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Chapter Text

Ethos gave more power to the thrusters and effortlessly manoeuvered his starfighter through the clouds of debris and the dazzling lights of the enemy fire.

The navigator was in ecstasy. Today's service was going so well, he would never have expected it! His fighter Praxis had been able to take four successful shots in a row today, more than ever before. And the best was: Surprised by his own luck, the fighter had laughed out. Loud.

Since then Ethos simply couldn't ban the smile from his face, either. Because this laughter, this unheard sound so beautiful and rare was the best proof that all their training and their struggle had finally paid off. Now, they had developed a bond, they were flying as a proper fighter-navigator-team!

Ethos was so proud of their success, it spurred him to accelerate even more until the Tiberius shook and purred under his hands like a gentle kitten. Soon, the enemy formation was entirely broken and the alien troop disposed of. Only one Teron ship was still trying to make its escape, but it was mercilessly chased by lieutenants Keeler and Encke in the Xanadu, Encke's incisive shots having already destroyed half of its left side.

Just when Ethos, grinning of happiness, flew a turn to reintegrate his ship in the formation to return to base, something strange happened.

He heard his lieutenant's voice over the comm, addressing him directly, what was unusual: “Ethos, we've got a transmission coming in, translate, be quick!”

A transmission? From the enemy?

“Ethos!”, Praxis shouted in alarm.

Ethos could see on his globe how close the Xanadu stuck to the enemy's tail, it was a matter of life or death. Split seconds later, the navigator heard the foreign clicking sounds the last Teron soldier emitted.

“Tiberius!” This was the commander's voice from the mothership. "Translate, do you copy?“

Ethos obeyed immediately and disengaged his comm disruptors, but among the noise of the ship it was still hard to understand the foreign words.

"Tiberius!“, Keeler almost cried now in despair, remaining close behind the enemy ship, Encke probably with his finger on the trigger the whole time.

"Yes, sir! It says“, Ethos was so nervous he almost lost his voice, "Sir, it says 'I surrender, I surrender' – over and over again!“

"What?“ This cry out of Praxis' mouth was repeated almost in the same second by Cook and Keeler, accompanied by uncharacteristical slander out of the gentle lieutenant's mouth.

"I- I swear, sir!“, Ethos confirmed, watching how Keeler changed his flight path in the last second before collision.

"Manoeuver delta!“, Cook barked. "Red team, manoeuver delta!“

"Tiberius, Equinox, Taurus, Swift! Join us and box the Teron in! Reliant, you lead the way, we give you cover. Move!“

It was impressive how quickly Keeler could change from killing mode to interpreting the new instructions. The mentioned ships swung out and Ethos made haste to join them. He was so thrilled, his heart was racing up to his throat. Manoeuver delta meant they were making a war prisoner – they were capturing a Teron! This had never occured in Alliance history before, and he was there to witness it – he, navigator Ethos!

Suddenly, he heard his fighter grunt behind his back, and a terrible realization hit him.

"Don't shoot, Praxis!“, Ethos admonished. He genuinely only wanted to make sure his fighter wasn't doing something stupid – then he noticed with embarassment that he hadn't closed the other comm channels.

But Keeler repeated his words: "All ships: Don't shoot!“

He sounded strained. "We're taking it as a war prisoner! Ethos, tell it we're going to guide it to the Sleipnir!“

Ethos temporarily forgot all languages he had ever learned. <<Not shoot, please, escort you to port, beg your pardon>>, he stammered, relieved that nobody could see his blush, much less understand his nonsense. It was brutal how quickly all his insecurities were able to return to their usual places. <<Please confirm!>>

The answer was a faint clicking Ethos wasn't capable to decipher correctly. It almost sounded like <<die, die, die>>, but being not sure about it, he decided not to translate such dubious content to Keeler. There was not enough time for it, anyway. The red team-starfighters were already close to the enemy ship, this black, strangely shaped vessel whose drives were heavily burning.

"I hope we get it home in one piece!“, Ethos worried, still pondering about the Teron's strange answer.

Praxis didn't seem to care much. “We should make short work of the bug, orders aside”, he growled.

Poor Praxis. All of his dreadful memories of this one, fateful battle must be back in his head now and there was nothing Ethos could do about it.

The Tiberius guided the spaceship on the left side while starfighter Equinox covered the right, Swift and Taurus flew under and on top of it respectively. Ethos could hear Cain growl over the comm about not being part of the escort. Phobos bitched something, too, apparently not finding an insect worthy of all the attention that genuinely was due only to him.

With fire-spitting engines and an ear-deafening noise of scraping metal, the Red Team and it's prisoner ultimately arrived in Hangar Bay III.

Chapter Text

Ethos opened his hatch and tore the helmet from his head. The stench of kerosine ad glowing metal took his breath away – but he was completely stunned when he beheld the multitude of people now crowding the usually spacious hangar bay. It seemed like all fighters and navigators, yes even the technicians and maintenance workers of the Sleipnir had gathered here on occasion of this special event: the Taking of a Teron.

Below the Tiberius, on the left, Ethos could distinguish the commanders Cook and Bering, standing close to the steaming enemy ship, escorted by all MPs the Sleipnir kept in employ and apparently waiting for the firecrew to finish their job.

Ethos tried to give his poor fighter with his restricted faculty of sight all the time he needed to get down from their starfighter first. But he was much too thrilled to be patient right now, so he literally jumped down the ladder after Praxis. In the same second, he was almost knocked down by Keeler who ran towards the commanders, braid flying, Encke on his heels. The lieutenant waved for Ethos impatiently, and Ethos forgot about Praxis when he made haste to follow.

They all came to a halt next to the awe-inspiring, steaming black Teron vessel. Alient element that it was amongst all the shining white starfighters, it seemed to cast a threatening spell over the gathered Sleipnir's crew. Or how else was this tense silence in the hangar bay to be explained?

When Ethos became aware of the fact that he wasn't with his navigator flock, but standing in front of all the on-lookers like a stray sheep instead, he started trembling. Did the leaders still notice the many eyes resting on them constantly, or could one eventually get used to it?

Ethos tried to focus on commander Cook who had started to reel off the Alliance's laws concerning war prisoners – lapsing into silence, too, when after what seemed like an eternity the enemy's hatch finally opened.

Instantaneously, a scream of terror was to be heard in the hangar bay, a collective exclamation of horror out of all the assembled throats. Because there it was: a steel-gray, large, ugly bug with frightening pincers and sparkling compound eyes that looked around. And when it started to climb down its ladder, head first and only some feet away from him, Ethos felt sweat pouring down his back in the tight flight suit.

Cook and Bering just stood there, frozen. But Ethos could see the Lead Fighter's hand tremble on his partner's delicate shoulder, and this rare public display of affection, small as it was, transmitted all of Encke's fears to the eyes that saw it. A hit of one of this claws, a single bite with those terrifying pincers and the Lead Navigator's beautiful head wouldn't sit on his body any longer.

And then it was next to them, on its fours at first, but then rising to its hindfeet, making the earthlings scream and jump back in unconcealed fear. It was emitting horrible hissing and buzzing noises out of its ugly mouth, and it was tall, so much taller than Ethos had imagined. It was stinking, too, smelling like a carnivore – because it probably was one. Disgusting stories about lost navis and man-eating Terons flashed up in Ethos' mind.

“Arrest it!”, Bering barked at the MPs who hesitantly ventured to come closer, guns at the ready.

“But be careful!”, Keeler shouted, grabbing Ethos' arm to keep him from following – as if this was what he wanted to do!

The Teron hissed and spat more violently, but didn't seem to offer resistance. Alas, the MP's handcuffs were much too big for the insect's thin claws, and the men swore loudly when they tried to find some other means.

“Ethos, tell it we're going to arrest it in the brig!”, Cook ordered. Ethos wanted to step forward to obey, but Keeler still held his sleeve as tight as before.

Hampered thus, Ethos had to shout his clicks towards the enemy. He felt the blood rush into his face when he heard Cook, Bering and the police-men gasp. Of course, they had never heard a navigator 'speak' like that before.

<<Please be peaceful>>, Ethos clicked, trying to be a little more gentle about it. <<We're not going to hurt you. The Alliance doesn't harm her war prisoners. We're just going to arrest you for now, I mean, the commanders. Cook and Bering.>> Shit, he was losing his thread again! Why, oh why had he never actively trained to speak the words he translated everyday? His performance was embarassing, he could only hope the commanders didn't understand.

Then Ethos got distracted by the increasing cries of all the gathered fighters and navigators in the hangar bay. “What a stench! Disgusting! And just look at that ugly thing! Do it in, we don't want no bugs here!”

Ashamed of his comrades, Ethos turned his head towards the crowd. In the first row, tall as a rock with his eyepatch and a gun almost casually in his hands, he recognized no other than his own fighter. Next to him lurked Deimos, small and gloomy, Ethos' little boyfriend, armed with his usual blades. Ethos had no doubts those two dark and dangerous men were ready to rip the Teron to pieces any second.

Everyone hated the Terons. During years of war they had killed so many brave Alliance soldiers, so many of their comrades and so many innocent civilians in the colonies that they were generally seen as the incarnate evil. Especially fighters were literally encouraged to stir that hate everyday. Accordingly, his two favourite fighters teaming up now to defend him could have been touching - but that wasn't what Ethos felt. He knew he had to stop them, so his eyes widened and he shook his head in panic, noiselessly mouthing 'no!'.

The Teron still showed no resistance and didn't seem to notice the uproar. Its feet made horrible scraping noises on the metal floor when it advanced to follow the MPs to wherever they would take it. When the insect walked by, Encke almost threw himself in front of Keeler to give him cover. And Ethos was mortified because now he could discern that what the Teron was constantly muttering really meant nothing else than <<die, die, die>>.

Chapter Text

The noise level in the hangar bay rose even more when the MPs slowly led their shackled prisoner out of sight. It was then that Commander Cook who had gazed after the group with a sinister expression suddenly turned to Ethos.

“Navigator...What was your name again?” He had to shout to drown out the uproar.

The boy flinched. “Ethos, sir.”

“Ah, yes.” The Commander looked after the Teron once more before articulating what was on his mind.

“Listen up, Ethos. We have to find out about the enemy as much as we can. A reliable person has to gain its trust and report all important facts to us immediately. As you already speak its language, I suggest this person will be you.”

Ethos went pale. Did he have this right? He was just another navigator, no especially gifted or brave one into the bargain. He didn't feel up to such a hazardous task at all!

So, seeking help, he looked over to his lieutenant who was still standing close with the Lead Fighter. Keeler, however, seemed even more aghast than Ethos on account of Cook's latest orders.

“Sir, I'd like to add for consideration that...” Keeler's voice was only quivering slightly, but his big eyes revealed all his inner panic.

Cook interrupted him brutally: “Keeler. Address your men and explain the situation. Tell them we'll have a Teron on board now until the next freighter ship arrives and instruct them to behave accordingly. The operations on the Sleipnir shall not suffer for the love of money.”

Without waiting for Keeler's answer, Cook turned to the Lead Fighter. “Encke”, he declared, “You tell the fighters the same, but in a way they understand. Stop this clamor and get them under control! Dismissed.”

With pretended fatherliness, Cook put his hand on Ethos' shoulder now and almost shoved him after the MPs and the prisoner. The navigator turned his head in horror, just in time to see Keeler grind his teeth and dart a terrified glance at Encke who was holding him back. This time, Ethos didn't need to be Keeler to read Encke's thoughts despite his usual stony expression.

Trembling of excitement and fear, Ethos almost stumbled over his own legs during the attempt to catch up with the MPs. The Teron still clicked its horrible threats and seemed to have considerable problems to walk on the glossy metal floor, too. Ethos wondered if maybe it was hurt. Encke had gotten his ship pretty badly, after all.

“B-be careful with it”, Ethos dared to beg the police men. But those ruffians made no secret of what they thought of navigators. They laughed him straightaway in his face, manhandling the Teron even more. Ethos ground his teeth now, too. Of course Cook and Bering didn't interfere in the slightest.

Ultimately, they reached the brig where the guard on duty almost fainted at the sight of the captured Teron.

“Duccio, open two cells”, Bering ordered, “One for our war prisoner here and the opposite one for the navigator.”

Ignoring the poor man who struggled to exit his paralysis, the Commander addressed Ethos.

“Listen, navigator. You'll live in the brig with your ward as long as we're waiting for the frighter ship to arrive. I know it's not the most comfortable place, but we need you to watch it day and night and report everything to us the bug tells you. Minute every word! It's your responsibility now to look after it, gain its trust and equip us with information about the enemy. We'll contact Command on earth for further directions immediately.”

With a cruel smirk, Bering patted Ethos's shoulder. “Good luck, son.”

When Ethos's brain had processed what was going to happen, the commanders had already left the brig and Ethos found himself alone with the Teron. It was crouching on the floor of the cell into which it had been locked by now, and the distressed guard watched it from a save distance, mortally terrified.

The navigator examined his own bleak cell with its metal bed, metal toilet and nothing else. When he'd be in there, only the two barred forcefields would separate him from the enemy, and probably nobody knew if those forcefields were even strong enough to withstand bugs.

As Duccio just stood there, puzzled, and the two MPs took up quarters in the janitor's room under much noise, Ethos sighed and sat down on his uncovered bunk, foldings his hands in his lap.

“What are we going to do with you?”, he clicked towards the prisoner. But the insect didn't move and of course also didn't answer. Ethos could understand. If he were the war prisoner of the Teron's, he'd probably behave in the exact same way.

Chapter Text

Hours had passed and Ethos couldn't remember how. He had sat there, watching the Teron, while the Teron, unmoving, was watching him back or was maybe dead already, it was hard to tell.

The navigator felt sick by the unfamiliar, sour stench originating from the bug, and the dreary surroundings made his heart heavy. He missed Deimos. He missed Praxis. He even missed the sim training that was probably taking place in this exact minute, because he couldn't imagine Keeler would scrub it, not even under the extraordinary circumstances like the making of a war prisoner.

Thus, Ethos was very much surprised when he heard some noises at the door and suddenly saw the daunted Duccio appear again, with no other than the Lead Navigator in his wake.

“Lieutenant Keeler!”, Ethos couldn't restrain himself from crying, jumping up from the bunk. But there was no need to feel ashamed, because immediately the small lieutenant flew towards him, too, and engulfed him in a desperate hug.

“Ethos! Oh mother, how are you doing?”, the man asked, letting him go only reluctantly and casting suspicious glances towards the opposite cell where the Teron was still huddling on the floor.

“Mother in heaven, it's horrible here, and what's that stench?”

Keeler didn't wait for an answer and just went on, caressing Ethos' arm. “I can't believe the commanders ordered you to live here with this prisoner. It's cruel and inhumane! Didn't they give you some sheets at least?”

Keeler examined the metal cell full of disgust and shook his head while sitting down on the bare bunkbed next to the navigator.

“Oh Ethos”, he said with trembling voice. “If I can't act against the commanders, I'll at least give you the permission to return to your cabin now to get some linen and your personal belongings. Furthermore, I'll personally enforce your possibility to leave the brig to have meals with us in the mess hall three times a day, like a navigator deserves. Nobody knows when this frighter ship will reach our constellation, and caged in this jug here, you'll eventually go insane!”

Keeler looked honestly worried and Ethos had to violently suppress his urge to fall against his shoulder and sob. With his family on earth, lightyears away, the gentle lieutenant with the braid was the closest to a mother Ethos had. And he was such a good superior! Not for anything in the world would Ethos want to disappoint him or prove unworthy of the great trust Keeler had always set in him.

So he decided to pull himself together and fight back the tears already blinding his sight.

“Th-thank you, lieutenant Keeler”, he stammered, blushing. “I-I'm not afraid, I'll get along here, i-it's fine... It's only Praxis I'm worried about, honestly.”

“Oh sweetheart!”, Keeler exclaimed. “I know it's such a bad coincidence you're separated from your fighter just now where your scores are improving so remarkably. But don't you worry. I already spoke with Encke about that and we decided to pair him with Bazin as long as LoDuca is in med bay. I'll make sure you'll get to know their results, and you're also allowed to write messages with whoever you want on this ship, so just stay in contact, okay? Don't forget, it's not you who is the prisoner! Ah, what a pity Cook didn't agree to let you welcome visitors here... but it's probably the right decision, the crew's rage taken into account.”

Keeler sighed.

“It's a precedential case. We all still have to figure out how to go on in this situation.”

He squeezed Ethos' shoulder. “I have to leave now, but I'll make sure to check in on you at least once every day, allright? Don't lose hope. You'll make a good job here, I'm sure! You're my language adept. And now you can show your mettle!”

Chapter Text

Ethos didn't trust the MPs. So when he left for his cabin to fetch some stuff, he instructed the still intimidated Duccio to keep good watch of the Teron and let nobody come close until his return. Ethos could't explain why, but somehow, as the only person on the Sleipnir speaking Colteron, he felt responsible for the safety of the bug prisoner.

When he keyed his cabin door open, the navigator was surprised to find Praxis inside. Apparently he didn't feel like training with Bazin, and much less like hanging out on the fighters' deck. Praxis had never been very sociable, not since Ethos had known him. So for him it was a very emotional reaction that the fighter let his tablet fall to the bed and jumped up immediately when he beheld his navigator.

“Ethos”, Praxis mumbled, his tall figure towering over Ethos, insecurity in every limb.”Where...?”

“Hi”, Ethos smiled, determined to cover the awkward silence with his usual monologue, no matter which facts Praxis already knew.

“Cook cantoned me in the brig, you know, to snoop on our bug prisoner. Luckily Keeler got me the permission to fetch at least some clothes and my datapad, that's why I could come here...”

Remembering this fact, Ethos jumped and started ransacking his drawers. “I heard you're training with Bazin now. That's, uh, really good, I mean, Bazin is a nice guy and he has no fighter in the moment and so you can pair up to stay fit...”

Turning his head and seeing Praxis' expression, Ethos wondered if he maybe said something wrong again. Praxis was really hard to figure out most of the time.

“You...you'll get along, won't you?”, Ethos asked shily, and looked up to the tall man's face to see him nod slowly.

“Praxis, I have to go to the mess, see if I can fetch something eatable for the prisoner. I have no idea what Terons like, though... But as it seems, I have to care for it in every field. So, what do you think about salad? This could work for an insect, don't you think?” Ethos didn't really expect an answer. He sighed.

“I can imagine what the fighters will say. But don't believe them, okay, Praxis? Please. I'm not happy with this special task, not at all.” Ethos mouth twisted and he stopped himself from patting Praxis' arm in the last second. Such things, you could do with navigators, but certainly not with a 6'2'' fighter.

Ethos was surprised when after a pause, Praxis suddenly said something.

“Me neither, Ethos”, were his words, and they made Ethos blink twice. The fighter opened his mouth like he wanted to add something more, but then abandoned the attempt. Ethos could imagine how the other man must feel – having lost his first navi to the Terons in battle and now not being able to protect his next one.

“Praxis, I'll be fine”, Ethos declared and tried to smile.”You can always message, okay? And I'd be grateful if you could transfer me some e-books of yours. And take care of the Tiberius for me, will you?”

Mother, it sounded like a goodbye. Ethos had to make himself scarce before in the end, he'd start crying like a baby. The tears were already there in his eyes, shining and swimming...

So without saying more stupid things, he turned on his heels, clutching his shirts and sheets and tablet tight to his breast and rushing from his cabin, feeling like the biggest loser of the solar system again.

When Ethos, laden with stuff, slowly made his way back from the mess hall and to the brig, he was astonished not to meet one single person in the corridors. On the one hand, he was glad not to be cornered by curious navs and assailed with questions he probably wasn't allowed to answer. On the other hand, however, the fact of not even meeting some technicians or Vicks' crewmembers anywhere made it seem like the whole ship was deserted. Ethos persuaded himself that the reason simply was the current state of emergency. But while he wandered through the empty corridors, he couldn't help it, the whole atmosphere gave him the creeps.

Suddenly there was a movement. Ethos felt a blow and was grabbed by someone from behind, and the shock was so big his heart stopped beating for an instant. A hand covered his mouth and hindered him from screaming while he got dragged into an alcove. Unable to move his arms and fight the attacker, Ethos watched all his belongings and the salad fall to the ground.

“Nnngh!”

The navigator deployed all his force, but the attacker was much too strong. Ethos grunted and contorted and tried to bite into the tenacious hand that obstinately closed his mouth. He was desperate because his efforts seemed in vain. Suddenly, he heard footsteps in the adjacent corridor.

<<So if he's not in the brig and not in the mess hall, where the hell can he be?>>, someone asked in Colonial Russian.

<<Dunno, Ivan. But if you wanna check up at that fucker Praxis', you can go alone. I don't have a death wish!>>

The first person mumbled something unintelligible. Then, slowly, the two speakers went off.

Ethos, who had listened in horror, came to live again after a moment of shock and tried to kick the person still holding him with his elbows and feet. Suddenly, however, he noticed something.

Something was strange. Something was familiar. He recognized this hand, the feeling of this certain, muscled body behind him, the other man's smell. Ethos tried to turn around, and just in that moment, his alleged attacker let go of him.

“Deimos!”, the navigator hissed, thunderstruck. “What in Mother's name...”

The small fighter shrugged, his beautiful eyes revealing that he wasn't happy with this kind of rendezvous, either. Hesistantly, he touched Ethos' cheek as an apology, then took his hands in his to check them for injuries before he bent over to collect the spilled leaves of salad and Ethos' clothes from the floor.

Ethos, still trembling and upset, kneeled, too, trying to help. He caught the fighter's glance again and gulped.

“Those two, were they a-after me? W-were they in the brig?”

Deimos grabbed his hand again and squeezed it, slowly shaking his head at the same time.

Ethos exhaled, somehow close to crying. “Y-you were there? The whole time?”

His boyfriend nodded. Ethos was so heavily put off, he wanted nothing more than to hug the man tight and bury him with kisses of relief, forgetting everything that had happened today close to the other man's chest.

But the fighter didn't notice Ethos' urge, or didn't think it appropriate right now. Slowly lifting his amazing grey eyes, Deimos made a sharp sideways gesture with his head that set his black bangs a-swinging. He looked into Ethos' eyes very seriously. The navigator sighed.

“I know”, Ethos mumbled. “I have to go back. I can't leave it alone like that any more, I'm responsible...” Then, he added, worriedly: “What about you? Don't you have a meeting? What will Encke...?”

But the small fighter just shrugged, faint traces of a smile on his lips. He handed his lover the replenished salad bowl and crumpled-up underwear, breathed a little peck on his lips, and before Ethos was even able to say a word more, like a cat in the night he was gone.

Chapter Text

Keeler left the mess hall early. He needed to fetch a storage device from his office before Cook expected him in the hangar bay for inspection of the enemy ship. They would have to hurry down there, because a video conference with command on earth was going to take place at 1900, and later in the evening another special security briefing for the navigators was scheduled. This was a crazy day.

Accordingly, Keeler's head was full of thoughts and worries. Yet, when he heard familiar heavy, running steps approaching him, he held the lift.

Encke looked more shattered and murky than usual, every single one of his many muscles so tense as if the man would explode every second. Keeler knew why, and he observed him softly and compassionately. The fighters rebelled heavily against the insect prisoner on board, and he knew that Encke, too, would prefer to get rid of it rather sooner than later. Only because he, Keeler, his partner, was obedient to orders, Encke struggled to overpower his hate, too. Inside him, however, it was boiling.

Keeler wanted to think of a way to help him, but as soon as the lift doors closed behind the leading team, the fighter abandoned his last appearances. In the very second the men were alone, Encke took Keeler by surprise and pushed him against the wall, smothering him with burning kisses. The blond, baffled by such passionate approach, could barely breathe, but laughed in enthusiasm while trying to kiss back properly. This was absolutely not how Encke normally acted. It felt crazy and wild.

“I refuse to...accept it”, Encke panted when his lips parted from Keeler's for seconds. He kept his navigator trapped against the wall with his tall body, his hands entangled in Keeler's dissolving hair.

Keeler felt a familiar pain in his breast and fought a little to get more space and air. “Accept...what?”, he breathed.

Encke took his face in both hands to kiss him harder, demanding, not making a secret of where he wanted things to go. His eager hands undid Keeler's braid completely.

“If we get shot”, he growled, “That's fate. We're...soldiers... in war. It's Mother's will.” He buried his face in Keeler's neck, sucking purposefully to make Keeler whimper and sigh. “But I won't watch you getting killed by a Teron spy on our own ship! That's not your job, ending as food for the enemy.”

The lift came to a halt and Encke reacted immediatey, pulling Keeler with him out into the corridor and towards their cabin. He didn't even key the door open first, but started directly undoing Keeler's uniform collar and sliding his hands underneath, the whole action barely blocked from sight by his broad back.

“Encke, stop!”, Keeler exclaimed, “We might be seen!”

But Encke had the door open by now and pushed his navigator inside, hands still under his uniform, squeezing the smooth flesh of Keeler's shoulders. Before Keeler could blink, Encke lifted him by the waist and sat him down on the cabinet so their height was level at last. He spread Keeler's legs and positioned himself in between while he undid Keeler's uniform jacket entirely.

Keeler flung his hair and laughed again, his sparkling, bright little bird-laugh, and Encke was so impatient for him he fumbled aimlessly at his pants to unfasten them.

Keeler grabbed the back of the fighter's head to bend him down for another kiss. “Hush, calm down, baby”, he soothed, athough he was aroused himself by now and grinding his hips against the fighter's. “Calm down. I know how you feel, but...it's Ethos who's in danger, not me.”

“I'll never let anyone hurt my little navigator”, Encke grunted, needing more of Keeler, closer.

“Not everything on me is so very little!”, Keeler teased and finally let his jacket slide down from his shoulders so his hair fell freely over his naked torso.

This sight almost finished Encke off.

“Fuck, Keeler. Touch me”, he gasped, and Keeler couldn't be a tease any more now and did, stroking Encke vigorously before grinding against him again, embracing his neck for support. Even in his state of desperation, Encke managed not to overstep Keeler's limits, but alas, the navigator would have loved to offer him more to vent on.

“Keeler.”

“Yes.”

“Keeler!”

“Yes!”, Keeler laughed and moaned at the same time and Encke growled deeply against his neck, coming hard.

Suddenly, Keeler noticed with surprise how hard and close he was himself – a delicious state his medication normally hampered completely or made him need a lot more time to reach. With Encke still struggling to come down, Keeler took matters in his own slick hands what in the end set him trembling and fighting for breath as usual. He was glad Encke still bent over him so he could cling unto the fighter's neck as long as he saw boundless blackness and stars.

Encke was calm now, master of himself again and so gentle. He nudged Keeler to join his own rhythm of breathing, prolonging each exhalation until Keeler's seizure passed. Encke couldn't count the times any more he had went through this with Keeler, but some deep-rooted fear never really left him.

After a while, Keeler sighed, exhausted. “I think I've ruined my trousers.”

Somehow, this comment brought all necessary brain functions back on Encke and caused him to feel guilty all of a sudden because of his fit of passion.

“I'm sorry, babe”, he mumbled, caressing Keeler's strands and his back. “It was too much for you, right? I forced it. I'm so sorry.”

But Keeler shook his head he kept pressed to Encke's pecs. “No no”, he laughed. “Somehow I found it...pretty thrilling.” He smiled impishly and reached up to gently pinch Encke's cheek.

“Crazy day, crazy deeds”, he added and, although still panting, got ready to slip from the cabinet.

“Stay”, Encke begged. “Stay only another minute, babe.” And he kept the spent blond in his hug, cradling him tight.

“Aww Encke, you're such a giant softy”, Keeler said, cuddling against him. For an instant, they just remained like that.

Encke grunted. “You know, Keeler...I don't like the idea of you climbing into that ship.”

Keeler's gentle, soft features became hard and his blue eyes icy and sharp when he looked up now. His inbred skill of apprehending things kicked in.

“This ship... I was wondering, too. It was all too simple, wasn't it? So what if it's got a self destruction mode, just like our starfighters?”

Keeler looked quizzically, but Encke nodded slowly.

“Why didn't Cook believe me when I told him the Terons were probably aiming at something? I have to go, I have to stop everyone from getting near it!”

And jumping up, Keeler struggled to put on his jacket and fetch some fresh underwear and trousers from a drawer at the same time. Encke reached for him to help him with his hair.

“Thanks, hon”, Keeler smiled and blushed, letting Encke quickly finish his braid while he buttoned himelf up. “Mother, I have to take care of this matter! See you later, be careful, okay?”

And despite the flush that was still on his cheeks and his irregular breath, a miraculously prim and proper looking Lead Navigator rushed from the cabin - a sick, hardworking knight of justice, secretly holding all the reins, but unlikely to survive the joust he was arming himself for.

Encke watched him disappear into the corridor, and all his feelings were for him.

Chapter Text

The day came to its close with Ethos squatting in front of the Teron's prison cell, trying to entice it to the bars with salad leaves. Unfortunately, the prisoner was no cute little bunny or innocent lambkin, not even coming close. And Ethos was a navigator and no animal trainer. The longer he tried to feed and sweet-talk his ward, the more he got exasperated by its devilish stubbornness - it drove him mad just like his little sisters when they all had been kids!

Ah, if Ethos only was an angel of benevolence, like Keeler. The lieutenant would probably have figured out a subtle way by now to take the Teron where he wanted it to get. Ethos, however, was nothing else in this matter than he always was: a failure.

Furious about himself, the navigator ended up eating the dreary salad leaves himself and throwing the empty bowl in the corner. He was just about to retract to his cell and send more desperate messages to Deimos when a loud bang was to be heard and in the same second, some kind of quake caused the floor and the walls to rattle.

In panic, Ethos threw himself to the ground, partly hiding his head underneath his arms, casting anxious looks towards the Teron.

The bug, however, wasn't the reason for whatever was happening. As usual, it didn't even flinch, and after some instants, the brig's lights stopped to flicker and the vibrations ceased.

Ethos jumped up and towards the enemy's cell, his fear making him lose the last remainder of composure.

<<What was this?>>, he shouted, more furious than he thought himself capable of, and in desperate need of Teron insults.

<<Are these your friends, attacking our ship, trying to free you? Did you lure them here, to kill us all? Fantastic!>> And he beat his fists against the stupid forcefield behind which the bug still didn't move.

<<Will you talk to me finally?>>, Ethos screamed. <<Will you tell me what's happening at least? I have a right to know! I can't sit still here, condemned to inactivity while up there, your comrades kill my friends!>>

In utter despair, Ethos started crying, but who cared, anyway, during a Colteron attack? He ran into his cell, threw himself on the spartan cot, wrapped himself up in his shitty, thin blanket and turned to the opposite wall, certain of his imminent death.

He wished he could just die on his own right now, pre-empting the Terons, or die together with the Sleipnir's crew who was probably about to fight its last battle with the enemy. If he only had told Deimos how much he loved him when they had parted ways! If he only had said it more often in all those sweet moments when he still had had the possibility to! Now probably not even his lover's cunning knives could save him. It was only strange there had been no sirens, no red alert. What the hell was going on on the ship?

Ethos didn't know how long he lay there when suddenly the buzzing of his datapad told him there was an incoming message.

Ethos grabbed the device like it was his last lifeline.

The message was by Praxis.

Apparently, the was no Colteron attack at all. Instead, the enemy spaceship had exploded, and it was only due to Keeler's presence of mind that no human being had been hurt. In the last second, the Lead Navigator had canceled the scheduled examination of the enemy vessel and cleared the hangar bay, thus saving the commander's life, too. If the starfighters were damaged, however, was not yet settled.

Ethos had no idea how Praxis got that information so quickly, and although he was incredibly relieved there was no Colteron attack going on, the entire shock about the incident set his hands trembling. The Teron ship, of course...What Praxis must have thought and felt when he had heard the explosion!

“Are you okay?”, Ethos messaged back as fast as he could.

“I am, and Deimos is, too”, came as the immediate answer.

Thank Mother.

Despite his tears, Ethos couldn't suppress a smile. They had become a team after all, and no Teron in space could take this bond away from him.

This thought managed to calm Ethos down enough to find his usual, adorable self again.

<<Teron, do you hear me?>>, he clicked in a low voice, turning around to face the hideous thing that still crouched there in the same position as before.

<<Listen...I'm sorry I shouted at you. I'm normally not like that. But why didn't you tell me these weren't your comrades attacking? It was only your stupid ship that exploded. Probably you planned it that way, but it didn't work out. Our navigators are clever. They knew that this would happen, and nobody got hurt.>>

Ethos knew by now that he wouldn't get a reaction. But he was still a little freaked and terribly lonely. He needed a voice as company, even if it was his own, speaking an odious clicking language. And so he continued his monologue, just like he sometimes did when Praxis spaced out into his own world and he needed something calm and familiar to cling unto.

<<I understand you don't want to speak to me>>, Ethos said. << I wouldn't want to, either, if I were a prisoner on your battleship. But see, I don't want you any harm. I'm commandeered to take care of you here, and that's what I'm doing, I'm doing my job.

You can believe me, I'd prefer not to be here, too. I'm sick of this all, I'd like to go home. The planet I come from is called earth, but you know that, right? The Terons came close enough to it. It's a beautiful place, nothing like the Sleipnir, really. On earth, there's sunlight and wind, there's colours, plants, and animals... There are also insects, you know. Like you, only much smaller. Earth is where my home is, my mother and my three sisters. Can you imagine that? Do you even know the concept of siblings? I think I read that you're all hatched by your queen and then raised by wet nurses. You could tell me if that is correct. That would be polite, at least.>>

Ethos sighed.

<<I miss my mother and my sisters, even my silly aunts. I enlisted in the army as a navigator because everyone kept telling me this was the right thing to do for an 'intelligent boy'. But let me tell you something: This war is bullshit. We're training everyday to get better and quicker and more callous in killing bugs. Killing you, I mean. Colterons. But will the amount of dead Terons somehow influence the outcome of this war, like they want us to believe? Or do they just say so to keep us quiet?

Let's get that straight: It was a big mistake what you did with the Frontier. You can't just bomb our cities into the ground and think we humans will put up with it. But then, of course I know that you're only a soldier. You're not responsible for the Frontier or anything else that happened. Like me, you're just a small cog in the machine, as we say. Yes, we're even pretty much alike, you and me.>>

Ethos sighed again and turned on the back, facing the ceiling.

<<I bet you can't sleep either tonight in that fucking light. This is torture, I'll have to tell them to change that lightning tomorrow or I'll go nuts. I'll tell them you hate it, too.

By the way, I'm Ethos. This is my name. I mean, of course it's not my real name, it's a task name I've been given here in the Alliance. Ethos – can you pronounce that? Can you speak at all, more than 'die, die, die'? I understand you want to die. Really, I understand it. I know you Terons normally kill yourselves before you can be captured, you're not afraid of dying. I wonder...Is that maybe why you're here? Because something went wrong? I wish you'd tell me.

But hey, did you ever think about the advantages of being alive and here among us? Just imagine, if you die now, you maybe won't accomplish your mission. Maybe your real mission isn't to spy on us here or kill us all of with your stupid exploding ship. Maybe your mission is to... talk! Talk some sense into our commanders, and yours, talk to the enemy, so to say. Did you ever think of that? If you just die, everything will go on just like it does now. More battles, more dead Terons, more dead humans. And space is so big! You should know better than our best navigators if there's enough place to live there for all us beings.

It's stupid to fight until one race is extinguished. My fighter already went insane because of all this cruelty, and I feel it won't be long before I share his fate. Now good night, Teron. If you're not starved to death tomorrow morning, we'll have a new day of friendly onesided chat in front of us.>>

Ethos sighed again, turned towards the wall fully dressed and drew the blanket tight around him. In his hand, he clutched his datapad with the open chat history with Praxis and new messages from sweet Deimos. But before the profile picture of his boyfriend made him cry again, Ethos closed his eyes and held still and and just tried to vanish, vanish out of existence.

Chapter Text

The following two days passed without variations.

Ethos brought the prisoner all kinds of food the mess hall could offer, and the prisoner kept ignoring everything, unmoving, breaking its resignated silence only occasionally to click its threats.

Scared of incidents with fighters, Ethos left the brig only with Deimos at his side or in company of Keeler who came to fetch him at least once a day for reviews with the commanders. During one of these mutual walks, the lieutenant communicated to Ethos that he shared his assumption about the Teron starving itself to death. Keeler couldn't explain either why 'their' prisoner hadn't committed suicide immediately and what could possibly have gone wrong. But he subtly instructed Ethos to be prepared for the loss of his ward, and not take it too hard.

By this point, however, Ethos' own morale was already at grassroot's level. Keeler could have told him that he'd get promoted to Lead Navigator Assistant on the spot, and the worn out language adept still wouldn't have been able to show a reaction.

His endless days consisted of begging and waiting, waiting and begging, and the only thing that had changed considerably by now was the atmosphere among Ethos' fellow recruits: It had become even more hostile.

Everytime Ethos entered the mess hall to grab some food for himself or the Teron, the present navigators and especially the fighters reacted more violently to his arrival. When in the beginning they had only teased him to be a bug fucker and kissing the commanders' asses, they had proceeded to screaming in disgust about his alleged unbearable stench whenever he showed his face, and yesterday some guys had even threatened him physically until the Lead Fighter had to step in.

Ethos had no idea how often Deimos had had to step in for him down there on the fighters' levels, where no navs were watching. The small fighter didn't answer whenever Ethos asked him about it, but knowing Deimos, this was an answer, too. Sometimes the two met in the corridor outside the brig at night and shared some desperate kisses, but still, Ethos missed him like hell. The navigator felt he couldn't go on like this much longer. He knew he wasn't the prisoner, but eventually, he felt like being in solitary confinement.

So, when he was laying on his bunk this evening, reading another of Praxis' Scifi e-books and dreaming about space how it could be, he didn't care much if he'd fall asleep in the process or not, as it made no distinction. Nothing made a distinction as he was failing in this most important mission of his career. The bug he cared for through some strange instinctive drive inside his strange heart was about do die. It was inevitable.

Ethos only knew he really had been sleeping when he suddenly realized he heard a clicking.

<<I can't eat like this>>, someone said.

In Colteron.

Ethos jolted awake.

When he beheld the image on the other side of the brig, his heart almost stopped. The Teron had risen to his hindlegs and was standing close to the forcefield now. Very close. And to Ethos' shock and surprise, it wasn't steel-gray any more but had changed its colour to a very dark red brown.

“It's going to kill me”, Ethos thought, and he gulped hard when suddenly the alien creature moved its antennae and started clicking again.

<<The things you tried to feed me. I can't eat this. It's too hard.>>

Ethos didn't trust his own ears.

<<Too hard?>>, he asked, dim-wittedly.

<<I can only consume smooth food. Mash. And someone has to feed it to me.>>

Ethos stared the bug in one compound eye, then into the other. It was so tall, Ethos on his bunk felt like a dwarf in comparison, like some fairytale figure, teleported into a nightmare.

<<Are you saying you can't eat by yourself? I mean, you have those...pinchers, what are they for, then?>>

The Teron stood there, brown and ugly and apparently paralyzed again.

<<Okay, so you need someone to feed you. You don't want to suggest this person shall be me, right?>>

Suddenly, the bug moved his mouthparts violently as if trying to break through the forcefield. <<Die>>, was what it clicked again, <<die, die, die>>.

<<Ah, come on, stop it!>>, Ethos exclaimed, exasperated. <<I can guarantee, you won't find anybody else to feed you if you take my life. Also, you're half dead yourself, so we need to tackle this quickly. So what about this mash? What do you normally put into it?>>

The Teron sunk down on all fours, turned around without another click and, changing colour to grey again, retracted in the farthest corner of its cell. Ethos watched it, dumbfounded, his heart racing up to his throat. It had spoken to him! And it was able to change colour! He had to report this to Keeler, but not at this ungodly hour.

Shaking his head, Ethos fell backwards unto his bunk again.

Just then, the Teron answered.

<<Fungi>>, it said.

Sneaking into the deserted mess hall at midnight with Deimos was more fun than Ethos would ever have expected. The fighter was really good at moving in the dark and also at picking locks. Hell, was there anything in the world this creature wasn't good at?

On one of the upper shelves in the supply room, they found what Ethos was looking for: canned mushrooms.

“I'll try these, heated and cold. Deimos, can you give me light?”, Ethos asked, handing his lover the datapad to use it as a flashlight. At least the navigator didn't need help to find the fuse box and hack into the kitchen's electrics. In nothing flat, he had set the stove working.

“A pity the blender will make way too much noise”, Ethos whispered. “I guess I'll have to smash these with a fork.”

Both boys moved slowly and as silently as possible between all the stoves and dishwashers and kitchenware. Deimos looked amazing with his wide, clear eyes, vigilant and brave like a small feline predator on the hunt. But there was no time for dalliance right now, they had to make sure no guard noticed them skulking in these quarters. Thanks to Deimos' talents, they managed to avoid any suspicions.

“Come on!”, Ethos summoned, a pot with mashed mushrooms in each hand while Deimos switched off the power. “Let's get back quickly!”

The MPs were sleeping in their little room next to the cell sector. But Duccio was on night shift and cast the navigator a very sceptical glance when said man returned from his nightly mission, carrying a penetrant dinner-smell into the dreary quarters.

“It's going to happen, Duccio!”, the tousle-headed boy called cheerily before he disappeared behind the forcefield to the cell tract and approached the prisoner. Deimos, of course, had to wait outside the brig.

<<Die>>, the Teron clicked as usual, <<die, die, die.>>

<<Ah, you're incorrigible>>, Ethos groaned when he crouched on the floor, dangling his pots in front of the Teron's nose (or where he assumed it to be situated). “My beautiful, rose-scented twink”, he purred in English. <<Look what I got for you: Fungi, raw and cooked. Mhh, so delicious!>>

The Teron seemed to agree to that. It moved its antennae through the bars and towards the pots while opening and closing its menacing pinchers. Without thinking twice, Ethos held one pot through the bars, ready to pull his hand back any second. But strangely, the Teron didn't dip its pinchers nor its antennae into the vessel.

<<Come on, try it!>>, Ethos said encouragingly.

The bug seemed to turn a little blue-ish. <<I told you you have to feed me>>, it clicked, scraping with its claws agitatedly and stinking more than ever. Ethos gulped.

<<How?>>, he asked helplessly.

<<Bring the mash close to my palps, without the bowl.>>

Ethos shivered. <<Just like this, on my very hands?>>

<<Hands?>>, the prisoner asked incredulously, and Ethos decided there was no other way.

“Ugh”, he muttered while reaching into the gloop. <<I swear if you bite my hand off, this will be the last day you see fungi in your life.>>

Gathering all his courage, Ethos stretched his sticky hand through the bars and close to the Teron's head. To his great astonishment, the insect didn't bite him with its pinchers and didn't even put them to use. Apparently they had another purpose than eating, because what it employed were its palps only, which it carefully dipped into the mash and then into its peaked mouth to lick them clean.

Almost immediately, its colour changed to a warmer shade of brown.

It didn't waste time on compliments. <<More>>, the prisoner clicked frankly. Ethos obeyed and took more of the mashed mushrooms unto his hand, holding it out to the Teron like cats' treats. The bug shoved everything inside his mouthparts as fast as it could and greedily devoured the uncooked mushrooms subsequently.

<<Goody!>>, Ethos praised. <<Good Teron. Do you also want some water?>>

<<No. I get all fluids I need throughout the fungi. Thank you>>, it even added.

Ethos couldn't help it and blushed. <<Y-you're welcome. Do you feel better now? I can get you more fungi in the morning, if you can last until then?>>

The Teron clicked something, and thankfully it was not threats. Ethos was getting stupidly emotional by this whole situation, the Teron's sudden compliance, its gratefulness, their friendly talk. This feeling, however, was destroyed again, and rather quickly.

<<I will. You can go back to rest now, I'll call you when it's time to clean me, Ths>>, the prisoner said, shoving its carapace against the forcefield as a (maybe) inviting gesture.

<<Wait>>, Ethos exclaimed, <<What?>> It was unclear what startled him more, the Teron trying to pronounce his name or the strange order he had just received. <<How am I supposed to do that?>>

<<You'll massage my Malphigian tubules and then remove my fecal pellets. That's all.>>

Was kneeling down restricting his blood flow, or why was Ethos suddenly feeling so dizzy? He couldn't believe that only an hour ago, he had felt depressed and hopeless because he thought he fucked up his job. The real fuck-up was only just laying ahead of him! Ethos' throat became very dry as unpleasant memories of overflowing diapers, spoiled rompers and motherly overload appeared in front of his mind's eye.

<<Don't tell me you need help to...>> He blushed again and groaned. <<Say, do you have someone in your hive, too, who does that sort of stuff for you?>>

The Teron's colour changed back to the grey colour scheme before the bug eventually answered. <<Of course>>, it clicked, fumbling through the bars with its antennae so Ethos scooted back a little. <<I have a... servant.>>

And apparently, this thought made the prisoner sad, because now its colour was a dark violet and its antennae bent back.

Ethos' curiosity, however, was much piqued. <<So you operate in pairs, too? Like fighters and navigators?>>

<<I don't know what fighters and navigators means. I have a servant that stays back in the hive and cares for me when I don't fly.>>

Maybe, Ethos thought, it was like fighters and navigators in some way - like it could be, when one got along. It was perfectly realistic that the one or other team was delighting in mutual massages, albeit with other purposes. But there was no doubt: The Teron missed its partner. And Ethos knew how that felt. He was so sympathetic to the insect he suddenly had to suppress the violent urge to pat its big head.

He wanted to comfort it, but how when he knew the prisoner would never be able to return home and see his 'servant' again? Its ship and all the comm-technics inside were gone. Also, there was not even a way some comrade could have reported back to the hive that Ethos' ward had made it. The 7^th fleet had destroyed all ships from the prisoner's squadron.

Pondering over those sad facts, Ethos lost track of time. <<I pity you>>, he clicked eventually. But looking over, he noticed that the Teron was coloured completely grey again and had fallen into some rigour. It didn't move and it didn't respond.

The prisoner was having its digestive nap.

Chapter Text

This moment was the turning point.

Not that Ethos wasn't suspicious of the Teron anymore, or that he'd entirely feel at ease in its presence. But from the moment the prisoner had given up resistance, Ethos knew that the two of them were very slowly establishing some kind of mutual trust.

This realisation improved Ethos' whole life all at once.

His depression ended in smoke, and with his old confidence and good nature returning, he felt prepared even for the most unpleasant moments of his current everyday life, like the reports to the sensationalist commanders or the daily gauntlet-running in the mess hall.

But oh wonder, even that part miraculously improved all of a sudden. Today, with Encke standing sentinel at the door and Praxis, Deimos, Athos and even Cain lurking near on the closest fighters' table, Ethos had a relaxed meal in the mess hall for the first time since the Teron had been captured. Encke kept his fighters together, so the danger of some of them stealing away and sneaking to the brig seemed averted in the moment. So for the first time, Ethos didn't feel in a hurry.

He was still very unused to being the centre of attention, but on the other hand having a friendly chat with the other navigators, with humans who spoke his mothertongue, was so delightful it outweighed all awkwardness.

“And so you did what she told you?”, Abel was just about to ask, appalled.

Ethos shrugged and poked his fork into his noodles again. He was so hungry suddenly he was convinced that if they weren't all vegans anyway, he could have scarfed down a whole ox!

“Well, of course!”, he mumbled, mouth almost too full to speak. “I took a dustpan and broom, swept the things up and bagged them for analysis, just like Keeler told me to do. Now they're with Glarean in the Chem Lab. I'm so curious what he'll find out about our girl!”

The navigator looked up, but seeing the consternation on his comrades' faces, he blushed and his cheerfulness gave way to embarassment all too quickly. “Come on, it didn't smell at all! The stuff is dry as dust. There's certainly worse.”

“Ugh, hardly likely”, Phobos exclaimed, covering his mouth with one of his fine hands as if he needed to gag.

“A-and the actual massage?”, Abel ventured. “I mean, it was doubtlessly hard to perform with the forcefield between you two, right?” It was clear he was eager to hear more about Ethos' adventures. But the priss of the fleet wouldn't have it.

“Spare us the details, Ethos, for Mother's sake! It's shocking enough you don't seem to have the slightest reservations. 'Our girl'”, he parroted, face twisted in disgust, “Blech, this is not happening!”

“Phobz”, said Porthos soothingly, putting a hand on his lover's, managing to shut him up for the moment.

“And did she also tell you her name?” This was Bazin who had been silent until now.

Ethos nodded, the mouth full of noodles again. “Yeah, she did. She's called Vsl-chr.”

Abel stopped short. “Vsl...vsl... That's a number, right?”

“Yup!” Ethos face lightened up in enthusiasm. “It's number 19252, Vsl's hatching number. Her partner is number 19198. Teron warrioresses never get real names or what we understand by that term, so they just stick to those numbers, Vsl told me.”

Today was not Phobos' day, as became clear now at the latest. “Sal-what?”, he asked, disdainfully. “Who would call a bug 'Sally'? What an outdated, vulgar name.”

Ethos rolled his eyes. “Vsl-chr, Phobos. That's her name – not 'Sally'!”

All navigators on their table started guffawing, and of course that made the fleet's prince see red. He looked like he wanted to cry when he precipitately got up, grabbed his tray and prepared to leave the mess hall. Porthos' withholding arm was pushed off forcefully, what left the mohawked navigator puzzled.

“Phobos, where are you going?”, he exclaimed, turning.

But the pretty blond was already at the conveyor belt and if there was a retort, it got lost in the general noise.

“What's with him today?”, Sienna asked.

Porthos shrugged. The boy was always in such worry about his boyfriend, he was really not to be envied. Ethos guessed that contrary to all appearances, it was plain fear of the unknown that caused Phobos' behaviour. Despite his reputation, Phobos was a sensitive plant on the inside who just had had the mischief of ending in the middle of a space war. But of course Ethos didn't dare to utter this compromising deductions aloud.

“It's incredible the Teron gave up her resistance eventually. I wouldn't have believed they'd ever let a human get that close. Vsl must be something special”, Bazin resumed their talk.

“Or you're special”, Abel smirked towards Ethos. The tousle-head blushed.

“She's a spy. You can tell me what you want, and still I'm convinced”, Porthos declared, and Ethos frowned when the taller navigator continued: “Be careful what you tell her, Ethos. Don't fall for her tricks!”

“I know, Porthos, I know. Can't you imagine the commanders kept spelling this out for me every single day since she arrived? I have to log every click she utters, and I've got a list of Teron-related stuff command wants to get a line on. I have to report to Cook and Bering every fucking day!”

“Keeler must be very happy about your outcomes”, Abel said approvingly, casting a glance towards where their long-haired leader was eating his lunch on the officers' table – two spare seats between him and his sergeants, as usual. As sociable as the lieutenant behaved all day with the recruits, as remote he seemed to be sometimes with the higher ranks. One came to wonder if he was lonely, and why...

Ethos shrugged and finished the last remainder of his noodles. “Somehow, I don't have this impression. Keeler seems to be very impatient about the arrival of this freighter, I think he wants Vsl to come off the ship as soon as possible. Probably he's afraid of news about the war prisoner leaking out to earth, thus debauching the Alliance's plans.”

Abel shook his head. “But that can't happen. We're bound to secrecy by Alliance law!”

“Of course we are. But then, we're navigators. What if the fighters don't give a shit, as usual?”

“Their correspondences to the colonies and earth are inspected, Ethos.”

“Might also be Keeler has other reasons to long for that fucking freighter ship”, Porthos smirked. “Did you notice how hard it is to get contraband booze lately? Also I heard the Sleipnir's running out of lube.”

All boys burst our laughing about that statement. It was such a brazen thing to say out loud - they could hardly stifle their guffaw behind their hands. All Alliance personnel had been severely instructed since their first day in space to button up their lips about that part of military life, obvious as it might be. They all knew the mere suggestion of officials being involved in fraternization could cost them their job. That's what made Porthos' bravado so especially thrilling.

“Oh my god, Porthos”, Abel exclaimed, face flushed red like a tomato.

“But he's right, this could become a problem at some point!”, Sienna remarked.

“So back to machine oil?”

The navigators screamed in horror. “Woah, no way, dude! Get away! Never again!”

Ethos needed a while to calm down again after that saucy talk. He managed to interview Bazin about his forthcomings in flying with Praxis, though, before he had to hurry and return to the brig. It felt so good to hear how Praxis' technique improved more and more, and how Bazin apparently benefitted from a fighter who quietly did his job and didn't unnecessarily bully his navigator all the time. Praxis was so nice! He transferred their records to Ethos immediately after every training. This way, Ethos felt at least a little bit as if taking part in his former duties as a pilot.

Cheerful in heart, the blond headed back to Vsl, her daily helping of mash in his hands. Maybe he was slowly getting used to his new place and his new routines. Maybe from today on, all would be well.

Chapter Text

It was one of these days again.

When his alarm ripped him out of deep sleep, when he needed precious extra minutes to get dressed despite hurrying so much it set him sweating, Keeler knew it was one of these days again. And this knowledge didn't make anything easier.

As usual, Encke was worried and fussed about him, admonishing him to take it easy, letting his hands linger on Keeler's cheeks too tenderly and too long. He wouldn't have many chances to do this again during the day, and this, Keeler thought, was good. The Lead Fighter was in much too deep already, he should never know how bad Keeler really felt on one of these days. There was nothing he could do about it anyway. Days like these just happened, as Keeler knew after all of these years he had to deal with them. It didn't mean he didn't hate it, though.

Flying patrol, teaching his boys, writing reports. Keeler dragged himself through every single task with a lot of effort, grabbing his chest every so often to keep himself from fainting. He hoped he'd just keep up until crew lights out to fall asleep like a stone and hopefully wake up better the next day. But until that moment, there seemed to be a universe on Keeler's hands to carry.

Command wanted to see him for some talk in confidence concerning the war prisoner. There was no open date in his schedule, so Keeler had to postpone the briefing with Ethos – the perfect excuse to cancel lunch, too. Keeping up appearances in front of the crew was one thing. Slipping the attention of Encke's wary eyes in the mess was another.

So without food and without a break, Keeler headed straight towards the officers quarters, Puck in tow. The secretary wanted to offer him his arm, but Keeler just grit his teeth and accelerated his steps.

“Sir...”

“Puck. We're just back to normal routine. I can't allow myself to show any debility now.”

“Sir!”

“It is nothing”, the lieutenant snapped, not even looking at his loyal assistant and ignoring the navigators who passed by, late for lunch by some reasons.

Keeler felt genuinely sorry for Puck, and Mother knew he loved his recruits. But on days like these, everything was already too exhausting as it was, every thought, every movement, and every spoken word.

Puck slumped on a bench in front of the commander's office, chewing on his lip piercing while Keeler pressed his finger unto the panel.

The door opened with a sonore beep.

Commander Cook welcomed him. He was sitting at the conference table in his nice, spacious quarters with a smug expression Keeler couldn't interpret.

“Ah, Lead Navigator Keeler. At ease, please.”

Bering was already in the room, too, apparently downloading stuff on his datapad, grim-faced, not even looking up. Keeler nodded politely and took a seat, glad for once they didn't keep him standing.

“Ah, here, I've got it”, Bering said and opened a space map on the flat touch screen that was embedded in the office table. Cook reached over his arm and zoomed into a certain part of the map - the Otorten constellation, as Keeler recognized. He had always disliked this specific part of Baten Kaitos, it was very remote and dark and even the Terons seemed to avoid it. Why was Cook interested in that area? A feeling of doom crept up in Keeler's stomach, and he inhaled sharply.

“Lieutenant, I'm glad you could make it here so quickly despite your various obligations”, the commander explained. “I can bring good news: We finally received a message from freighter Stellar 296. Apparently their comm disruptor was hacked, but they managed to fix the issue eventually.”

Keeler nodded. The Sleipnir urgently needed certain repair parts as well as the delivery of fresh Helium-3. As the freighter was so late already, it was good the crew had managed to avoid attacks and got the ship back to normal operation.

“Their current position is now 23°2bc-α”, Cook went on. “Scheduled arrival at the Sleipnir: 23 hours 17minutes Sleipnir time.”

That was already much of a delay, Keeler mused, but then his line of thought was cut by a sudden wave of nausea, and he inhaled through his nose to keep it down.

“Now that the comm is working again – bugproof – I used the opportunity and instructed the steersman about our plans for the return flight. To be more clear: I informed him where to deposit the corpse safely before reaching earth.”

Keeler looked up at the commanders, his eyes widening in surprise. Had he missed something? Had he spaced out to cap it all?

“Sir, I'm not sure if I understood correctly”, he ventured. “Deposit the corpse? What corpse? Where?”

Cook smiled, but in no nice way. He looked at the long haired blond as if he was some tiresome child before he answered.

“Lieutenant Keeler. It seems as if that mawkish romance between one of your navigators and a tame Teron warrioress has blinded your senses. Of course the bug won't survive the travel to earth. You informed me yourself it needs a servant to feed it, and obviously, on the freighter there will be none.” Cook raised his eyebrow in what looked like a triumph.

“Furthermore, the prisoner won't be expected on earth - as I thought you knew! Command on earth came to the view that the last thing the Alliance needs now in the middle of the first Colteron war is a bug so very non-conform to current human expectations. We don't need a depressed goody-goody. What we need is the picture of an enemy in people's heads to boost their combative spirit. Earth' population is just not ready for anything else. Do I have to be more explicit?”

Keeler was frozen. Cook, however, was not unsettled by it. “We'll perform a first autopsy of the bug on the freighter ship, keep some samples for science and store the corpse at Otorten outpost for later examination.”

Bering scrutinized the gape-mouthed Keeler and then weighed in, sighing: “We're to turn back time like nothing of all this ever happened, lieutenant. Order from top level. During the last skirmish, the Alliance destroyed the whole enemy squad, no survivors, there was never made a war prisoner, ever. Remember?”

Keeler stared at him in disbelief, then he stared at Cook. He inhaled several times, trying to keep calm, trying to figure out which part of the conversation he misunderstood. But there was none. The commanders were in earnest.

The Lead Navigator's hand clenched on his chest against his will, his breath coming quickly as a torturing nausea quickly spread throughout his whole body, and he gulped desperately until he noticed that this time he didn't stand a chance. There was no hiding anymore. Hands pressed over his mouth, he jumped from his chair and rushed out of the office in panic, unable to think, unable to stop himself. With his last remaining force and trembling all over, he stumbled into the closest restroom, crashed to the floor and almost lost consciousness while heavy spasms shook him. His body fought to get rid of everything inside it, food, organs, fuck, his entire life.

It was overwhelming. It was so painful. Keeler's chest felt about to explode, the spreading pain seemed to rip him into pieces. All was blackness around him, and all he could hear was a deafening hissing growing louder in his ears with every passing second.

With a strange lucidity, Keeler understood what was happening. He even managed to be surprised because he would never have expected it to feel like this. Then, however, this thought was lost in Keeler's inner prayer, his last wish in its mantra-like repetition: Mother, let it be quick. Let it be quick. Please, Mother.

Then he lost consciousness.

Keeler didn't notice how gentle hands held back his hair while he was hunched over the toilet bowl. He didn't notice how someone wiped his face with tissues afterwards, bedded his head on his lap, cradled him on the cold tiles. He didn't hear the stifled weeping.

He didn't even feel he wasn't dead.

When he came around later he was shocked to find himself still on the Sleipnir, not in the med bay, but in a cabin. He was even more shocked when he tried to sit up and the supporting arms around his shoulders were not Encke's, nor Puck's.

“Hush, sir. You're safe. You're with me now. You're safe”, someone whispered - someone Keeler couldn't see because he was too weak to keep his eyes open long enough. Someone who gently laid him back down on the mattress again now. Keeler panicked, but he couldn't struggle against it because his whole body was limp.

With a pang, though, he remembered everything. Vsl-Chr. Ethos. He had to warn him! He had to contact Encke because he needed a plan to save Vsl-Chr. He needed an ally. And first of all, he needed to get up. Too bad his body refused to cooperate.

Keeler felt how an arm was put around him again.

“I knew this bastard would take every chance to try it. But you're an officer. This time, he's gone too far”, the person holding him hissed. And although Keeler had no idea what the other was talking about, he was sure by now he knew that voice.

Phobos stroked Keeler's hair, speaking very close to the lieutenant's face. “You were in pretty bad shape when we found you. Puck wanted to take you to med bay first, but I told him this was no good idea. The MOs just laugh in your face when you beg for help there, also I was sure you wouldn't want anyone to know what happened... Luckily, Puck remembered you usually carry a spray against your panic attacks. We gave it to you, then you slowly got better and because my bunk was nearest, we brought your here.”

Keeler felt how his head was caressed again, and slowly it dawned on him what the other thought had occurred. An ice-cold shiver ran down Keeler's spine.

“Oh, hush, sir. Please don't cry. Don't worry, I won't tell anybody about this and nobody saw us. ” Phobos' tone changed to rancorous when he continued. “This fucking piece of shit. He'll regret having laid hands on you, sir. He'll regret being born. This time, we get him, and he'll have to pay.”

Keeler gasped. Granted, Phobos' false assumptions were a heaven-sent gift to keep his secret safe. On the other hand, he heard unbearable things now he should have been aware of from the very beginning. He was the Lead Navigator. He was responsible!

“Sir, despite everything that happened - you're still as beautiful and pure and immaculate as you were before. Don't you ever forget that. Don't you let him take anything from you, sir! Because that's what he wants, that's the power he craves for, the sick peace of shit. And you shall not give him that.

Shall we get you into the shower now sir, what about it? Wash all dirt from you, get your gorgeous hair nice and flowery again? I have a contraband shampoo that smells like summer on earth, like a meadow, so good. You'll like it. Come on, dear sir. Come. You're not alone.”

Chapter Text

Of those recent and dramatic events, the faithful navigator Ethos knew nothing. He had gotten up as usual today, messaged with Deimos and Praxis and chatted with Vsl a little before having a quick breakfast with Duccio and the guards.

At noon, he had gone to the mess to grab some fungi for his ward, meeting his fellow navigators there. Together with them, he had wondered about the whereabouts of Phobos who according to Sienna was with a team of navis delegated to fix the radar problem on level 4b. But Ethos knew his comrade well enough to see this was fairly unlikely. He had exchanged a worried look with Abel, and the word 'eating disorder' had hung into the air between them like a toxic cloud.

Ethos had returned from the mess full of worries. But approaching the brig he noticed that involunarily, his heart beat faster again. Coming back to these quarters didn't feel as dreary any more as it still had some days ago. Since Vsl had started to trust him, the language adept found his task distracting, and living in the brig had even become kind of pleasant. Leaned against the bars of Vsl's cell, his stocking-feet stretched out comfortably in front of him, Ethos chatted with Vsl-Chr like he would with a friend. He enjoyed their exchange and the thrill of slowly getting to know an alien. And he felt blessed to be able to talk to it face to face like no human had ever done before.

During the hours spent like this, Ethos got to know a lot about the culture of what the Alliance considered 'the enemy'. He learned how Terons grew up. How they hatched in special chambers. How they were raised by nurses until they were old enough to connect their brains to the cloud and learn everything that was necessary for the rank they would become: warriors, servants, priests, nurses - there was a fixed path designated for each larva. And Vsl wasn't shy talking about her's, about her past and her training.

The days of her childhood didn't lay as far back for her as they did for Ethos. After what Ethos calculated roughly, the life-span of a Teron warrioress was much shorter than that of a human. Vsl was maybe five earth-years of age now, and she was already considered a young adult by her colony. Ethos was strangely happy to learn they were about the same age. He was strangely happy to spend time with Vsl, anyway.

Gone were the dull days of fearful silence, of onesided clicking and frustrating reports to the commanders. Now he didn't even see himself as the war prisoner's guard any longer, but as a friend and intermediary between the cultures. Ethos was at ease in Vsl's presence, and more and more he got the feeling that there was something special between them, something he couldn't name yet, but could feel deep inside his heart.

While reaching through the bars in between their phrases to feed Vsl her mash, Ethos marvelled at how skillful the Teron was with her palps and how gently, almost elegantly she could move. The Teron's colour was mostly brown now. She seemed to be content. The insect's giant compound eyes, however, never seemed to look at him directly and never seemed to focus on anything. Nevertheless, it had become clear very quickly that Vsl's sensory abilities outperformed human skills by far. It could sometimes be quite shocking to be remembered of this.

When they were talking about missions in space, for example, and Ethos described how Cook had mustered all members of the 7^th fleet back then on the space station to ask who of them would like to volunteer for the Baten Kaitos-mission.

<<We're all brave soldiers>>, Ethos emphasized, lying a little to depict the Alliance like he thought a brave, proud navigator should. <<We were all eager to volunteer, because a mission in Baten Kaitos means special merit for the navigators. We were all were well prepared for these kinds of deployment, that's why we...>>

<<You're lying.>>

Vsl didn't flinch, but clicked it in her usual, dust-dry manner.

Ethos gulped, dumbstruck that his efforts had been wasted. <<H-How can you know? I mean, how can you know I'm lying?>>

She just continued munching her fungi, stating totally unimpressedly: <<I can smell it.>>

Ethos couldn't trust his ears. She could smell if someone was lying? If that was true, what else was she able to smell on humans? Ethos gulped again. She probably had smelled his fear all the time. But this presupposed that she knew how a brave human smelled like...

<<Your whole pheromones change when you're lying. I didn't know what it meant when I first noticed it on the commander. But then I had a sudden inspiration.>>

<<The commander?>> Ethos was puzzled. <<Why was he here? And where was I, why didn't you tell me he came here? Was it Cook or Bering?>>

<<You were here yourself, Ths. It was the small commander, the one that comes by every day. The one with the plushy antenna. >>

Ethos frowned. <<This can only have been Keeler! Do you mean Keeler? Oh, he's not the commander, Vsl. He's the Lead Navigator, that means he's responsible for all us blond, white-cled people, us navigators. He's looking after us, training with us...He's amazing. Why do you think he has been lying?>>

Vsl didn't seem as as shocked about it as Ethos was. Answering his question, she reached for the mash-bowl with her palps unimpressedly, brushing Ethos's skin in the process, making him want to pet her in a silly reflex. <<This I don't know, but I could smell it even through his usual scent of poison.>>

Now Ethos was completely baffled and scratched his locks like he tended to do during difficult calculations. <<Poison is actually... not how I would describe his smell >>, he mused, blushing a little. Like all navigators, Ethos had always swooned over the Lead Navigator, and Keeler's legendary earthly shampoo was an important topic of navigators' discussions. <<If I'm being honest about it, I'd even say he smells... really good.>>

Vsl's mouthparts started to vibrate agitatedly now as she was slowly turning dark red. <<No, he doesn't smell good. He doesn't smell like you, or the guard-human, or the black-cled shouting-humans in the other room. He smells of poison. And he lied when he came here last time. You told me he said he was late because he had to help another navigator at a ship. This was the moment he lied.>>

Ethos had to let that sink in. He fell silent as he pondered about this new information, albeit more about the part of the lie than about the alleged 'smell of poison'. Clearly, Vsl had strange tastes in that matter – her own body odour was the best proof of it. After some moments, Ethos decided to dismiss Vsl's other theory, too. He couldn't even remember what Keeler had quoted as reason why he had needed to help Porthos on that day. Everyone knew the tall recruit often worked in a slipshod way. Lying about it made absolutely no sense!

Suddenly, Ethos shook his head and started laughing. <<The 'plushy antenna', though...>> He snickered and turned towards the Teron with affection. <<That's his hair, Vsl! Strands of keratin, the soft things that grow on human heads. Keeler's is just a little longer than mine, but it's only hair after all. You know, Vsl, you can be really cute.>>

And overwhelmed by his human reflexes, Ethos reached through the bars before he could think twice and petted the insect's big head. He gasped, but then he noticed it wasn't difficult at all. Vsl's carapace felt hard, definitely hairless and terribly unimposing. It was like petting a tortoise, at least how Ethos imagined it. He had only ever had budgies.

So he let his hand linger a little on top of this big, solid head and even dared to reach up with his other hand to very carefully touch Vsl's fuzzy antenna. The boy legit shivered a little when suddenly, very slowly, Vsl scooted closer and reached through the bars with her other antenna now in turn. It was scary to let her get that close, but Ethos remained still and brave. He trusted her.

She would never hurt him, of that he was sure by now. She had been so talkative and nice, there was no reason to be frightened. Slowly, slowly, she rose a little to reach for Ethos' face. The navigator closed his eyes. It was moving and sweet to feel how her sensitive member brushed his cheek, ruffled his hair, wound around his locks – a Teron-caress. The first in history.

It was a magical moment, a moment as precious as a dance on very thin ice. It was over all too soon.

In split seconds, all Ethos felt was a stinging pain when countless claws grabbed him and scratched him and Ethos shrieked for dear life, but and iron grip at his hair held him trapped and in vain he thrashed around, against the bars, desperate to free himself.

<<Stop that, stop!>>, he screamed, but she was so much stronger! Ethos' hair was torn out brutally and his hands were bleeding, sratched open by sharp claws. Where was Duccio? Where were the guards when one needed them?

With one last attempt, Ethos managed to welter out of Vsl's reach eventually. He was still screaming, and when he wanted to cover his mouth with his hands, he tasted iron. It mingled with the salty taste of his tears.

What had just happened?

He needed to get out of here.

Chapter Text

Having fled to his bunk in the opposite cell, Ethos watched Vsl though the double line of bars. She was on all fours again, immobile, crouched in the corner of her cell. He could only hear a very feeble clicking, and it sounded like the <<die, die, die>> she had been muttering those first few days.

It made Ethos' heart almost break to see her suffer like that again. He could have kicked himself for having overreacted in such a way. But when he looked down at his bleeding hands, he couldn't help but start panting in fear again. He tried to tell himself she hadn't wanted to attack him. But nevertheless she had proven that if she wanted, she could...

No. It had been an accident. She probably was exactly as frightened as he was in this very moment, and exactly as helpless. It was unfair to blame her for what was nobody's fault.

After staring and thinking for a long time, undisturbed by Vsl who remained completely motionless in her far corner, Ethos decided he couldn't just leave things like that between them.

<<Vsl>>, he whispered. Of course she didn't react. Ethos got up from his bed eventually, opened his horribly squeaking cell door and walked towards the bars of her's.

<<Vsl>>, he repeated. <<Come here to me again, please.>>

She turned her head and he studied her features desperately, wanting to detect the slightest trace of emotion that could be hidden in her traits. Alas, her compound eyes never revealed the soul behind them, the shells of her face never showed any facial expression. If she didn't visualize what she felt by vibrating or changing colour, her feelings remained a secret even to him.

Seeing Ethos so close to her again, however, she started moving her antennae and slowly approached him, her claws scratching on the metal floor. She got up on her hindlegs in front of Ethos what brought their faces in front of each other like before.

<<Ths>>, she clicked timidly. <<I'm so sorry. You touched me between my ocelli. It was a nice feeling. I...wanted to do the same to you.>> Her elytra started to tremble slightly. Ethos wrapped his fingers around the bars .

<<I didn't know your pelage would be so fluffy. My tarsi just got stuck to it...I never felt something like that, and I think I panicked.>>

She moved her antennae along Ethos' face and over his hands, too, very carefully, and he let her.

<<Oh>>, she mumbled, a sound she had learned from Ethos what he noticed now with some emotion. <<Is that red liquid...your blood?>>

Ethos nodded.

<<I hurt your claws!>> Her colour changed to a sharp violet, showing the navigator how embarassed she must be. He wanted to tell her he had already forgiven her, but she said: <<Show them to me. I can put my saliva on them, it can make Colteron wounds heal.>>

Ethos wanted to pull his hands away, but she was faster. She took her palps into her mouth one after the other and then put them on Ethos' scratched fingers very carefully. It felt wet and strange and much too intimate, but to his big astonishment Ethos could see immediately how the sticky, transparent fluid practically sealed his wounds.

<<Does this even work on humans?>>, he asked, somewhat senselessly.

<<I hope so>>, Vsl answered, caressing Ethos' face now with her palps what brought her mandibles dangerously close. Ethos, however, told himself he was used to this already. When the insect features so closely in front of him freaked him out, he simply closed his eyes so Vsl's alien shape wouldn't distract him from the gentle caress of her mouthparts.

<<Oh>>, he breathed, surprised how good her endearments felt. <<Vsl, I...It was wrong to pet you. You're not like our earthly animals. I should rather have...>>

And he took all his courage together, pressed his face through the bars as far as it would go and then breathed a quick, little kiss on Vsl's loricate cheek, careful to avoid her mouthparts and her lips, assuming she couldn't feel anything there anyway.

<<This is called kissing>>, Ethos said and blushed. <<We humans normally do it with our lips touching, when we like each other, and it feels, uh, really good.>>

He blushed even more when as an answer, the Teron girl let her palps wander over his ears and neck. It felt so wonderful he got goosebumps all over and had to bite back a moan – a fact he would never admit to anyone in his life. Never.

<<Oh, I understand>>, she clicked, and Ethos wasn't sure if it sounded impressed or also a bit teasing, <<So this is what makes humans change their colour! Would you do kissing again, then? Here?>> And she turned her head to expose the crack between her head carapace and the one on her back, a very sensitive spot as Ethos could imagine. He couldn't reach it with his lips, so he carefully inserted his fingers into the space and caressed the soft flesh they found there, rewarded immediately by Vsl's violently shaking elytra.

Slowly and gently, Ethos let his fingers roam between the armored plates while his other hand stroked Vsl's cheek and tentatively played with her palps. Her colour changed to a dark red when she whispered about how good it felt.

<<It makes me want to spread my wings>>, she whimpered, sounding more aroused than he'd ever heard her.

<<Then do it>>, Ethos encouraged enthusiastically, <<Spread them for me, please!>>

She went down on all fours again so he had to let go off her, and then, very slowly, she opened her hard, quivering elytra to expose two large, transparent, beautifully veined hindwings.

Ethos held his breath. Never had he assumed to find such delicacy, such vulnerability on a Teron's body. Vsl's wings looked so fucking thin and breakable, and they miraculously captured the light even here in the dimly lit cell. The navigator stared at this wonder of nature, kneeling down to see it up close.

<<Oh Mother>>, he panted. <<Vsl, you're so beautiful!>> It was hard to speak, suddenly. <<I guess you can also fly with those?>>

Red colour spread all over her carapace again when she affirmed, turning around a little not to scratch her wings on the bars.

Ethos felt strangely aroused – if by her touches, by her colour or her alien beauty, he couldn't tell. But some well-known swelling in his pants told him where this was going and he knew that he had to get out of here, quickly, before things got so messy they would endanger his mission.

<<Vsl. I'm...I'm so sorry>>, he stammered, <<But I think I should go... to the Med Bay, because of the scratches...You said yourself you don't know if your saliva works on humans. I'm a bit scared...You understand?>>

Vsl froze, pensive. She mustered him with her large compound eyes and her ocelli, and as if that not were enough eyes on Ethos, she asked, impishly: <<Scared? Hm. Will you change your colour back before you go?>>

Chapter Text

He found Deimos alone in his cabin, sprawled on his bunk, datapad in hand. He probably had recognized Ethos by his steps or he wouldn't have keyed the door open maintaining this relaxed position. One beautiful dark eyebrow raised, however, as soon as Ethos entered the room, and a worried glance came to rest on the navigator.

Ethos was so glad Deimos never asked questions and could cope with not being given answers. He could imagine what impression he made: blood still adhering to his locks and his forehead, his hands covered with deep scratch wounds.

Ethos exhaled and made a short, sharp gesture with his head to the side, mumbling: "Storage crate?“ Because even if Deimos was alone for the moment, that didn't mean Phobos couldn't come back from sim training every minute.

Deimos was on his feet and out in the corridor next to Ethos almost before the latter could blink. As slowly as possible, the two made their way to their secret retreat in complete silence, and when the crate door closed behind them, it felt like a stone was falling from Ethos' heart.

It was so good to embrace this little fighter, to feel his strong body, to peel it out of his clothes. No hard carapace, no mouthparts, no tangy, beastly odour - Deimos felt so oft, smelled so good, he fulfilled all of Ethos' needs just by being himself and being there right now.

Deimos didn't comment on the strange Teron stench lingering on Ethos, he didn't make the slightest sound neither when Ethos pushed him down on the floor nor when he lay underneath the navigator. And when he did make some sounds later it was like music in Ethos' ears, these little cries and sighs so different from the harsh clicking that had been his only company day and night.

With Deimos, everything was so easy and natural and oh, so soft. They knew their places in this choreography perfectly and it was all Ethos needed to finally get rid of his internal tension, of this unclear feelings.

"Oh, I missed you so much“, the navigator groaned, hiding his face in Deimos' neck and pressing as close to him and deep into him as possible, not able to stop because it felt so good to be with a human, to be inside this sweet little fighter he desired and loved so much.

Cuddled to Deimos' chest afterwards, Ethos could breathe and think like himself again finally. And when the fighter now took his little, bruised fingers in a silent question, it was fine, fine to speak about it.

"Don't worry, Deimos“, Ethos said with a raspy voice, still high and drunken of pleasure. "It's not as bad as it looks, you know.“ He sighed, a little painfully still. "She didn't want to hurt me. She's just so...She's like an animal sometimes. And when her claws got entangled in my hair, she just panicked, you know?“

Deimos didn't answer. But Ethos understood his silence correctly anyway.

"I know“, he explained. "I don't understand how I could let this happen, either. It was such a strange moment, she just wanted to be nice... I kind of hate myself because I ruined everything with my silly screaming. I'm afraid our whole trust is gone now, and so is my job.“

Ethos sighed again.

And then, suddenly, he realized that Deimos' silent question had meant something else.

“Deimos”, he whispered, looking up to his friend with appalled eyes, “I...I'm so sorry. You must think me a liar, but all my feelings for you, they...they're unchanged, please believe me...”

Ethos startled in shock. And then a tear started to roll down his face, he couldn't help it, and he clung to the familiar, muscular body next to him, covering it with his shaking limbs and a growing river of tears.

“I don't know what I feel anymore”, he sobbed. “I'm so disgusting! I try to tell myself they're bugs, I know they're the enemies we fight against. I know it's all wrong, and I...I shouldn't feel that way. But it just won't stop! And yet it's you I love, really, Deimos...I'm so disgusting!”

The navigator looked into Deimos' face in agony. But the other man just put his little scarred hand on Ethos' cheek while his grey eyes burned a way directly into his heart.

“Not disgusting”, Deimos whispered.

And then his moist, swollen lips found his lover's again, and he was determined to let Ethos feel through his body what he couldn't tell him with words, tell him over and over again if necessary until the blond would finally forsake all his doubts.

Much later, when Ethos was saturated with Deimos' love, his smell and his tender caresses, his face had lost most of its tortured expression.

"I'm cold, Deimos. Let's just get dressed again“, the navigator said. And Deimos, so stable, strong and silent, let him go.

The fighter quietly allumed a cigarette and started smoking, naked and relaxed in the natural, catlike manner that was innate to him alone. Ethos collected his scattered clothes from the floor in the meantime, and when his datapad fell into his hands, he frowned. He had received a message from Keeler.

"See?“, he addressed Deimos sadly. "Keeler knows already. That's the beginning of the end, I suppose.“

Chapter Text

When Ethos entered the Lead Navigator's office, lieutenant Keeler jumped up from his chair. The man looked like he'd come from the abode of the dead, his strangely sunken in features making him appear ten years older than he really was. Maybe it was true and he was secretly being poisoned? Ethos had to think of Vsl comment, but at least the part about the smell wasn't true as he found a second later when his leader came rushing towards him.

Keeler's eyes and voice revealed genuine concern when he wrapped the dishevelled navigator in his arms.

"Ethos! Oh Mother! The MPs were here half an hour ago and confessed they had left you in the brig unguarded while they went to play cards down on the fighter's levels! When they came back, you had disappeared, and checking the video surveillance they discovered you had been attacked by Vsl-Chr! Can you imagine how horrified I was?“

Keeler's childlike features distorted in pain. "Where have you been? Are you okay?“

With a gentle hand, the Lieutenant turned Ethos' face to inspect his head wounds professionally, continuing with the navigator's bruised hands.

"You're not okay“, Keeler sighed. "Ethos. That's it. You go to Med Bay immediately, and that's not a suggestion. We don't know what those Terons can pass on us, so the MOs shall check you thoroughly. And then – you'll not spend time with Vsl-Chr alone any more under any circumstances. She's too dangerous. We'll find some other solution.“

Dang. There it was. For the first time, Ethos had disappointed his leader, and accordingly his discharge (because nothing else was it Keeler was announcing him underneath all his softness) was the only logical consequence. Ethos had even expected it. Yet he felt as if something was tightening around his heart.

"But sir“, he pleaded, "I'm the only one she knows here. I speak her language, and I think I really managed to gain her trust. She needs me. Who'll look after her if not me?“

Keeler cocked his head, his aquamarine eyes looking understanding but unbearably sad. Softly, as if there still was any doubt, the lieutenant asked: "You're worried about her?“

Ethos couldn't help but nod. He wondered if Keeler had seen the surveillance, too, and if yes, how far he'd watched it. Maybe pretty far, his pained expression taken into account. Ethos bit his lower lip.

Keeler put one fine hand on Ethos' shoulder in his usual, motherly way before he spoke again. "Ethos. You knew she wouldn't stay here forever. In 19 hours, she'll be brought to earth to be questioned, and we won't be able to prevent that. You never should have gotten so attached to her. She's an enemy, after all.“

Ethos felt how tears sprung into his eyes at that. Keeler was right as always, but still, it felt so wrong.

The navigator looked at Keeler in embarassment and misery when he noticed how the other seemed to struggle for composure, too. This was the moment Ethos decided not to cave in so quickly, not this time. He might only be a navigator, a subordinate, and fallible. But this time, he would stand his ground.

“Sir!”, he therefore exclaimed again, mustering up all the combative spirit he was able to find in his pathetic navi's heart. “Vsl is a friend, we can't just abandon her! It was an accident, she didn't mean any harm, she's peaceful! Please let me explain what happened.”

But Keeler turned to the side, inhaling audibly. It was just like him, Ethos thought, putting up a hard front when disapppointed, contradicted or solicited. In the Alliance, nobody became a high-ranked, record-holding fighter pilot for being all good-hearted and sweet. Keeler was cotton candy draping steel, everyone knew that. But this fact exactly was what made his reaction, this passive surrender, so very suspicious.

“It hurts that you still have so little trust in me after all these months in my crew, Ethos”, the lieutenant mumbled, taking this to a personal level because he could, because this was the last remaining tactic for him now. And it was in this moment that Ethos realized that this wasn't about him, his failure, or Keeler's expectations and decisions at all. Something else was being played here. And Keeler's weary resignation meant that for the first time probably, the man was just as powerless as Ethos was!

“Don't you believe me that I did everything in my power to prevent this? You should know by now that I'm always looking to follow Mother's way, in everything I do. But I'm just a soldier, Ethos, a simple soldier, like you. And at one point, we both have to obey our orders.”

Keeler's big eyes met Ethos' as if for the briefest of apologies before he turned away again, cold, his hands trembling. And Ethos suddenly watched the scene like from a third perspective, like he had been separated from his body and was looking at Keeler from some point high up.

"You go and see the MOs, now, Ethos”, he heard him say. “Puck shall accompany you down. Your job in the brig is done.

Dismissed.“

Chapter Text

“Duccio! For Mother's sake, let me in! You can't just bar me out from my own place!”

Ethos beat his fist against the window of the brig's porter's lodge with all his force and in unbridled rage, making the baffled navigator inside recoil. “I thought we were friends, goddammit!”

“We are friends, Ethos”, the janitor whined, his frail voice muted by the thick glass. “But I have orders from command, they explicitly told me to not let you in!” He clearly was in shock about his colleague's uncharacteristical agitation, but his terrified look maddened Ethos even more.

“I don't give a fuck about command!”, he screamed, losing his temper completely. “I have to get to Sally! I have to feed her one last time because if I don't do it, no one will, do you understand? If she was a human, you wouldn't hesitate one second!”

Ethos looked daggers at his wimpy colleague behind the window, and he could basically feel the other's indecision. “Duccio!”, he shouted one last time, pounding against the glass again.

“Okay, okay!”, the other caved, fumbling with some buttons in his lodge already. “But stop that racket! You'll make the MPs return, and then it'll be me who takes the rap!”

With a faint hissing, the brig's metal door slid open. Ethos groaned. Before Duccio could make a move and shrink back from Ethos, the navigator grabbed him on the collar, annoyed by the other man's fear-widened eyes.

“Duccio, listen, you had basic navigators' education, right? Can you manage to hack into the software and play some random sequence on the surveillance on repeat for, like, ten minutes?”

The other navigator nodded, looking as if he would have agreed to almost anything now just to escape. Ethos let go of his collar and patted his shoulder quickly in quiet gratitude before shoving the man aside. He couldn't believe it was him acting like that. But this whole situation was an emergency.

Vsl-Chr, tall and lonesome, was standing close to the bars when Ethos rushed into the cell sector.

<<Sally! We're in big, big trouble!>>, the navigator clicked frantically, grabbing the insect's carapaced claw through the bars without thinking.

Then the boy sunk down on his knees in front of the cell, pulling the Colteron down with him. He didn't take his eyes from her ocelli when he muffled his voice now.

<<Listen. The freighter is arriving. Command already gave orders not to let me see you any more, and you were right, Keeler is acting odd. I think there's something horrible going on here. I think they're going to take you to earth to torture you.>>

Vsl-Chr didn't flinch. She looked at Ethos, grey and silent and frozen. Maybe Ethos had expressed himself stupidly?

<<Sal!>>, he pleaded, <<They'll take you away and harm you, soon! We have to do something! You can't...>>

<<Die>>, the Colteron suddenly mumbled. <<I have to die.>>

<<No, no, you don't have to! Not like this! This is criminal, you haven't done anything, the Alliance...>>

She interrupted him. << I have to kill myself.>>

Ethos froze now, too, and stared at her in shock. For a moment, he seemed to have lost all speech, and his hand clenched around the insect's claw involuntarily.

<<Sal, I didn't mean...>>

<<Ths. You know a lot about the Colterons, more than any other human ever has. You know we're not afraid of death, we embrace it.>>

Ethos gulped. <<I know, but I don't want your death! I want to find a way to set you free and help you escape! It can't be so hard to break the circuit here and get your cell lock open, and the main corridor is broad enough for you to fly, I checked. Like this you'll reach the Tiberius before anyone realizes what's going on. You can head directly to your hive.>>

<<You're very kind, human, and very brave. But if you set me free, how far would I really get? Death is no dread for the Colteron. But being killed by others is.>>

The navigator felt tears emerging in his eyes when his bug-friend caressed his cheek with one of her soft palps.

<<Vsl>>, Ethos sobbed, a pale, shattered bundle of nerves now after all that had happened today, all that was inescapably still going to happen. <<Vsl, no... I don't want you to die, you're my friend!>> And he couldn't speak any further because his sobs nearly choked him while Vsl tenderly wiped his tears away.

<<Listen, human. I don't understand the concept of 'friends', but I've seen those wet drops on your face before and I didn't like them. You told me they're like changing colour for you, but still I don't like them. I don't know why you make them flowing now when you warned me and will help me kill myself. This is a good thing!>>

She probably really thought so, because her shell was coloured in a warm shade of red now and her legs and palps were even vibrating a little. It took Ethos' desperate brain a while to understand she was actually singing, trying to lull him into calm and peace by her thin, bright chirruping and chittering. Ethos let his face sink against the bars, surrendering to her palps playing idly with his hair.

<<Good, Ths. Now you're calm again. That is good. Now think like a good human again and tell me what poisons you have here on that spaceship.>>

Ethos looked up helplessly, his voice a mere whisper. <<Poisons? Again?>>

Vsl looked dark, so dark it almost scared Ethos, although she held him close and calm. <<Poisons. Like the ones your lieutenant has in his body. Or the guard-humans, sometimes. These will do, they're lethal for a Colteron.>>

<<Vsl, I have no idea what poisons you're talking about. We have a lab for bloodwork, and a chem-lab, too, but I can't even get in there and there won't be enough time to do research...>>

<<No lab, no research.Wait. Give me your datapad.>>

And with stunning dexterity, the Teron's claw sketched a structure on the blank file Ethos had opened on his device. The navigator stared at the shape in utmost concentration, trying to get his brain to understand what Vsl was drawing and what it might have to do with poisons. Poisons... He started sweating, he hated being under pressure, but this was what he was trained for, he was a navigator after all.

And then, suddenly, something clicked. Suddenly, Ethos recalled where he had seen that structure before, and what it was.

In panic-fuelled haste, he grabbed his pad from Vsl and messaged Praxis.

Chapter Text

Having nowhere else to go, noplace else to stay, Ethos paced the corridor in front of the brig for what felt like an eternity. Forth and back, back and forth...The navigator held his datapad in his hands the whole time not to miss the long-awaited answer by Praxis, should it finally come. But until now, nothing of the sort had happened, and his fighter remained silent. Ethos could scream.

Pondering about Praxis' whereabouts, he came to the conclusion that all fighters probably were in physical training. The Lead Fighter had banned the use of datapads in the gyms under pain of really hard punishments, Ethos knew that from Abel, because Cain had been among the ones who at all costs had to try it out. But damn the regulations, he needed Praxis, now! Without him, it was as good as impossible to get the stuff Vsl had requested. And Ethos ran out of time.

The blond boy was so tense, he felt like his body was about to explode. He was so impatient he even pulled his hair in despair at one point, and he thanked Mother nobody passed by the brig at this time of the day to watch the sad spectacle he provided there. He needed to keep a clear head instead, though, and think!

It was possible Praxis wouldn't read his message in time. Thus, there would never be an answer. And in this case, Ethos needed another solution. For a split second, there seemed to be one, but Ethos dismissed the idea as soon as it came to his mind. He knew what Deimos was capable of just to do loved ones a favour. He had absolutely no feeling for his own value, he offered his body to others unblinking and didn't even consider it a risk while his helpless boyfriend got desperate and sick by the mere thought. No, after he had learned what his lover agreed to when coerced, Ethos knew he could never ever ask Deimos a favour again with a clear conscience.

So he was dependant on Praxis – unless...? No. Navigators were forbidden to descend to the fighters decks ever, the sole exception being the commanders and Keeler. But even the Lead Navigator never went down there without an escort of MPs, and to make Keeler privy of his plan was, after the talk in his office, impossible. After all Ethos had heard, the fighters decks were dangerous places, and regulations not to go there existed for a certain reason. Ethos couldn't simply violate them. Or could he? Could he?

When the boy walked back the corridor towards the brig door for the 100^th time, he decided, with Vsl's image in front of his inner eye and a pang of daredevilry in his chest, that he could. If all fighters were in physical training, what should happen?

Scanning both sides of the corridor to make sure he still was absolutely alone, the language adept turned on his heels and hastened towards the nearest elevator. He knew this one wouldn't take him down to the lower decks, but there was one in the officers' quarters that did, and he intended to go there, come what may. He would take his and Vsl's fate in his own hands. He had nothing to lose, and in view of an Alliance-planned murder, nothing else mattered any more.

Chapter Text

Going down so far with the lift felt like diving into the crust of the earth, like entering hell. When the doors opened, Ethos was horrified how differently everything looked down here. All walls and corridors were coloured in dark grey. Every few metres, there were vertical tunnels, scary hoistways and ladders that led to only Mother knew where. Red panels were flashing like fires. And it was hot.

Ethos tore his jacket collar open while he stood in this metal desert for a moment, puzzled, looking around in disbelief. This was so unlike the white, clean navigator world he lived in, it made him helpless and, worst of all, feel terribly lost. Then, however, his navigator's senses kicked in and he remembered he had a blueprint of the Sleipnir saved on his datapad from structural engineering class. This should give him something to hold unto.

When he just had opened the document and identified the area he was located in now, he heard muffled voices in the half-dark and approaching steps coming around the corner.

Fighters!

Adrenaline shot through his body when Ethos gave a jump, his hands were on the elevator's button already when he saw it were no fighters, but two MP-men. Ah, this was really handy. He could ask them to take him to the gyms, this way he would have his personal security escort!

With a big smile, Ethos hastened towards the men in the half-dark corridor, so glad to have found company. But all of a sudden, something in their expressions made him wince in horror, and his hand clenched around his datapad.

“Look who we got here! If that's not our little bug fucker!”

The taller guy in the black Alliance police uniform bared his teeth in a nasty grin, slowly stepping closer to the navigator.

“Yeah, that's him - the fucking antlicker”, the other sneered, compelling Ethos to step back against the wall. “And all on his own, my my. Look how he trembles.”

They were so tall and strong, they were two. They carried guns. And their intentions were clear. Ethos had heard too many stories of raped navis, attacked somewhere in dark corridors, screaming in vain. He couldn't believe it was his turn now, that policemen were capable of this, too, and his blood froze.

If he played along submissively, he thought with a shocking lucidity, then maybe they wouldn't hurt him too badly. Maybe they would let him go afterwards, and he had to go, he had a mission to fulfill! So he needed to be brave now, to bear it, like a soldier... But he wasn't brave. His teeth were chattering.

“Hm, he looks a little pale, don't you think so, Toby? Maybe we should remove him to fresh air!”

And without waiting for his colleague's consent, the man grabbed the terrified navigator and brutally pushed him into the corridor. Ethos flew forward and barely kept himself from falling, his datapad, however, clattered to the ground.

“Good idea! Now you're going to see what we do with turncoats like you down here”, 'Toby' exclaimed wickedly.

“Move!”, the other shouted, pushing Ethos forward once more.

Ethos didn't even have time to look around or call for help. His hip hurt from his fall, and his limbs were paralyzed due to his shock. One of the MPs took hold of him once more and pushed his head against the wall with these odious hands while the other opened the door to an airlock. Ethos squirmed, his eyes widened as he realized what was going on, but the other man held him tight, almost squishing his skull.

“No!”, the navigator stammered, “You're police, you can't do that, you have to help me!” But all he got in response was hands around his throats that stifled every further sound.

“We don't want shit like you on this ship, do you understand?”, the one called Toby snarled. “We're gonna send you out there to your friends, where a bugfag like you belongs.”

They were going to space him! So this was where his life ended, far away from Vsl he wanted to protect, from anyone that could hear and help him.

“Godspeed, ratfink!”

Ethos was pushed into the airlock and crashed against the metal wall when the door slid closed behind him. Only one layer of insulated metal remained now between him and deepspace, separating healthy air to breathe from deathly void.

Ethos cried. So these two ugly faces were the last thing Ethos was going to see of humanity – why? Mother, why? What had he done wrong?

Suddenly, however, the door opened again, a tiny little bit at least. Through the arising gap Ethos could see how hands in black gloves grabbed one MP at the throat. There was a shriek of pain echoing in the corridor, and in the next second, it was followed by a thud, and gone was the figure.

Ethos couldn't move at first, he stood like frozen, flush against the wall, in mortal fear of what might happen to him now. When he realized by curses and screams that there was a fight going on behind the door, he eventually reacted and sprang forward to escape from the airlock, screaming himself when one of his attackers got slammed against the rigid metal wall right next to him. A tall, dark figure was maltreating him without mercy, fighting him down with precisely targeted punches and kicks.

Ethos slid to the side, out of reach, only to almost stumble over two other men grappling on the floor. One of them was tall and bleeding, the other one small and nimble with a knife in his hand. Ethos' legs suddenly gave in under him. He covered his eyes with his hands.

The air was filled with a sickening smell of iron, with groaning and snarling, almost louder than the rushing of blood in Ethos' ears. The fight seemed to go on forever as every second stretched into eternity. Abruptly, though, the noises stopped, and there was an eerie, almost tangible silence. When the navigator dared to raise his head he had hidden between his legs, he beheld no other than Praxis, standing in front of him with heaving chest and bleeding lip. The man remained motionless for an instant. Then he reached down for him with one bruised hand to pull him up.

The fighter looked at him so tired, so reproachfully. Eventually, he opened his mouth to scold his navigator, and though Ethos knew he deserved it, he preempted him and fell against the sweaty, strong frame of his partner, hugging him as tight as he ever could.

“Praxis!”, the navigator sobbed. “Y-you saved my life!” And he held unto the man even tighter despite the other's rigidness and polite reluctance. This was his fighter. His partner. And he was here.

“I only did my job, Ethos.”

Oh, Ethos could have kissed him out of sheer relief! But he was carefully passed into the arms of Deimos now who undertook the kissing-part, striking Ethos' locks and putting his jacket in order, his little mouth so pinched because he, Ethos, had caused him to worry so much again. Oh what had he done to make Deimos look like this, look at him like this, so pained and exhausted, so unlike some hours earlier in their crate? He was so terribly stupid, so unfit to be the hero he needed to be.

“B-both of you saved my life”, Ethos stammered over and over again amidst the tender ministrations of his silent boyfriend, standing small, helpless and stupid between these two strong men that risked their lives for him. How could he ever thank them? He felt how tears sprung into his eyes again, he wanted to become invisible in Deimos' arms and make all this unhappen.

“S-so you both got my messages?”, he whispered. “Encke let you go?”

Praxis huffed and shrugged, adjusting his eyepatch as he spoke. “I said I need a toilet break. What can the old man do about it? 'Every minute makes 5 extra laps', ha. Fine by me. There's worse than running.”

Suddenly Ethos almost had to laugh about him, maybe it was the effects of all the adrenaline in his blood, or maybe all recent events had taken a toll on his nerves. He felt ashamed and covered his mouth with his hands.

“But... Deimos?”

Praxis huffed and cast his fight partner an envious, but comradely glance. “Encke won't even have noticed Deimos has disappeared. The advantage of being so small.”

He gave the small fighter a sign with his head, wordlessly asking for something. Placing a hand on his navigator's shoulder, he then added: “Come on, Ethos. I'll take you up to your levels again before those two here sing out.” He briefly turned towards the side where on the metal floor, in the half-dark, the two groaning MPs were laying, fettered with belts and guarded by Deimos. In the oddest moments, it occurred to Ethos what beautiful eyes his lover had.

It felt good to return to a part of the corridor that looked at least a bit familiar. Ethos still trembled too much to push the elevator button himself, though.

“What in the world made you come down here, Ethos?”, Praxis eventually asked, very earnestly. “You should know you of all navs are the persona non grata among the crew.”

“B-But the police... They were police!”, Ethos defended himself.

Praxis snorted. “They only protect what Bering tells them to protect. Now tell me what's going on.”

Ethos gulped. He had almost forgotten his serious situation through the even more serious one he had ended up in. “I need your help, Praxis.”, he whispered. “A-again. I'm sorry, I wouldn't have dragged you into this, but it's urgent. I-I had a talk with Keeler, and I have the impression that a conspiracy is going on here on the ship. You have to help me to save Vsl from the Alliance. I know, Praxis! Please don't get mad. You don't have to come near her, I just need you to get something for her: booze.”

Praxis' surprised exclamation resounded in the hallway, and then he started laughing, loudly and heartily.

“We don't want to get wasted, Praxis! It's very serious, it's a matter of life and death. Desinfectant, rubbing alcohol, anything will do!”

“Ha! Don't tell me you came down here only to ask me for booze?”

Ethos looked at his fighter a little dumbfounded. The other went on: “You should better have asked Cain in that matter! Contraband booze is pretty hard to get right now, but Cain still has some secret reserves. At least he's boasting about it.” Praxis rolled his eye.

Cain, of course! Why didn't Ethos think of him in the first place? He really could have spared himself the danger of coming here alltogether, the navigator thought, and was inclined to slap himself. Sighing, he wiped his face and eyes to make himself semi-presentable instead before driving upwards, stopping the lift with his foot for a moment. He touched Praxis' arm and looked at him once more, grateful and earnest.

“Thank you for everything, Praxis. Please take care."

Chapter Text

Encke was half asleep already when the touch of something icy cold made him wake with a start. Keeler was crawling under the blanket, and in the narrow cot, Encke didn't even have a chance to shy away from his partner's chilled through limbs. Keeler squeezed his feet between Encke's legs, stuck his fingers under the fighter's massive torso, braving all protest.

“Baby...”, Encke drawled, deadly tired after this long working day, too tired even to scold his navigator for startling him this way, every damn single night. “You keep coming home late”, he whimpered instead, “and you're more and more cold every evening.” He needed a moment to regain command over his thoughts and his tongue. “That's not good, honey”, he then added, worriedly. “You're not well.”

Encke could hear Keeler's strained breathing in the silence that ensued. “No, I'm not, Encke”, the navigator whispered. Encke held his breath.

Keeler lay still in the darkness, pressed close to his fighter, motionless except for his constant trembling. For a while, he didn't speak any more, but Encke could literally feel him thinking and struggling. The fighter was very alarmed, and all sleep was forgotten.

“Something terrible happened today”, Keeler eventually said. “I had a briefing with the commanders, and there... I almost gave myself away. It hurt so much, Encke, so much. I felt Mother reaching out for me. I still feel her hand on my throat, pulling me. I...I can't... go on... any longer. It's over, Encke. Over.” And although he didn't make any more sound, his partner could tell he had started crying.

“Keeler, no.” Encke put his arm around him tighter to warm him, his fingers running over Keeler's back and through his silken women's hair. “Shit, baby. Don't be in mischief, do you hear me?” He clung to him, trying to come up with something comforting, with a solution. He was his fighter, he had to protect him! “We have to get you out of deep space, and off this damn ship. You need some treatment on earth before it's too late. If we talk to Cook, the freighter could take you along tomorrow, with Sally, you know they take casualties with them occasionally...”

“Encke.” It was more of a shivering sob than his name, the fighter realized. Encke could feel Keeler's cool lips move against his chest, and his whole body constricted because he had made a promise once, and how should he ever keep it? “Cook will never, ever let me leave. Not now. Not in the middle of the war, not on a main battle site. And you know what they plan to do with Sally! Do you think they need a witness for this?” Keeler groaned. “Oh, if only the crew were behind me, if only I had some remaining power, I'd try to set her free before the freighter...” He gasped in pain and couldn't speak further, his wheezing breaths suffocating all his words.

The fighter's left hand stroked over Keeler's cheeks where silent tears trickled down incessantly. “Baby, I want you to be in safety”, Encke begged. “I'd do everything! I promised not to leave you, but I'd even do that if only you could be safe. You have to return to earth. We wouldn't be separated for long, and then after the mission I'll come home and we'll be together again. You know”, and here he faltered, “I've never even had the chance to see you in the sunlight...”

Encke had wanted to comfort his navigator, but letting his words sink in, Keeler sobbed even stronger. Encke wanted to shush him, he started kissing those trembling lips very slowly and softly, like back in the days of their getting-together. Like there was no threat laying in front of them, like Keeler's heart wasn't relinquishing, like they still had all time in the world.

The blueish light of the control panel over their bed accompanied his gentle ministrations, until Keeler stopped his partner with a porcelain hand. He stared at him with big, knowing, terrified eyes, and when he spoke, it was a thing too terrible for anybody else than him to say it.

“None of all our crew, Encke, will see the light of the sun again.”

The fighter inhaled painfully.

This wasn't just inconsiderately uttered navigator-fear, wasn't just some dreadful premonition. Keeler had seen something today, learned something to prove this statement. There was no doubt that like in everything, Keeler was right about it. And if he was honest, Encke had known it, too, the whole time, from the very start even. Nobody had ever returned from a Baten Kaitos-mission.

Admitting this now to Keeler, however, felt like killing him with his own words, so Encke grabbed the navigator tighter, pressed him as close to his body as he could without hurting the frail man.

“I love you, Keeler”, he said, his voice rough and small. “More than my life, more than my duty, more than I thought I could love. I knew it the moment we were assigned in Bering's office. You just...fuck, you just were the one.

Being your Lead Fighter here on the Sleipnir was the happiest time of my life, Keeler. Mother granted me the greatest gift in letting me be yours. If you die, my elf, my blondie, I can only pray to be able to part with you, to stay with you like I have promised. I won't abandon you. You're the bravest man I've ever known, Keeler, and...I'm incredibly proud of you and what you achieved.”

Keeler sobbed and was difficult to understand as his breath was so ragged. “I'd tell you...my real name now to... make a proper goodbye, Encke, my naparnik. But it means nothing, my name means...nothing to me, not any more. I want to remain... your Keeler, because... as Keeler, with you, I was happy.”

They cried. They kissed. They held each other.

And even when they slept eventually, they remained entangled and close like two children on a raft, lost at sea.

Chapter Text

Ethos came to Vsl-Chr in the early morning hours, when the halls of the Sleipnir were cold, when most of his fellow navigators and fighters were sleeping their deepest sleep before merciless alarms ripped them out of their scarce hours of peace.

As arranged, Duccio the custodian was there in the brig, awaiting Ethos. He seemed not fully awake at a time like this, but awake enough to remember to be quiet and let his comrade in.

“Ethos”, he whispered when he keyed the door to the cell-sector open with more sangfroid than Ethos had thought him capable of. “Do you really...? We can still...” He didn't dare ask more, anxiously watching his determined colleague and the door to the watchmen's room alternately.

 Ethos admired the other's sudden criminal energy. He remembered the moment he had had these exact same thoughts, too, this same energy... But that was ages ago. Then, he had been another Ethos, he had still believed in the victory of justice and benevolence. Now, however, he knew better. 

Nodding resolutely, Ethos clutched the bottle of colonial vodka to his chest even tighter. “The freighter is coming, Duccio, we have not much time left. This is the only way. Go play the surveillance. Help me stay the course.”

Both boys exchanged another glance and Ethos steeled his inside and outside before he put his forefinger to his lips and slipped through the barred door, rushing to the Colteron's cell as silently and rapidly as possible. 

At the end of the corridor, where Vsl's and his own former cell were located, the lights had been dimmed. Nevertheless, the language adept could make out the grey heap of carapace that was his friend in the back corner of her cell. Ethos felt how his chest constricted. It felt like a rope was wound around him, being strung tighter and tighter, threatening to break the steel. He wanted to call out for his friend, but nothing more than a sigh came out.

“Vsl...”

He couldn't detect if there was any reaction. Determined to fulfill his duty, Ethos turned once more to check the corridor for MPs, then typed the code into the panel to Vsl's door, leaving it open behind him.

<<Vsl! It's me.>>

The huge body turned around now, Ethos could hear the Colteron's feet clatter and scrape over the metal floor. He dropped to his knees, and then they were face to face, unprotected from one another.

<<I got it, Vsl. Here. If you...still want it...>>

The insect remained grey and withdrawn and Ethos was afraid she might have decided otherwise, while at the same time he was hoping for it to be the case, just...

<<They're near>>, the Teron-girl clicked, gloomily.

<<W-what? What do you mean?>> So many days of talking to her, and in the moments that mattered, Ethos still kept forgetting how her language worked! <<Sal, what do you...?>>

<<The time has come, Ths, my friend. The time to part from the realm of --->>, here she spoke the name of the mighty Teron god no human could ever dare to dishonour by repeating (so Ethos had been taught), <<Time to say my goodbye to you.>>

Ethos was tearing up now, inexorably so, but still he struggled and fought it. He couldn't falter, not now. Not with such a burden on his shoulders. <<Vsl my love, we can still...You can still change your mind, we...>> He interrupted himself and buried his face in his hands to hide his emotions.

<<No, Ths>>, she clicked, and in approaching him, she reached out for his face with her smooth palps. And Ethos felt his own shell crack when she gently pushed his fingers away, when she coaxed him to snuggle his cheek against the tender contact. It was only seconds before her palps were all over him, caressing his ears and neck and gently carding through his locks, and her horrid pinchers and acute lips were so close to his face, but he was not afraid, not any more.

Ethos had closed his eyes, praying that would stop him from crying. When he opened them again now, he saw that Vsl was slowly changing her colour, a wonderful palette of cyan and more shades of the earthly sky and the wide ocean appearing on her shell little by little.

<<Always the wet drops, human. So many. And there will be even more, I know it. It's going to be ugly, my friend>>, she almost spat the word, << so ugly when we perish. Promise me not to look. Look away. Look at me now instead.>>

And while still clinging to Ethos' face, with a strange scrooping sound she lifted her elytra and unfolded her wings into a wide carpet of sheen, sparkling in all colours of the rainbow, the veins absorbing light that wasn't even there, seemingly glowing all by themselves in gold and emerald.
It took Ethos' breath away, so beautiful was it. And when she started vibrating with them, beating them very slowly, the navigator found his arms flung around Vsl's neck and his face pressed close to her loricate cheek.

<<Don't go, please, please don't go>>, he cried, kissing her, completely distraught and overwhelmed and broken.

<<You are a strange warrior>>, Vsl mumbled, and it could have sounded amused, were her clicks not so sharp, her body not so tense. <<You know it's time to die. Die, Ths! Now open that poison and let me drink. You're not supposed to be here. We don't have much time.>>

Ethos let her go and poured Cain's colonial vodka into his palm to let her lap it up. Vsl-chr groaned, incapacitated by the smell alone, it seemed.

<<Die I must. Soon I won't be capable of speaking any more. Therefore: Ths, if you ever have a chance to reach my people, and as a 'navigator' you might have... Tell them to set 19198 free. She's not supposed to wait for me any longer now. Thank you, human friend. Thank you.>>

And faster than Ethos could even react, she crouched down and lapped the alcohol, barely swallowing it before quickly, cramps started to take over her body. Ethos wanted to pet and hold her, but had to realize it was impossible as her limbs and sharp claws were jerking and twitching uncontrollably, threatening to hurt Ethos again by mistake.

Vsl had been right. It was ugly. Ethos sobbed in horror and pain when, urged into a corner, he watched the throes of the Teron's death, saw her pain, heard her groans. Bilious green slobber dribbled out of her mouth, her colour changed quickly into an undescribable mess and a mess was what her body became, too. The beautiful wings flapped and tore when Vsl's claws got caught in them. Her gaster hunched in agony like the one of a dark, giant wasp.

After what could have been minutes or hours, the Colteron warrioress ultimately stopped moving. Laying on her back, all limbs splayed out stiffly, there was no doubt left that she... had made it. That she had gone to the land of the Unmentionable, a land where she wasn't afraid to go, where she would be save from torture and human scheming. She had done what, Ethos had learned, Colterons do. 

Ethos sat and watched, shocked by what he saw, what had done, what he had helped to do, the bottle of booze still clutched to his chest. Suddenly, he found the smell of alcohol so overwhelming, the sight of his distorted friend so sickening, that he turned towards the wall and remained there, sobbing, a miserable pile of a human in a white uniform amongst all darkness and blackness and death.

“Sally”, he sobbed. “Sally!”

And for many long moments he was convinced the blaring roar that followed was Mother's revenge on him, the revenge for his betrayal.

Chapter Text

The horrible squealing persisted, and Ethos didn't doubt this was a sign of his damnation. He felt he deserved it, he felt numb and hollow, and when he heard his name being called from afar, it was incredibly hard to allow that sound to reach him, to react to it: Raising one's head meant being confronted with Vsl's mortal remains again that lay so close. And that was more than Ethos thought he could handle.

Still, the navigator tried. The person that was calling him was Duccio, Ethos realized, and the custodian sounded so worried. Something must be going on.

“Ethos!”

The devastated boy raised his head for good now and wiped tears out of his eyes.

Duccio stood in the open cell-door, trembling, his eyes full of horror. “Ethos, red alert! You need to get out of here, we're under attack!”

Ethos watched Duccio watch the Colteron carcass that lay in front of him, and he saw his face change from panic to fear and...pity. Yes.

“Oh... oh Mother...”, the gatekeeper mumbled, and for a second, he was stricken. “Oh Ethos, I'm so sorry.”

He reached out for Ethos with one hand, but as he clearly didn't dare to enter the cell and didn't have enough courage to come nearer to the enemy, the gesture fizzled out and his hand remained lost somewhere in the air.

Ethos snivelled. Somehow, this sound brought the janitor back to his senses and brought back his panic as well. “Ethos!”, he sputtered, “We're under attack. The Terons. They somehow snuck past our night patrol, the Sleipnir is under fire. Come. You need to vamoose.” He held out his hand once more, this time with more conviction.

Ethos feebly grabbed the offered hand and let himself be pulled up. “H-how do you know?”, he stammered. “W-when...?”

Duccio huffed. “I was bored, so I hacked into the camera surveillance of the bridge, to see what the higher-ups were doing all day long. Suddenly, I saw the panic breaking loose there. I could even see the missiles firing through the observation windows!”

“Sally... They're coming for her...” Ethos wiped his face with both hands again, then brought them up to smoothen his tousled locks. “What are we going to do?”

“Vamoose, as I said!”

“But... but Praxis!”

Duccio laughed in disbelief. “Your fighter? I thought he's paired up with someone new now? Keeler rushed all available teams out to defeat the attack, so if your fighter is able to operate a cannon, he'll be out there with the rest.”

Suddenly, Ethos felt how the numbness in his limbs and mind lifted. With a pang, he became very aware of his surroundings, of the sounds, the sirens blaring. He knew it was still in the middle of the night, but now he could hear there were running steps and screams in the hallway. When suddenly the whole ship shook like hit by a 80 foot wave, he knew what was going on.

“The antimatter cannon! Get down!”

Clinging to his comrade, Ethos managed to bring both of their bodies flat to the ground. Duccio's watery eyes were very close to his own, and he could her the janitor's teeth chattering.

“O-oh w-wow, they must be close”, the boy panted.

Ethos felt new courage flare up inside his heart. “Yes. And you're right, we need to get out of here. Come, let's check out if they're in need of some navigators on the bridge!”

And he hoisted his comrade up, stumbling alongside him through the last shockwaves of the swaying spaceship and out into the corridor.

Out there, hell seemed to have broken loose. The lights were flickering because of poor power supply, dust was clouding the sight. And countless figures were rushing through the fog, mostly techs, some carrying toolboxes. Further ahead, though, Ethos thought he had seen a white-clad man as well.

“Arjuna!”

Ethos pulled Duccio with him into the crowd, trying to reach his fellow navigator, but being unable to in the hustle. Soon both boys were swept along by the other men that were rushing towards the Launching Docks.

“What's the situation?”, Ethos asked a tall Latino in coveralls that was jogging next to him.

“You're a navigator, don't you know? Why aren't you with your colleagues?”

“I... was hurt”, Ethos lied, but the exhaustion made it come out strongly and convincingly, so the other man nodded, hasting forward.

“Looks like the Terons are coming to liberate the war prisoner. There's rumour they destroyed an incoming freighter on their way, too. Listen, I need to get to A002, there's the biggest damage!”

“Wait! What's your...”

Ethos didn't have time to finish his question, as what must be a direct hit into the Sleipnir's generating plant caused the lights to switch off completely all of a sudden. Only some blueish emergency lights on the walls remained operational, and they didn't help much. The whole ship was swaying dangerously once more.

“Power outage!”, someone in front of them screamed.

“But we need the elevators!”

“Come on”, the Latino urged, and for the second time in a few minutes Ethos felt himself grabbed by the arm and dragged somewhere, this time into a narrow service corridor in the maintenance wing. “The observation deck is over there, maybe we can get a look!”

“B-but... Duccio!”

The other man, however, was nowhere to be seen amongst all this chaos and dust, and didn't answer Ethos' cries as his new friend urged him through narrow maintenance hallways that permeated the whole ship behind the official paths navigators and fighters used.

The noise of the sirens was nervewracking, even in these remote alleys. But soon there was something else underlaying it, Ethos noticed. It was the faint noise of starting engines and shots. His new friend pushed a door open, and indeed, in front of them lay Observation deck 2, its windows still intact, where countless techs and cleaners had already gathered to watch the spectacle our there above their heads.

Ethos gasped in view of the gunshots illuminating the sky, colourful and bright like fireworks, bigger flashes of exploding ships sometimes breaking the dreadful choreography.

He didn't need a close-up view on a screen to understand that it looked fatal for the Alliance fleet. The enemy had the numerical superiority, and not only that: The Terons had broken the starfighter formation entirely and made short work of whatever spaceship came into their guns' ranges. The biggest number of starfighters was missing already, and with tears in his eyes Ethos watched the few remaining ships fight for their lives.

“No, no!”, he screamed, but nobody payed attention. “Stay together! No! Is that... Keeler?”, he asked in horror when he watched one of the last undamaged starfighters trying to swing off from where it was surrounded by enemies. “Keeler!”

“Keeler!”, Phobos screamed, not believing what he saw on his globe, what he heard over the comm.

“Keeler!”, shouted Encke, taking shots at one second intervals, trying desperately to keep the enemies out of reach. He heard his navigator's voice in his earphones – strong, determined.

“We have no other choice, Encke! We're empocketed! Our only chance to save the boys is to burst a swath!” And with these words, Keeler swung the Xanadu left and headed straight for five viciously firing Teron ships that blocked their way. “Fire, Encke! Give it your all!”

And Encke did. He didn't think of their chances, he didn't think of sense or absurdity of their manoeuver. He did what he was trained for, and his adrenaline augmented his strength, pushed all reason off his mind. Only when warmth engulfed him completely, when all air was forced out of his lungs suddenly, he started thinking again and for a last time: “It's over”, and “Keeler.”

“No!”, Bazin screamed, “Keeler, no!” The Tiberius fell and dodged the debris flying around in front of it, but not all starfighters managed.

“Equinox”, Praxis thought, murmuring a silent goodbye in his spirit. Seconds later, a crushed engine sealed the Tiberius' own fate, leaving nothing more than a multi-coloured explosion for those on the mothership to stare at.

Ethos, however, had not remained on the observation deck to stare. When the large windows had ultimately shattered under a merciless cannonade, he had been dragged into a service corridor once more where he now crouched, his arms slung tightly around the faithful maintenance boy.

And that's how he died when the oxygen supply collapsed: Hugged by a man he didn't know, sent to heaven by prayers in a language he didn't understand – until this voice, too, the last human voice he heard, fell silent.

Alliance command on earth didn't even get enough time to spread the horrible news about the loss of their battleship Sleipnir to the several airbases. Wasting no time, the Terons had headed straight for their former stronghold Mars, flattening all towns and structures, sparing no living creatures, leaving no traces of life. The reclaimed the planet, and their god consecrated the red soil.

Before the humans on earth could figure out a way to defend themselves (and what way would that even have been, the technical supremacy of the aliens considered?), the Terons turned their battleships there, and seeing no value in vast empty oceans, hollowed out mountains, a planet thus exploited, they threw their bombs out of the atmosphere, dealing the deathblow to a tortured planet.

This way, the history of humanity ended. And no human being and no Colteron ever learned the story of a friendship between their races - a friendship that might have changed everything, in another world.