable at that.

Episode 3: The Naked Now

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

The crew of the Enterprise travels to rendezvous with the SS Tsiolkovsky, a science vessel monitoring the collapse of a supergiant star. During a long-range comm exchange, the Enterprise crew are shocked to hear what sounds like a sudden hull breach about the Tsiolkovsky. After the Enterprise secures the Tsiolkovsky via tractor beam, an away team consisting of Commander Riker, Lt. Yar, Lt. Commander Data and Lt. La Forge beams over.  They find the crew frozen to death in various stages of dress and undress, including one who was taking a shower fully clad, and whose frozen body falls into La Forge's hands.

Captain Picard orders Dr Crusher to perform full medical examinations of the away team on their return, and the doctor finds La Forge sweating profusely and complaining about the temperature. She orders him to stay in sickbay but he wanders out while she is studying his test results, and makes his way to the quarters of Crusher's son, Wesley. Unaware of La Forge's condition, Wesley shows him a portable tractor beam device and La Forge places an encouraging hand on his shoulder. Meanwhile, acting on a hunch by Riker, who had read a book on past starships named "Enterprise" that included an event involving illness and showering fully dressed, Data locates a historical record identifying the ailment as similar to one encountered by Captain Kirk's USS Enterprise. La Forge returns to sickbay, where D. Crusher quickly becomes concerned when she realizes that the infection is spread by physical contact. Much of the ship's crew comes under the influence of the ailment, including Data, who engages in a sexual encounter with Yar. Dr Crusher, struggling against the effects of the ailment, finds the original antidote documented by Kirk's Enterprise to be ineffective, and begins devising a new version of it.

Now infected, Wesley uses a digital sample of Captain Picard's voice to lure key engineering crew-members away from the engineering deck. He erects a force field around the area with his tractor beam device and assumes control of the ship. He allows Mr Shimoda, one of the engineers who is acting in a childlike manner, into the force field. Shimoda manages to remove all of the isolinear chips from the engine control station and plays with them like toys. As the supergiant star collapses, a fragment is blown into a direct impact course with the two Federation ships, and without the chips in place, they cannot move out of its way. Chief Engineer MacDougal manages to disable Wesley's force field, and Data is sent to replace the chips. He reports that he will not have enough time. Wesley reverses the ship's tractor beam, repelling the Enterprise off the Tsiolkovsky, giving themselves the necessary additional seconds for Data to replace the chips enabling the ship to move out of the way. The crew is cured of the ailment, and Picard partially credits Wesley for helping to prevent a disaster.

Review:

Not only is this Trek at its worst, but it’s actually based on an original series episode with pretty much the exact same core plot; some random configuration of water molecules making an Enterprise crew act like the Trek equivalent of chavvy idiots getting plastered on a night out. It’s an appallingly bad concept, especially when Picard’s closing dialogue suggests the whole thing was meant to be about some kind of exploration of temptation.  News flash, folks, but the episode is an abysmal failure in the exploration of that issue.  To be successful, you’d have to give the crew the option about whether or not to give in to temptation sober.  The crew of the Enterprise doesn’t have a choice here because it’s some weird combination of water molecules acting like an infection that causes drunken-like behaviour.  As such, their judgement is impaired against their will, so the point is lost.

The episode is also stupidly sexist in how the infection presents; while more of the men just have a harder time thinking, get morose or go child-like and silly, all three female main cast members throw themselves on the blokes like randy strippers.  Tasha Yar sleeps her way through various minor male crew members before seducing Data, Troi seeks out Riker to try for a mind-grope, and Dr Crusher tries it on with Picard.  How Roddenbury (who was still alive and producing Trek at this point) allowed such antiquated sexist tripe into the supposedly equality-minded Trek utopia, I have no idea.  Given that the show improved in this and related areas when he stepped away from the show, however, I’m wondering if maybe he was somehow part of the problem.

All in all, this episode is something you only watch so you can get what few references there may be to it in later episodes of the series as a whole.  I give it a very low 2 out of 10.

Episode 4: Code of Honor

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

The Enterprise arrives at the planet Ligon II to acquire a vaccine needed to combat an outbreak of Anchilles fever on Styris IV. The crew, possessing little information on the Ligonian culture, finds it follows strict customs of status similar to ancient China. Specifically, while the men in their culture rule society, the land itself is controlled by the women. Lutan, the Ligonian leader, transports up to the Enterprise to provide a sample of the vaccine, and is impressed by Lt. Tasha Yar's status as head of security. Yar further demonstrates her aikido skills against a holographic opponent for Lutan on the holodeck. After a tour of the ship, Lutan and the Ligonians abduct Yar as they transport back to the surface. Captain Jean-Luc Picard demands that Lutan return Yar, considering the kidnapping an act of war, but receives no response from the planet. After consultation with his officers, Picard is informed that Lutan took Yar in a "counting coup" as a show of heroism. Picard contacts Lutan in a more peaceful manner, who grants permission for the Enterprise crew to beam down to the planet and promises to return Yar after a banquet in his honor.

Lutan announces at the banquet that he wishes to make Yar his "First one", surprising not only the Enterprise crew but also Yareena who was already Lutan's "First one." Yareena challenges Yar to a fight to the death to claim back the position. When Picard objects to the fight, Lutan refuses to give the Enterprise the rest of the vaccine unless Yar participates. The crew investigates the combat ritual and find that the weapons used are coated with a lethal poison, and also that it is Yareena's wealth to which Lutan owes his position. Picard prepares to have Yar beamed to the Enterprise should she be harmed in the battle. As the match progresses, both Yareena and Yar are equally skilled, but Yar eventually lands a strike on Yareena. Yar quickly covers Yareena and orders the transport of both of them to the Enterprise against the demands of Lutan. Aboard the ship, Dr. Beverly Crusher reaches Yareena moments after death, but is able to counteract the poison and revive the woman's body. When Lutan demands to know the fate of Yareena, Crusher reveals that Yareena died, thus ceding the match to Yar and breaking the "first one" bond. Yareena is now free to select a new mate; she chooses Hagon, one of Lutan's bodyguards, and effectively strips Lutan of his position of power and makes him her "Second One". Hagon lets Yar go and gives the Enterprise their full supply of vaccine.

Review:

This episode wasn’t very well received by the cast and crew that had to make it, and I can certainly see why.  The Ligonian race is based on African tribal stereotypes that become obvious as a result of the race being played by Black actors, giving the episode an air of racism that is completely inappropriate to the Trek franchise as a whole.  According to Wikipedia, some reviewers have claimed that this issue would not have been seen if the actors had all be white and used the same dialogue.  Frankly if the Ligonians had been played by white actors, you’d have had a very early example of cultural appropriation, which is also a form of racism and again inappropriate to Trek.

The episode is also plagued by efforts to try and emulate the original series instead of being its own entity, with the final fight scene near the end really looking too much like a 1960’s throwback rather than fitting into any kind of 1980’s-made Trek.  Only the hints of the budding Data-La Forge friendship really make the episode worth a watch, especially since Picard stops himself in the middle of an explanation about the Prime Directive.  With that in, we might have had delayed compensation for the lack of exposition in the pilot, but instead…nothing.

Frankly, without fan support and the show being syndicated rather than controlled by a network, I’m pretty sure this episode or the previous one would have killed TNG in its infancy.  I’m just lucky that I know the show would later make itself into something worth watching, so I’m ok holding out hope for better episodes as I work my way along.  I just the rest of season 1 doesn’t have too many more of these stinker episodes in store. For me, Code of Honour again only warrants 2 out of 10.

[ellebeebee]

2.537

Part Six

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five

Phrixus Jaril, 13, moves to the Citadel at a delicate age: namely, the peak of his teenage angst. He doesn’t expect much from these rich Citadel kids. But then he meets the Ryder twins, and all their friends, and realizes that he may have been a wee bit wrong about things. His relationship with Mira Ryder evolves over the years, and he never expected things to end up the way they did.

4220 words, Female Ryder|Sara Ryder/Original Male Turian Character, teen rating

AO3

-

Four brigades call Fort Caelax home, with a rotating population of about thirty thousand teens each year. The proximity to Trebia System’s star had burned Caelax’s surface hot and uninhabitable. A carefully gridded system of biodomes over red-streaked gray crags housed the fort, with guard outposts ranged around its perimeter. Satellites and stations orbited the planet as well, some non-military, but several also used in various training exercises for boot camp.

After a week of processing (learning every basic down to the procedure for wiping his ass), Phrixus was assigned to a company with only a dozen or so people also from the Citadel, and a squad with only one other than him. No one, of course, was from Niiet, because he had been the only kid his age from the colony. Everyone else had been a year or two ahead or behind him.

In his squad, the girl from the Citadel was from some lower ward he’d never been to, three people were from Palaven itself, one guy was actually a station hopper, and the rest were colony kids.

Boot camp felt like waking up.

There weren’t people talking about dropping thousands of credits on Illium during the last vacation; Licinius Ruq, the station hopper, told him about living with a dad in and out of incarceration all his life. Had to go for a long time wearing someone else’s clan markings. There weren’t people talking about second homes on the Citadel that they could mess up in a party and a maid would take care of it; Sixil Tarqtus, from a tiny colony just like Niiet, traded stories with him about stealing utility vehicles for joyrides and breathing the noxious fumes of mineral mines.

And his days changed so much. He didn’t get up, maybe take the early tram to school, maybe take the late one. Hang out before class, go to classes, and then maybe do homework in the afternoon, maybe go to Silversun, maybe (and most likely) have plans with Mira. He woke up every day at 0430, had physical training at 0500, had classes and training throughout the day and did not get any free time until 2000. Day in, day out. Every moment was planned, every one of his moves had to be accountable.

The year would be divided in two: the first six months belonged to basic combat, with constant fitness training, basic gun handling, Hierarchy values and law, etc. And then six months of advanced training, with reassignment according to his chosen field. Which he had to start thinking about. Soon.

But, all in all, things were manageable. Some sergeant somehow knew he’d gone to the fancy Citadel school, and liked to dog him for being a prissy rich kid, expecting special treatment. Which was hilarious and also kind of infuriating. But it was boot camp; you took it and that was that. He realized that his agonizing about leaving home was not something he alone had a monopoly on; especially early on, you could sometimes hear sniffing after lights out.

He called his moms at least once a week. Forta and Aela and others he emailed fairly frequently. Mira– she messaged a lot, but he wasn’t able to access his private omnitool until free time.  Local time in Trebia System didn’t align with the Citadel’s, and his free time coincided with class times over there. Coordinating a vid call was difficult, and every day he ended up with a backlog of little snippets of her days and questions about his. But the fact that she kept up the messages was a relief. At least this wouldn’t change. Even if he couldn’t return the same amount of attention; because even his free time sometimes got taken over by cleaning duties or homework.

All in all, it was manageable.

-

Which was what he’d thought, until the weeks came and went and Phrixus found himself increasingly prone to wandering thoughts and remembering afternoons spent in close little bedrooms.

And that clutter of thoughts and memories got so crowded in his head-- standing room only among the half-corporeal warmths and touches-- that he made the morning runs very difficult for himself. Made the black hours in the barracks, surrounded by the soft breathing of others, difficult for himself. Privacy, and the spare time in which to enjoy it, was at a premium. The bathrooms were communal, the barracks housed them in six to a room.

It wore down his temper to a sort of permanent installation of one of his prickly moods. He had to watch himself when the sergeants started in on him and his precious Citadel education, called him fancy shit and whatever. And any bull thrown at him by his squad got thrown back. He was, yet again, resident salt master of the group.

And he was trying very hard to keep from chucking his scrub brush at Licinius Ruq’s stupid fucking head, right in his whistling mouth.

On his knees and scrubbing jauntily, Ruq whistled “Die For The Cause.” Sometimes people on fire watch– the rotating duty where two troops kept watch or cleaned or whatever for an hour during the night and went and woke up the next pair up for duty– sometimes, the loss of sleep caused an obscene cheerfulness. Ruq was bad for this. Unfortunately, they got paired up a lot for shit like this. Fire watch, latrine cleaning. Even latrine cleaning during fire watch! On hands and knees, scrubbing bleach into overbleached tiles to the tune of the national anthem. Wonderful.

“Ruq, if you don’t shut your ugly fucking face–”

“You’ll what?” Ruq shot at him, ducking his brush into his bucket. “Get angry? That’s your default state of being, Jaril. Kick my ass in the wrestling ring? You already got that down pat. Nope, all the same, I’ll keep whistling.”

Phrixus dropped his brush, ignoring the splatter of harsh-smelling droplets on his t-shirt. He stared across the length of tiles between them, and seriously considered kicking Ruq’s ass. He didn’t do meelee, but not because he was bad at it.

Luckily for Ruq, his omnitool buzzed before he could decide to take a swing. Phrixus met Ruq’s glance. Ruq looked back down at his scrubbing. Having his personal omnitool on fire watch wasn’t really allowed. Well, no ‘really’ about it. It absolutely wasn’t allowed.

Phrixus wiped his hands on his shirt, and flipped open his omnitool.

Music blasted over the tool’s speakers. He jumped and flew to adjust the settings to filter out background noise.

“Hiiii!”

He stared down at the little holo of a wildly waving Mira. “Hey.”

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you answered,” she told him. She was drunk, her words coming loose and slow. “It’s hard to get you these days.”

“Yeah, well,” Phrixus said, glancing at Ruq sneaking a look up at him. “Kind of hard to get time to myself, you know?”

“I knooow,” she said.

He stood and walked to a corner, away from Ruq’s curiosity. For all the good it would do; the bathroom tile bounced her voice around, amplified it.

“Where’re you at?” he asked her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. The feed swiveled and spun as she stood. She moved to let the camera pan out to include a couch; on the ratty side, but decent and affordable looking. “Guess!”

Phrixus’s head whipped to look at Ruq; likewise, Ruq whipped to look back down at the floor. But he had somehow gotten a meter or two closer. He looked back at his omnitool. He remembered. They’d sat on that couch. Made out on it. He remembered the way her fingers, so tentative and light, had held his jaw and slid underneath his mandible, to the soft tissue there.

“N’kae’s?” he said. N’tessa’s older sister.

“Correct!” she said, sounding entirely too pleased with herself. She dropped onto the couch and laughed.

And the unsteady whirl of her tool’s camera on her, the dizzying blur of her features recalled misplaced glimpses from his memories. Her lips and nose, out of context. The feel of his clipped talon pressing on her cheek.

“Mira? Are you talking to someone?”

And she was looking up out of the camera’s view pane. “It’s Phrixus.”

Forta appeared at her shoulder. “Oh! Hey, Phri!”

“Hey,” he said.

“You know you’re not supposed to call him out of the blue, right?” Forta asked her.

“He’s my boyfriend,” she told him.

“I know, but–”

Phrixus shook his head. “It’s okay, but–”

“Hi!” Ruq had crept behind him, and now was looking down into his omnitoool.

“Hi!” Mira said, smiling up at them. “Who’re you?”

Phrixus tried to shove Ruq away from him, but he just planted his feet and grabbed onto his sleeve.

“Licinius Ruq. We’re in the same squad.”

“Oh! That’s fun.”

“It is fun,” Ruq agreed.

Phrixus violently shook his arm, dislodging Ruq and side-stepping him.

“Listen, I gotta go,” he told them. “Get home safe, okay guys?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Forta told him.

“Hey,” Mira said. “Wait–

Phrixus paused.

“I miss you.”

He froze. And there was no way in hell he was going to look up to see Ruq’s expression. Or look up to invite whatever comment the jerkoff had in store. He just looked down at the little blue-tinged holo projection of her, looking up at him.

“I– yeah. I’ll message you,” was all he managed. “I gotta go.”

She blinked. “Okay.”

Phrixus shut down his omnitool. Not just his comm, but the whole thing. He ignored Ruq, picked up his brush, and went back to scrubbing on his hands and knees. After a long stretch of silence filled with the scratching sweeps of his brush, Ruq walked around him and went back to work, too.

“I knooow,” Ruq finally said, pitching his voice high and undulating down and up. Affected a particularly silly version of a Citadel accent.

Phrixus glanced at him. “She doesn’t sound like that.”

“C’mon. A little bit.”

Phrixus ignored him. Put a slightly furious push into his scrubbing motion. The tile dug up into his knees.

“Why didn’t you just tell her you miss her too?” Ruq continued. “Just me here.”

Yeah, no witnesses when I strangle you, Phrixus mulled to himself. He dunked his brush for more watery, soapy bleach.

“You know,” Ruq said. “When I was, what, eight? Eight or so, we were on Omega for a while. There was this one dancer that my dad ran around with. Shula. Always bought me candy or little toys and stuff. They broke up when Dad got caught in his next robbery, but when he got out and we moved, he would get drunk and call Shula. Always Shula. Never my mom, or his current girlfriend. Just Shula.”

“What are you saying, Ruq?” Phrixus all but snapped.

He shrugged, resting his hands on the tile and looking at him. “I dunno. Just maybe you should’ve told her you missed her too.”

What the hell was the point of this, anyway? The grout between these tiles was so old, it was starting to crumble when you ran a brush over it. No way would anyone ever be able to get out that ancient yellowing.

“Mind your own business,” he told him.

-

There was a particular sergeant, Icthus, that had it out for him.

Yeah, yeah. Everyone had a damn ‘this one asshole trainer had it out for me’ story, but, seriously, by the time he puked for the thirteenth time (yeah, he counted) after receiving the gift of extra laps during physical training from her– he was pretty sure she wanted him to die from a burst heart.

And it’s not like it got easier. Yeah, he wasn’t unfit or anything when he got here; the Arena had at least helped some with that. But as he got more and more accustomed to the running and the weights and the courses, the more and more laps Icthus lobbed on him.

On that thirteenth gift of laps, after which he puked, he was running for so long he missed breakfast. He couldn’t miss classes, of course, so Sergeant Icthus just spat and told him he had more due to her during free time. He dragged through the day, and in the evening ran until he puked up dinner (fourteen!). By the time he got back to the barracks, it was lights out. He couldn’t even crawl his way to the showers to wash the smell of sweat and vomit off of him, not after curfew.

And so, it had to be understandable that he just slapped the blinking light on his omnitool off.

At least he didn’t have fire watch tonight. Of course, if he had fire watch, he’d have a chance to sneak out his omnitool and check his messages. But then he’d– well, honestly, there was a good possibility he’d leave his tool wedged into his footlocker.

Lately, he’d started to dread the sight of that blinking notification light. Because he didn’t want to think about this growing rise of irritation in his stomach with each message telling him about some new high score at the Arena, some incident where Forta used biotics to tamper with an arcade game and broke the damn thing. Here he was, puking up bits of liver and lung, and everyone back home was having fun.

He didn’t want to deal with the way he was having a hard time telling Mira how he felt about the separation, the way he was having a hard time hearing her tell him how upset she was with him gone. He didn’t tell her this, though. Didn’t tell her how he was struggling and feeling bogged. Didn’t tell her any of that. And, fucking spirits, add to that the fact that he was frustrated, almost 24/7, by thoughts of her, of others in the company, and the guilt that added to the damn mess. Guilt that he thought of other people, guilt that he was wanted her and yet didn’t much want to talk to her.

Spirits. And he thought the time before they started dating was bad. That the pressed down feeling he’d gotten before shipping out had been bad.

None of that had shit on this.

He slept pretty badly that night. One, he stank. Two, he was so sore it made any position, any form of existence at all, excruciating. In the morning, he powered his way through physical training by just giving in to the dead inside feeling. He skipped most of breakfast for a shower, grabbed a protein drink, and survived training and classes. Lunch and dinner. He actually made it to free time, lungs still pumping and neurons probably still firing.

Then he remembered last night, slapping off his omnitool.

With the now familiar rise of guilt, he dug it out of his footlocker. Ruq and the four others he shared the room with were out in the rec room, working on homework or goofing off more likely. The tidy little barracks room, sterile metal walls and ceramic tile floors, held three bunk beds, six footlockers, and a set of stand-up lockers for uniforms. That was about it.

Phrixus toed the door closed and sat on his bunk.

He had an enormous number of messages from Mira and Forta. And Aela. Most asking him to call. That guilt in his stomach turned to something else. He vid called Mira.

“Hey, sorry–”

He stopped. The little holo version of her sat in her room. He’d recognize all of those frilly pillows and those peach-pink walls any day. Even with the room only lit by the glow of her omnitool. She was in pajamas, sitting up in bed. It was her face that stopped him.

“Hey,” she said, voice quiet and hoarse.

He stared for a moment. “Hey. Sorry I didn’t get back last night.”

“It’s okay.”

He was quiet, and she was too. The guilt that had become something else churned. Her eyes, turning to the side, burned with bloodshot.

“I need to–” she started, and then her voice hitched. She swallowed. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay,” he said.

She shifted, straightening. “So. Um. It’s actually… My mom is sick.”

“What?”

“They told us yesterday.  She’s been going to the hospital for weeks now and just got a diagnosis.  It was all her early eezo research. We– humans– didn’t really know what we were doing back then– AEND. That’s what it’s called. Neurodegenerative. Terminal–”

She cut herself off. Like a path falling off into a great bottomless crater.

Ellen Ryder. He could see her as she’d laughed at some joke one of his moms made at that dinner party, pouring wine and slipping, spilling a large purplish blot onto her table. The way it made her laugh harder, wheeze as she mopped it up with a napkin. Filling out a chemistry lab with Mira in their living room, trying to keep their voices low because Ellen’s over at the table and Mira’s just copying. And Ellen probably indulging them by ‘not hearing.’

He would wonder later if this was the point. If this was the moment. If it all fell out of this occurrence. Out of his failure to say all the things he should have said. But that wasn’t true. Well, it was true there were things he should have said. But things don’t happen in a vacuum. Lives are the product of all the things that come before, all the things that were and weren’t said. This wasn’t the one moment, because there wasn’t one singular moment.

In the meantime, he wasn’t saying anything, because he did not know what to say.

“Dad and Mom are going back to Earth to continue treatment. Selling the apartment. Mom doesn’t want our lives to be disrupted, so we’re moving to the school dorms…”

She trailed off, looking at some point in the far off darkness of her room. She didn’t cry, or even express much of anything in the slack set of her eyes and mouth.

“What,” Phrixus said. “How… how long does she…?”

“Years. That’s what they said. Maybe a few years.”

She reached up and tucked a stray lock behind her ear.

“Dad keeps saying we can’t give up. That he’s going to do everything…” she frowned, shook her head.

And then she finally looked at him.

“Phrixus? Are you okay?”

He didn’t mean to sound angry, but he did. “Why are you asking me that? What–”

He stopped, and made himself slow down. “Are you okay?”

That stray lock slid free again, swinging forward. She just shrugged.

“No,” she stated.

And she kept looking at him, up out of that display of projected light points. Not even her, just some version of her lacking her presence and the nearness for him to reach out and say something to– to what? Fix it? What could he possibly do? The barracks room he sat in rang with a cold clarity. He needed to say something, do something, anything. She needed something from him.

But all Phrixus could think of was to say, “I’m sorry.”

Mira just nodded. “Yeah.”

The unfamiliar pause and the unfamiliar thing in it stretched.

“Look,” she said. “It’s late. I’ll message you tomorrow, okay?”

“…Okay,” he said. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yeah. Talk to you later?”

“Right.”

As the connection cut, and his omnitool went dark, and he sat in the cold clarity of the barracks, he realized neither of them had said a real goodbye. No ‘I miss you.’ Or… There were still words sitting on the back of his tongue like bile.

-

After six months of basic combat, even with Sergeant Icthus breathing down his carapace, Phrixus graduated to advanced training. And he chose to continue military training. Some of his squad went for infrastructure, a couple wanted to further their education in sciences, three went for engineering, Haetil Markius (the big outside, little inside type) checked off liberal arts on her forms, and the remaining two chose military like Phrixus. Licinius Ruq (unfortunately) and Jyra Kraetoq (the one other in the squad from the Citadel, from the lower wards).

They were reassigned to a new company, and a new squad. But they were placed together: him, Ruq, and Kraetoq.

It’s not like military had been his lifelong dream or anything. He didn’t grow up with his eyes glued to the military drama reruns that played every weekend, or demand little soldier toys from his moms. Of course, turians would always have an admiration for the military and those who devoted themselves to the front lines. It was in their blood. Or their cultural blood anyway.

But Phrixus really just chose it because he was good at it. He had good gun sense, was physically fit and growing taller by the minute, and took orders well. The last part was the most important as far his trainers were concerned. You served the Hierarchy to your best ability, and the best ability that the military wanted was obedience. And Phrixus was good at that, so that’s how his life started to take shape before him.

“Well,” Calix had said, during a vid call before he signed off on the forms. “Honey, it’s your choice, and we’ll support you no matter what you choose. But are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine really being… I dunno, a politician or teacher or something. And it’s what they’re recommending for me.”

“Recommendations are just recommendations,” Domera stated, sitting beside Calix at their table at home. That wasn’t exactly true; yeah, recommendations made by trainers after all your evaluations were meant to help guide choices, but it was considered pretty irregular to deviate from that.

“And politicians and teachers don’t get shot at,” Domera added

“Mom–”

“I know, I know. I’m worrying too much. But that’s my job. To worry about you. And maybe you should worry a little bit more.”

“Look,” Phrixus said. “I get it. It’s scary. But that’s what the training is for. So we react to every situation before we have to think about it. I understand the risks. And I think I can handle it.”

Calix and Domera had sat for a long moment, their mandibles pulled in.

Calix sighed, subvocals low and vibrating. “Okay, Phrixus. If that’s what you want. We understand.”

“We’re proud of you, honey,” Domera said, her eyes overbright. “You know that? And you can do it, I know. Just remember us and be careful, okay?”

“Thanks, guys,” he said, eyes darting down and his chest warm.

Calix cleared her throat. “By the way– we saw Ellen the other day.”

He shifted. “Oh… yeah? How is she?”

The two of them sighed, glanced at each other. “She looked good. But I guess you can’t always tell with these things. The twins are already moved into their dorms, and their place got sold. They’re leaving day after tomorrow. I think the real estate agency is taking care of their furniture.”

“We promised we’d check in on Mira and Forta every now and then,” Domera added. “Have you talked to them recently?”

“Yeah. But I mean… I dunno. It’s just tough, I guess.”

Domera shook her head. “Those poor dears. I know you’re busy, but just keep in touch, okay hun?”

“Yeah.”

And Phrixus had talked to them. Forta had vented at length to him, and Mira as well, if not with the same vehemence and extent. But he still didn’t feel as if he’d done anything to help them. Anything he said felt trite and and cliche. I’m sorry. That’s terrible. And worst of all: things will be okay. Because, no, things were not going to be okay. Terminal. That horrible, terrifying word. Even just imagining himself in their place, if it was Calix or Domera and not Ellen, had him break out in a sweat, his head swimming with vertigo.

It did not make sense. You could logically think, you know, at some point of time this person will no longer exist. But it did not make sense. It was like your whole being, from your mind down to your spirit, just wanted to reject that thought wholly and totally. He could not imagine, did not want to imagine, being in their place.

And because of his discomfort, (and because she could probably sense his discomfort), his messages with Mira got increasingly stilted. She seemed… withdrawn. She’d stopped going out as much, and was not as open and effervescent about the little details of her days.

He didn’t know what to say to her.

Also, he was still feeling pressed and consumed by the training, all the protocol they had to memorize, the physical demands of boot camp. The absolute control of his time, down to the last moments of the day. In one way, yes, the structure was easy to fall into and let take over. But that could also just as easily turn into a horrific numbness. That pressed down feeling sometimes bloomed into an emptiness.

But he hadn’t ever said any of this to Mira, or anyone. And then with what she and Forta were going through, it didn’t feel right to mention it.

In the end, he fell into the structure and rigor of prepping for military service like slipping into a warm ocean, and swimming without pause to the end of the world.