Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The transport shuttle shuddered as it passed through Kerwan’s atmosphere. Strapped in at her seat, Witts watched the vague suggestion of Aleero City grow ever clearer as the shuttle drew closer, ducking beneath thick cloud banks and weaving through other air traffic heading to and from the city, before descending through a mass of city spires and high-rise buildings. Fluffy clouds parted further, and the Hall of Heroes finally appeared, glinting gold in the sunlight.

Circling around to the back of the hall, the pilot guided the craft slowly about to a vacant landing platform. Witts could see figures waiting some distance away for them. For her, she recalled. Induction into the Galactic Rangers. It was to be a tremendous honour, the rest of her old Silver Sun buddies had said. And a golden opportunity, according to Commander Lynch.

It wasn't every day the Rangers opened ranks to a new inductee, and not just any rando could waltz in and become a full fledged Ranger. It took something special, some... je na sais quoi, that only the Galactic Rangers themselves could identify.

That was the story anyway. All Witts knew was that, against the odds, she had somehow beat out likely hundreds of other applicants to claim a place and potential future alongside “Solana's Brightest Heroes”.

“But then that's what you do best Witts. Beat the odds, millions to one.”

The memory of Lynch's voice drawled like smooth silk over Witts' synapses. The commander always knew what to say.

The shuttled jolted as it continued to descend, bringing Wits back to attention and knocking the Ranger orientation packet from her lap. She pinned it to the floor with her foot. It had made for decent in-flight entertainment if anything, with cute little pamphlets and videos so amazingly bad they somehow circled back around to being good-ish. The videos themselves were almost like mini action movies in their own right. That was certainly the impression the Rangers were giving off.

With a clunk and the grinding of gears, the shuttle finally touched smoothly down. The door hissed open and folded outwards. Sunlight poured in and Witts had to shield her left eye, her other cybernetic eye automatically adjusting to the sudden bright harshness. Detaching herself from the harness and grabbing her duffel bag, Witts descended the shuttle ramp. The Hall of Heroes rose up like a gilded fortress before her; spires, towers and apartment blocks dominated the horizon in all directions. Cruisers and starships wheeled high overhead.

Three Galactic Rangers stood waiting for her. Witts recognised them all from the orientation packet. There was Cora Veralax – the Junior Ranger, or Baby Ranger, if you like. Witts' old squad had advised her not to call her that though, unless she wanted to be punched. Beside her was Brax Lectrus, the second-largest muscle in the Ranger team, the aerial wonder, and grapplehook champion. Both were dressed in their casual navy blue uniforms. And finally, of course, practically everyone throughout the Solana Galaxy knew the famous Captain Qwark on sight. It was difficult to mistake the superhero for anyone else, and not just because of the bright green spandex. There just wasn't another person quite like him in the entire galaxy. His booming voice rang clearly throughout the landing area as Witts approached.

“Greetings, cadet! Welcome to the Hall of Heroes! So good to finally have another human around!” Qwark was first to welcome her, striding forward with his arms outstretched, and Witts was swiftly enveloped in a welcome hug of the rib cracking variety. With her arms trapped to her sides, Witts awkwardly patted his flanks.

“It's an honour to be here, captain.” She said, the barest wheeze in her throat, when he finally let go and set her back down.

The other Rangers greeted her with much more restrained handshakes, her ribs thanking them for it. Introductions were made, and as soon as they were all acquainted, Qwark left, citing the need to attend a meeting with his agent. Brax and Cora shared a look suggesting it was a frequent occurrence before motioning for Witts to follow them.

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep you right. Don’t mind the captain. He’s just a very busy guy.”

They left the landing area behind and passed through the hangar and into the main building. Interns and robotic troopers were milling around here and there – some on their way to fulfil their tasks, others pretending to work, a bold few not even trying to hide the fact they were slacking off. Some took notice of the stranger passing through their midst.

“Hey, is that-?”

“Might be-“

“Coulda told me we were getting’ a newbie…”

Suppressing a scowl, Witts let the whispering and comments flow over her and instead focused on following Brax and Cora. They led the way through quieter corridors and into an empty meeting room. A hover-bound secretary bot drifted in behind them, bearing a stack of paperwork Witts had no doubt was all for her to read. Her suspicions were swiftly confirmed when they were dumped unceremoniously in front of her once she took a seat.

Brax gave the introduction speech while she began reading over the paperwork.

“Our training programme usually lasts a full year, but from your records and the talks with your previous company, I say it'll take half that or less for you to be a full Ranger. That's what the captain thinks anyway.”

Cora continued. “We pretty much just have to round you out and fill in the missing parts, so to speak....”

Witts looked up at her. “Interesting expression that.” She twirled the pen about her metal prosthetic fingers, waiting for them to catch on. It took almost a moment too long but finally they twigged and cringed as they realised.

“Uh, not like that of course! I didn't mean it like that, I-!”

Witts couldn't help but laugh at the looks on their faces. She knew it wouldn't be long until someone stepped in it and made a fool of themselves. Brax at least recovered quickly and laughed it off too.

Cora, indignant, simply glared at him. “What are you laughing at?”

Brax only laughed some more. Cora rolled her eyes and, face flushed, ploughed on ahead with the business talk. “Anyway! Most of your actual training will be with the Star Jumpers.”

Ah yes, Witts thought, the Jumpers. Top of the line star fighters, unsurpassed in speed, firepower and manoeuvrability by anything this side of the Solana galaxy, at least according to Scarlet. He had always been such a fanboy for the machines.

“You lucky swine,” he had said, after hearing Witts would be leaving for Kerwan and the Rangers, “I wish that were me going. Rangers get all the best toys....”

Witts wished he had his enthusiasm for star fighting. She had always been more of a ground trooper, feet firmly on the ground and happy to leave the aerial stuff to the professionals.

Cora kept talking. “We're getting a Jumper all prepped up now for you, but it will still be a couple weeks before it's set to go. We've got flight simulators to keep you busy until then, though.”

Yet more expensive toys. Scarlet would have a fit if he ever found out. “Sounds good, when do we start?”

The rangers looked between each other briefly. This time Brax spoke.

“Well, technically speaking, you're not allowed to start the training until you read and sign off on all that.” He nodded at the stack of papers. “It's mostly just a bunch of legal stuff and confidentiality and whatevers, you probably had a lot of the same with the Suns.”

“This is just a bunch of common sense papers then, really?”

“Basically, yeah. You know what it's like in military, you know how it goes.”

Witts knew. She knew all too well. She also knew she really ought to be reading all this stuff – it was the Rangers, it was important! - but at the same time.... It must have been coming up for lunch right about now, and she hadn't eaten since early that morning. A fact her stomach kept trying to remind her of. It all came down to the age old battle between common sense and biological urges.

Witts flipped to the very end of the paper stack, found the appropriate boxes and signed away.

“Right. What's next?”

“Medical exam is tomorrow,” Brax said, “and once that’s all clear you can start training properly, but hey, let’s get your ID sorted and go eat. I don’t know ‘bout you but I am starving.”

“It's like you read my mind,” Witts said, following them out the room and down the hall again. They turned into another small room with a robotic trooper manning a camera set-up. Witts let themself be arranged in front of the camera. “Make sure to get my good side,” she said jokingly, angling herself so the smoother, less scarred side of her face could be snapped.

Ten minutes later and the trio were en route to the cafeteria. Witts’ shiny new ID card jangled obnoxiously on the end on a lanyard, proclaiming that Yes, this is indeed the new Cadet Witts, future Galactic Ranger, now hand me that tray, I've barely eaten properly since I left for Kerwan days ago!

Brax sent Cora ahead to go grab a good table. He side-eyed Witts as they continued to walk. Witts arched a curious brow at him. His gruff voice rumbled in what he likely thought was a quiet tone.

“So hey, uh, I read your record, part of it anyway, and uh... she/they?”

This could go one of two ways, Witts thought. Rumour had it that whilst Brax Lectrus was an aerial wonder like no other, he wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. So either it was just some confusion surrounding the whole non-binary concept, or....

Witts decided to just play it cool and reply with an even toned, “...Yeah.”

He pointed at himself, a thick finger planted in the middle of his chest. “He/they!”

Ah. Now it was Witts' turn to mentally slap themselves, despite keeping her prior thoughts to herself. Was this how Cora and Brax felt not even ten minutes ago? That mental cringe of having idiotic thoughts? The possibility of him being part of the family hadn't even crossed her mind.

If Brax noticed, he didn't show it and, still beaming, raised one fat bulky fist and held it out expectantly. Witts bopped her metal fist off it gently, managing a weak smile of their own.

They soon caught up with Cora in the cafeteria and the three of them took a seat at the quiet end of a table – Brax next Witts, and Cora opposite her. The din of a busy cafeteria swamped over them. Other people who Witts could only assume were more interns and facility staff sat crowded about other tables or milling around in general. Brax immediately dug into his food; Witts happily followed suit. Cora had her fork halfway to her mouth before she glanced up and abruptly stopped.

“Hey, doc! Get over here!” Brax and Witts stopped stuffing their mouths to turn and see who she was gesturing at. A tall alien, green-skinned and slender, picked his way through the crowd with his own lunch balanced in hand. He was dressed in the same Ranger navy blues as Brax and Cora. Brax of course already knew him; Witts was slower to realise who it was.

The alien rounded the table and spoke. “Something the matter, Cor- Oh! You’re the new person!”

“Witts, this Dr. Nefarious.” Cora began, as Nefarious reached over the table to shake Witts’ hand. Mouth full of food, Witts could only politely nod and smile. “He’s our chief engineer and developer, mostly on weapons and gear, but he also does tactical support for most our missions.”

Brax nodded sagely. “He’s like the multi-tool of Rangers, really.”

Nefarious pulled an indignant face at him. “That’s an odd way of putting it.”

“You know I mean it in the best way, doc.” Brax tugged on Nefarious’ arm so he finally sat down with an oof. “C’mon, eat.”

“It sounds like they keep you very busy here, doctor,” Witts said.

“You’ve no idea. I would have been around earlier with the others to greet you, by the way, but, well, I was in the middle of a delicate procedure. That, and I had been told you weren't actually arriving until later this afternoon.” He looked pointedly between Brax and Cora.

“Hey, don't look at us! It's not our fault the shuttle got here two hours early.”

The doctor grumbled but otherwise said nothing else, and got on with his lunch.

“Anyway, what does it matter? Witts is here now.”

“I still would have liked to be around to meet them with the rest of the team. Would it kill you to call me?”

“You really want to do this now, in front of the newbie?”

Again the doctor had nothing to say to that and returned to his food with a scowl.

Opting not to get in the middle of whatever this was, Witts kept her mouth shut and and focussed on the food. It wasn't the best meal in the world, but when you haven't eaten properly since early in the morning, you tend to be grateful for anything even remotely edible.

The three rangers all seemed content with ignoring each other now that the bickering had ceased. In an effort to diffuse the awkward tension in the air, Witts spoke.

“I'm sure we'll have more than enough time to get to know each other, doctor.”

His face softened with a vague smile as they caught his eye.

Tension broken, Brax threw a massive arm around the Nefarious' neck and hauled him into a headlock. “So long as he doesn't hog you all to himself! I was lookin' forward to having a new buddy to swing round the grapple course with!”

Cora almost inhaled her drink in her rush to interject. “You can get in line, I saw them first!”

As the bickering began once more, Cora and Brax engaging in much pointing at each other, and Nefarious noisily trying and failing to pry the muscular arm from around his neck, Witts couldn't help but smile to themselves. If her new squad were so readily accepting and intent on befriending her, perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult after all settling into these new surroundings.

After lunch, Witts spend a solid hour getting sized for uniforms and boots whilst interns and a zealous robotic tailor supervised; Brax and Cora had gone out to continue their daily training, unwilling to raise the ire of their training officer. Nefarious had disappeared sharply after lunch into his office, citing yet more delicate procedures. Just as Witts was released from the grips of the tailors, Qwark finally re-appeared and whisked her away on a “Grand Tour” of near enough the entire compound, top to bottom, a brief dinner, and back again, talking so much the entire time that Witts barely got a word in edgewise.

“Did you get a chance to schmooze with the rest of the team yet? Let me give you a few friendly pointers, from one human to another.” He grasped his massive chin in thought and hummed. “Our man Brax. Grapple champion three times over on Grapplemania, you know, that high-level acrobatics competition? You ever watched it?”

“I-”

“If I weren't so busy being Solana's top superhero I'd give it a whirl myself. Brax says I'd be no use at it, but what does he know?”

They turned off into the barracks, troopers scuttling out from the captain's way.

“As for Cora, she may be our youngest proper Ranger, but don't let that fool you. She knows her stuff. Wouldn't take no for an answer and worked her tail off to get in with us, and now she's the Star of Novalis. And only seventeen! Don't call her a kid though, she hates it, unless you like to live dangerously like me, then by all means go ahead. It's fun riling her up.”

“And then there's the good doctor! No-one can make a gun quite like Neffy can. He can make the bang bigger and the buck, uh... the buck... I don't know.” Qwark shook his head and chirped back up. “Anyway! Smart guy, always up in arms about something. Don't panic when he shouts at you. Honestly? He's all bark and no bite.”

“Uh-huh?”

They slowed to a stop outside one of the side doors.

“Great team! We do so well together. I'm sure you and us will get along just swell, once you get all nice and settled in. Speaking of, you'll be staying here until you get yourself sorted out with a place of your own. I mean, I assume you're getting your own place?”

Witts didn't get the chance to answer before the door opened and he pushed her through with a “Nighty night!”.

The room she found herself in was a decent enough space, almost larger than her room on the Cydonia, and just as lacking in decoration. Her duffle bag was waiting on the bed, along with some standard Ranger-issue gear. Witts finished setting away her possessions and removed her prosthetic arm to pick out little bits of detritus that had been making her finger joints stick the last few hours.

Cora was resting on her bunk when she heard the familiar sound of Qwark from out in the hall, probably telling all sorts of stories to the newbie. She stuck her head around the door in time to see the Captain marching back down the hall, and the newbie disappear into their assigned room. That's right, Cap did say they would be staying in the Hall until they sorted out their own accommodations.

She waited twenty or so minutes to give the newbie time to sort out their gear, then went over and knocked on their door. It slid opened momentarily; Cora leaned casually in the doorway.

Witts looked up sharply. “Hey.”

“...Hey.”

They stared at each other, equally awkward now that the working day was officially done and they were in their downtime. Cora's eyes flicked between Witts' face and the metal hand and forearm balanced across her lap, detached from the rest of her arm. Scars criss-crossed up their bicep and under their sleeve. She hadn't expected to walk in on this.

Eventually, after a few seconds that felt more like minutes, Cora asked, “You staying in the Hall too?”

Without breaking eye contact, Witts reattached her prosthetic. “For the moment. Planning on scouting out a place for myself once I get used to living planet-side. Get a few pay cheques in, you know?”

“Makes sense,” Cora nodded, mind scrabbling for something else to add. “I've been thinking about looking for a place too. Wouldn't want to live in my workplace forever, am I right?”

If that was an attempt at a joke, it was a rubbish one. Cora laughed, but hardly convincingly, and from the look on her face Witts wasn't sure if it was a joke either.

“Anyway,” said Cora, “just checking in, seeing if you got settled alright. I'll uh, I'll leave you to it.” With that she left. Barely ten seconds later she reappeared in the door. “Oh yeah, I'm just down the hall if you need anything.” She pointed. “That way. Two doors down.”

Witts sat unmoving. “Right.”

“Cool. Well. Good night then.”

“Night, Cora.”

She left again. The door slid shut automatically with a quiet whoosh and Cora returned to her room. Well, that was an awkward encounter to say the least. She threw herself back on her bunk with a thump and a groan. Why was trying to talk to this newbie so difficult? How did Brax make it look so easy?

The next morning began with an almighty bang that echoed throughout the entire Hall. Witts woke with a jolt, for one brief moment still dreaming of being aboard the Cydonia and believing the ship was being attacked, hull punctured, bulkheads buckling, before she took stock of the sun filled room; the ranger uniform waiting on the dresser; and an ever-present atmosphere that wasn't getting sucked out the nearest wall. That's right, she recalled, I'm planet-side now....

When she eventually dragged herself down to the cafeteria, she discovered from some of the robotic troopers that it was only a routine experimentation with one of the doctor’s new weapon prototypes. Explosions weren’t out of the ordinary here, apparently. It was, coincidentally, one reason why as many organic personnel as possible found living space outside the Hall.

After breakfast and receiving the all-clear from the medical team, Witts was finally okayed to officially begin Ranger training. Cora found her after her last check-up and showed the way to the training facility, specifically to a shooting gallery full of virtual targets. Inside, the floor lighting prompted Witts along to a circle of light. Upon standing in the centre, the platform rose several foot into the air before settling into a stationary hover. Cora stood safely on the other side of the observation window, alongside Dr. Nefarious manning a computer terminal.

As Witts observed her surroundings, a Ranger-issue proto-suit materialised around her. As it did, Nefarious spoke through the comms everything she would need to know about the suit. The helmet formed and its visor interface lit up with information.

“Your gauntlets come equipped with a built-in weapon teleportation device linked to the neural interface in your helmet. Try equipping something from the weapon locker down there.”

Witts followed to where he was pointing at down below. A fully stocked weapons locker stood waiting on her command, racks fully loaded with what Witts had no doubt to be the highest spec weaponry available. She examined her gauntlets, and then with a voice with only the tiniest measure of apprehension, asked, “Does it matter much which hand I use?”

The doctor’s hands froze mid-hover over the keyboard as he tried to process the innocent enough query. He looked at Cora. Cora looked back with an expression that said “Did she really just ask that?!”

“Sorry,” Witts continued, “but I’ve never used one of these before. It was just the commanders and senior officers who had them; best equipment going to the highest ranks, you know how it is. The rest of us carry our gear the old fashioned way when we go out onto the field.”

“No no, that’s quite understandable. I highly recommend you use your dominant hand.”

He could hear Cora muttering, “Please say you have one.”

“Right-o~” Witts hummed, oblivious to their bafflement. She stuck her right hand out in direction of the locker. Nothing happened. She tried waving her hand around, which had no effect at all.

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m trying to equip a rifle, but I think these gloves are broken.” Witts said, as she flailed the other hand at the locker, not caring or aware of how idiotic it looked. Cora face palmed; Nefarious started tapping away at the control board.

“Hang on, let me check the connections. Yes, I thought so. The technicians didn’t finish syncing up your suit properly….”

Witts gave a dry laugh and rested her hands on her hips as she waited for the doctor to fix the connections. “Ahh, faulty equipment. It’s just like being a fresh recruit all over again.”

“There – try it again now.”

Witts refocused on the weapons locker. There was a swish looking sniper rifle in there, high-spec; bright, shiny and new from the looks of it. She focussed all her thought on it and with a flash and electric snap it appeared in her hand. It was a comfortable solid weight, and upon inspection full of ammunition.

A selection of hologram targets appeared along the wall. Witts dropped to a crouch and readied the rifle, aiming for a mid-range target. The auto-focus responded sharply. She sighted for a spot highlighted in the target’s centre. A powerful round of concentrated plasma struck like a lightning bolt, the shot ringing like thunder to match. Ionised vapour drifted lazily up from the end of the barrel. The shot had struck the target cleanly through the centre.

“Ohh, now this’ll do just swell~” She picked off the rest of the targets in quick succession, multiple shots ringing out loud.

“Nice.” Cora nodded, approvingly.

“Good accuracy, I like it.” Nefarious added. “How are you with other weaponry?”

Witts eyed the weapon locker again. She concentrated on a different gun. The sniper rifle vanished back into the locker as the new weapon appeared in her hand. As Witts cycled through the weaponry, Quark and Brax joined the others at the observation windows.

“How’s our newest doing? Not blown herself up yet with the grenades, has she? We don’t need that again.”

“No captain, she’s doing well. Has a preference for the sniper rifle.”

“Well, I should hope so. What use is a marksman who doesn’t like sniper rifles?”

They watched as Witts, fully engrossed, continued to throw plasma grenades like they were baseballs across the full length of the range.

“Have you tried out the Pyrocitor yet?” Brax called out loudly, “It’s an upgraded model, got a real powerful kick to it now!”

Witts fumbled mid-toss with her next grenade, dropping it off the platform where it exploded too close for comfort. Fire seared through her mind, across her skin; aftershocks sent tremors through her limbs. The platform wobbled. Fuel tanks exploded in a blinding inferno. No. The grenade? Where was this? She couldn’t tell. What difference did it make?

“What was that? Hey butterfingers, you alright?” She couldn’t tell who had asked, only just registering that someone was speaking.

The cybernetics in her brain reacted, swiftly clamping down swiftly upon the sudden unwelcome chemical reactions and re-establishing sense and order. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just got thrown off my game, thanks a lot by the way.” She laughed it off weakly. “Flamethrower’s aren’t really my thing. If I’m getting in close I prefer a blaster. Or a knife. Whatever’s close to hand, y’know?”

The captain spoke up. “The Combuster will be your new best friend then. Want something from close to mid-range gone? That’s the way to do it.”

Witts turned about sharply to face the viewing platform. “That silly little pistol? Please…”

“Silly! That’s the backbone of the Ranger arsenal!” He jabbed the window with a broad finger for emphasis.

“Rifles are better.”

The most scandalous look Witts had seen for a long time flashed briefly over his face before he schooled it back into something vaguely resembling nonchalance. “Well, it’s one thing to play in the firing range,” he said, petulantly, fists on his hips, “The real test will be out in the field. I’m putting together a mission that will show us just how well you do out there in the big leagues.”

“A mission so soon?” Brax said.

Nefarious looked up accusingly from his console, voice jumping up in pitch. “You never told us about any sort of mission!”

“Sure I did. Just the other day, remember?”

“Mmmm, fairly certain you didn't.”

“Well, I did, and it’s happening. It's not my fault if you guys can't remember. We’re having a meeting tomorrow to talk about it.”

Cora huffed. “Can't you tell us these things in advance?”

“I just did!”

“No, like... oh, nevermind.”

“Now that we're all on the same page, I'll leave the rookie in your hands. I've got a date with my acupuncturist, and goodness knows I need it.”

The rangers opened their mouths to speak, but Qwark already began stalking away, phone pressed to his ear. Recognising a lost cause when they saw one, they instead decided to wait around for Witts now that she had made a full cycle of the weapons locker.

Upon joining the rest of them, Witts took note of Qwark's absence. “Where’s the captain gone?”

Brax shrugged and crossed his arms. “Another appointment, again.”

“You would think he’d have a little more time to spare for a new recruit,” Cora said.

Nefarious barely glanced up from the computer data when he spoke up. “And miss out on the mere possibility of something not revolving around him? Don’t be ridiculous. That's not the Qwark way. Haven't you learned anything yet, Cora?”

The two began to gripe at each other as the group took a break in one of the nearby rec rooms. Brax, opting not to get involved in the newest dispute brewing in front of him, sidled up alongside Witts. “Yo, what the deal was with that last grenade toss?”

Was it hot in headquarters, or was it just all the armour? The proto-suit had become uncomfortably sticky and sweaty. Witts rolled her shoulders. “Oh, just a fumble. Got distracted a moment; bigger bang than I expected. It's nothing to worry 'bout.”

Brax shrugged in apparent agreement and wandered off to intervene in Cora and Nefarious' argument. Taking comfort in being ignored, Witts investigated the vending machine for a cool drink, although she couldn't help but notice the tremors in both hands when removing her helmet. Damn it....

Chapter Text

Witts jerked awake to the pale golden morning light of a new day shining straight in their face. The damn shutters hadn't closed properly. Sweat beaded their brow and dampened their hair. Great, they thought. Day three and one minor mishap with the grenades, and already the nightmares were edging their way back into their head.

Broken faces. Blurred faces. A fiery giant- no, a giant wreathed in flames and shining armour, kneeling over them. Witts rubbed the sleep from their eyes. Even now the details were slipping away again into a familiar vague haze of general unease.

Hey butterfingers, you alright?

Damn that Brax for having such a familiar voice. That's what threw her off the other day, Witts realised. He sounded just like Indar used to. Before that day happened. At least now the nightmares weren't as terrible as years ago, but that was about their only saving grace.

Irritatingly bright light continued to pour into the room. The distant dull grumble of early morning traffic grew ever clearer. Witts ran a hand over their brow; with an aggravated sigh they pushed themselves upright with one hand. Their prosthetic lay limp, detached, on the bedside unit. It was easier sleeping with it off, usually; you didn't have to wrestle the bed sheets out of it when they inevitably got snagged in the joints.

They shoved the limb home and laid back again as prosthetic and cybernetics synced together. Once the nerves in their arm stopped tingling, they wrestled themselves into their day clothes and headed out to start the day. Witts found herself among the first in the cafeteria, with only a handful of other live-in personnel scattered about at such an early hour, all of them in various states of half-sleep. After collecting their morning meal - a vaguely unappetising looking affair - Witts took a seat alone at an empty table.

The other Rangers were nowhere to be seen yet, and everyone else congregated in loose groups. Witts watched, amused, as some pale skinned alien across the room swayed, half asleep, and almost pitched face first into her food. With a snerk Witts turned away again before she was noticed, and saw how more people began filing into the cafeteria, Cora among them, her hair done up in a loose bun and looking much more awake than most of the others. She spotted Witts and soon joined them with her own breakfast.

“Hey,” she said, nodding. “Sleep well?”

Between the ominous dream and its parting gift of general unease? Not a chance. “Well enough,” Witts shrugged. “At least we weren't woken up with another explosion today.”

“Ha, yeah. Guess our local mad scientist decided on a quiet morning for once.”

“Mm.”

They continued to eat in relative silence, Witts, for their own part, still sizing up the youth sitting across from them. It was still too early to get the proper measure of her yet, or the rest of their team.

“Hey, I don't know if you got the memo from the group chat yet,” Cora began, taking the world's smallest sip of tea, “but we've got a briefing this afternoon about that mission Qwark's got planned.”

“Oh yeah? It'll be interesting seeing what he has for us. I'm looking forward to sinking my teeth into something.”

“It'll be good to finally see you in proper action. We heard good things from your previous commander.”

“Lynch been gossiping about me, has she?”

“Well....” Cora said, tilting her head and making a face.

“I can assure you, whatever she said about me, it was probably true.” Witts gave a single laugh, then peered around Cora to the other side of the room. “Hold on a moment, I want to check something.”

“Huh?”

“Want to see if this woman faceplants into her food or not. Far side of the room. White and purple. Facing us.”

Cora looked over her shoulder. Though the crowd had now grown, they still managed to get a pretty good look. The alien had managed to not fall into their breakfast, and were instead chugging what was likely coffee in practically one go.

Witts groaned. “Aw, she's actually awake now. Boo.”

“Looks like one of the trainee technicians, a new start, I think,” Cora said, facing front again. “No wonder she can't stay awake – hasn't got into the Ranger rhythm yet.”

“Hasn't worked out how to sleep anytime, anywhere.”

“Best skill I ever learned in training,” Cora agreed, Witts nodding along.

It was not long after they finished breakfast and went about their separate morning business when Captain Qwark appeared and pulled Witts aside to a quiet corner.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, cadet. Sleep well? Like a daisy?”

Witts furrowed their brows. Wasn't “fresh like a daisy” the actual expression? “Well enough, I suppose,” they instead said, keeping their thoughts to themselves.

“Oh good. Anyway, listen, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. It's about that arm of yours.”

Witts recognised that tone of voice, that sense of morbid, intrusive curiosity. It usually all amounted to the same type of questions. How'd you get that thing the first place? Did it hurt much getting it? Makes you part robot now, doesn't it? They could never, would never, understand....

“...What about it?” Witts cautiously replied.

“Have you looked at it recently? I mean, c'mon, look at it.”

Metal fingers flexed and twitched. For conversation's sake Witts threw a glance down at it. Good, strong, roughed-up alloys and metal greeted them. “I am doing. What about it?”

Qwark made a face as if the answer was blindingly obvious. “It's a bit beaten up, isn't it? Looks like something a scrapper would make, once all the good junk is gone. Honestly, doesn't it bother you?”

“Well, no. It might look a little past its time, I'll concede, but it still works as good the day I got it.”

Qwark didn't look entirely convinced, judging from the sceptical raised brow and the way he rubbed his massive chin. “Uh-huh. Well, all good things come to an end sometime.” He wrapped one massive gloved hand around their arm. “C'mon, lets go see Neffy anyway. He can whip something up for you.”

Before Witts could even begin to protest, Qwark herded them along to Nefarious' office – somewhere the captain had neglected with his grand tour of the compound the other day. The door slid open unto a dimly lit room, the only light coming largely from the assortment of computer monitors on the opposite wall. Nefarious must have been in the middle of something, for he didn't sound impressed at the slightest about being interrupted from his work. He turned in his seat and glared.

“What do you want now?!” He grumbled at the captain.

“Uh, a hello, for one thing. Is that so hard? Don't bite my head off the moment I step through the door, thank you very much.” Qwark pulled Witts forward and shoved them through into the office. “Got a project for you. Cadet needs a new arm, something nice and shiny for the cameras. Something that looks good.”

The doctor rubbed at his brows. “Let me guess – I get to make it?”

“Correct-a-mundo!”

“Qwark-” Nefarious began, in a low voice.

Qwark, however, did not hear him, and instead slapped Witts heartily on the back, almost knocking them over. “Have fun! Don't let him bore you. Oh, and let me know when you’re done here, I’m taking you to see my stylist later.”

“Your… stylist? For what?”

“For your hair, of course! A proper Ranger must always look their best; it’s professionalism, Witts! It’s what the fans deserve, what they cry out for! Blondes of a feather must stick together, am I right?”

Without even waiting for a reply, Qwark left and disappeared down the hall, the door sliding shut behind him.

“Blondes of a feather...? What?” She asked, looking thoroughly befuddled and more than a little scornfully at the doctor. She smoothed her hair self-consciously.

“Oh, just ignore him. He’s combining phrases to ill effect again, it seems.” Shaking his head, Nefarious spun his chair around and returned to his console. On some of his many screens he pulled up several images that Witts recognised to be her cybernetic structure and prosthetics.

“I suppose this was inevitable. The medical team passed along the data scans of your cybernetics to me. Evidently it seems they think I’ll be working on your parts more than them. Typical.”

Witts grabbed a spare seat and rolled it up to a space near his side. “What do you think of them?”

He snorted. “A bunch of cliquey snobs who spend more time drinking tea and lounging around than doing actual medical work.”

“...I more meant about my parts, doctor.”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Well, your cybernetics themselves are perfectly fine, as far as I can identify. I heard you need an update for your translator – that’ll take ten, maybe twenty minutes tops – and perhaps a few more general updates to get you synced up with Ranger systems. That arm, however…” He spun back around in his chair to face her. “Ah. May I…?” He held his hands out.

Realising he wanted a closer look at it, Witts shucked her uniform jacket and began removing the metal limb, detaching it from the ring socket just above where her elbow used to be. In a standard-issue tank top and half a jacket, the old assortment of scars etched across her muscles were plainly visible, even under the off-blue light of Nefarious’ many computer monitors. They twisted and disappeared beneath the rest of her uniform.

They shared a look, once they both realised he was staring, his eyes travelling the orderly path of her surgical scars. He quickly turned back to his screens at the look on her face.

“Looked like you had something you wanted to say, doctor.”

“No no, it’s nothing.”

With a click and a twist, Witts removed the battered limb from its socket and handed it over to Nefarious, who took it with great care. He rolled away and examined it closely under the bright light of his workstation lamp. Witts pulled her jacket back up over her shoulder.

“Hmm. Sturdy construction. No signs of rust or rot, but any coating it had has worn off. All these dings and scores… Just what have you been up to…?”

As Nefarious continued to mutter to himself, Witts found herself looking around at the rest of his office, in lieu of anything constructive to do. It was certainly much smaller than she had expected. Even her own newly assigned office was bigger than this. Perhaps this was just a temporary solution whilst a larger space was being prepared for him? She couldn’t imagine the “great inventor of their time”, as Kelvin put it, building all his devices and weapons in such a cramped, dark box of a room.

Nefarious spoke up again, pulling Witts from their thoughts. “How long would you say you’ve had this arm?

“This one, about two years. It's served well all that time.”

“It certainly has,” he said, returning to his main desk and handing the limb back to her. “I daresay it might be about time to retire it soon. I could construct a new one, completely up-to-date with the best tech I can provide.”

Witts twisted the arm back into its socket and let her cybernetics sync back up with it. “You’d do that for me? I mean – I wouldn’t want to add to your workload. Not when this arm is still good, still has life in it yet.”

“I would agree with you, but you have no idea what Qwark is like once he gets an idea in his head. He will bother one or both of us incessantly until that arm is replaced and fits in with his perfect little vision of us all, and to be honest, that’s an extra nuisance I don’t want to put up with. This will make for an interesting change of pace, if anything.”

“Have you ever had to make an arm, or any sort of prosthetic before?”

He finally faltered, rubbing one of his long pointed ears. “Well, no, but using the data scans and your current model as a reference should keep me right.”

The wobbly half smile and almost anxious quirk in his brows, as if he was trying to convince himself he could do it, never mind her, didn't exactly inspire a great deal of confidence.

“I admire your optimism,” Witts said, and both his smile and his ears dropped. “We had a feeling something like this might come up. Kelvin, one of our engineers, made this particular arm. Before I came here, we put together a data stick of everything whoever might have to work on my parts might possibly need to know. It's not like making a gun.” Witts pulled the stick out from her inner jacket pocket and passed it to him.

“It's got contact details for him too, in case you wanted to ask him something about the technical stuff. He'd probably get all excited if you did get in touch with him. Kelvin's a bit of a fan of yours.”

The doctor's ears picked back up. “...Of me?”

“Yeah. Wouldn't shut up about you sometimes. Kelvin's usually a quiet type, so it's actually quite sweet. I thought so, at least.”

Nefarious had nothing to say to that, other than a little “huh”, and scratched his ear. A small smile tugged at his mouth.

“So, yeah. If you ever need something, there's either of us. Take your pick really.”

“...Thank you.”

Witts nodded and half rose from their seat before remembering about their translator and sat down again. “Didn't you say you had some updates for me?”

“I did, yes. It's a good thing you reminded me.” He set the data stick aside and pulled a data transfer cable out from one of the desk drawers, plugging one end of it into a computer tower. “I understand that, as a cyborg, you can plug yourself into the computer.” He passed the free end of it to them. “If you'd be so kind.”

Some time later Witts left the doctor behind and set off to find Qwark. It was not a difficult process. All she had to do was listen for the distant sound of his voice and follow that. He was on the phone with someone, loudly discussing something mundane. He hung up shortly after upon noticing her.

“Got the gears in motion for a new hand, cadet? Excellent, now let’s go see my stylist.”
Said stylist was already waiting for them, and was not impressed in the slightest upon seeing Witts.

“Oh, my good captain, just what have you given me to work with?”

Witts soon sat a good few foot up in the air in front of a large mirror as a stylist of indeterminate alien species she did not recognise (she felt like calling her father later and getting him to send over his species database) critically examined her. Qwark lounged about nearby, flipping through a hair magazine.

A long half hour, much irritating small talk and prodding, and a somewhat lighter head later, Qwark finally gave her the thumbs-up after ensuring her new style was ranger and camera approved. After that, Witts was left to her own devices for the rest of that day. The Captain's briefing was not until later, and there was no official training or examinations to be had that day. He was too busy getting a touch-up himself now. Not that Witts saw under his cowl; he had shooed her away and locked the door before she could even look. Anything to protect a secret identity. Although with so few other humans about anyway, how secret would it have really been? It wouldn't have taken a genius to guess who he was without the outfit.

Seizing the opportunity for some solo exploration, Witts wandered along to the Ranger’s indoor gymnasium. She had passed by it briefly on Qwark's whistle stop tour, but hadn't actually gone inside. He only spoke briefly about it and its coaches before moving along. Too many things to see and not enough time in the day to see them, as Qwark put it.

It was a large and brightly lit affair, nothing like the small and scattered gyms on the Sun ships, and stocked with a wide variety of machines and equipment. Brax was busy bench-pressing in amongst the weights section. A small group of interns had gathered around him; some watching and spotting, others working on their own, much smaller weights.

A small ranger droid, not one of the battle models, wound its way up to Witts.

“I’m sorry ma’am, visitor tours are not scheduled for today. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“I work here.”

She could practically see the gears turning in the droid’s head as it processed this apparently new and startling piece of information.

“Cadet Witts.” The droid intoned solemnly after a long silence.

“Yeah, that's me. Well done.”

“Your current Galactic Ranger identity card does not match your facial profile. Please update your ID at the earliest opportunity.”

“Doesn’t match-?” Witts seized the lanyard dangling from their neck and checked it. “I only got this two days ago! Is this cause I got my hair cut? What kind of cheaply run place is this?”

The droid stood steadfast and blank faced. “Please update your ID at the earliest opportunity.”

“Yeah alright, I heard you. I’ll do it later.”

“Please update your ID at the earliest opportunity.”

“Please update your visual receptors at the earliest opportunity.” Witts said, parroting the droid’s robotic delivery.

A third party cut into the conversation from behind. “Are you arguing with the droids?” It was Cora.

“'Course not.” Witts said, turning on her heel to face her. “They're just bothering me about my ID and how its out of date, allegedly.”

“I know what you mean. I used to have braces and when I finally got them off, they kept following me around for ages telling me to update my ID.”

“And did you?”

“Yeah. ...Eventually. Definitely not two months later.”

“That long, huh?”

Cora shrugged. “I was busy with exams. C'mon.” She led the way along to the changing rooms. Witts dithered about, not in a rush to change and show off their scars any more than they already had earlier. The looks from the barber and the doctor had been quite enough for one day. Cora, on the other hand, had finished changing in a flash and was already out again. “I'll go set things up while you finish getting ready,” she said.

“Sure yeah.”

She left and Witts could clearly hear her calling to someone else out in the gym. “Helga, you want to supervise?”

“Of course! I'm not here just to shout slogans at you,” came a booming, strongly accented, voice on par with Qwark's level of noise.

Changed and tugging their long sleeves down smoothly, Witts stepped back out into the gym, turned to see who Cora was talking to, and stopped dead.

A Valkyrie.

A real, honest to god, Valkyrie robot was standing right there, dressed up in Ranger colours.

She could faintly hear Cora speaking. “This is our training officer, Helga. They-”

“Von Streissenburgen, young madam!”

“Von Streissenburgen, yeah yeah,” Cora duly repeated, rolling her eyes when said Valkyrie wasn't looking. “Helga is the officer in charge of the keeping the squad at peak fitness. Like a personal trainer for us.”

“I take pansies and make them strong! You think you're fit now? Ha! Just wait until you try my fabulous fitness hour, then I'll see what you're really made of, metal head!”

Witts continued to stare, speechless, until finally the gears managed to click back into place. “You're a Valkyrie,” they said, dumbly.

“And you have functioning eyes. Very good.”

“The captain didn't say you were a Valkyrie!”

“That's because he's a clod who doesn't think!”

“My dad used to tell me stories about the Valkyries when I was little. Made me want to be one, I think he wanted to be one too. I-”

Cora spoke up loudly from the side, having already climbed up into the ring and now leaning on the ropes. Her hands were already wrapped and ready to go. “Uh, excuse me! Are we going to spar at all, or you gonna fangirl about Valkyries for the rest of the day?”

“I can't do both?” Witts said, stepping up into the ring. “I could quite easily do both, if I really wanted.”

“I prefer to let the hands talk.”

Crouched down into a fighting stance, slender muscles taut, Cora looked even smaller than she usually did; her eyes alight with the vibrant confidence of youth. Her hand shot out; Witts brushed it aside. She was young and full of energy, but inexperienced; Witts had more than ten years on her. Time to put her in her place. Witts stepped forward. Cora took one step back, thought better of it, then rushed forward. Her hand shot out once more.
Like a whip snap, Witts seized hold and redirected it past her, Cora's momentum carrying her forward and into the twist; with a grunt Witts pivoted her over their hip and threw her down. From flat on her back, Cora stared wide-eyed, dazed almost, at Witts.

“How's that?” they said, taunting.

Brax laughed uproariously from the ring side, at least until Helga took one sharp look at him. He clammed back up again, mouth snapping shut in anticipation of what they were about to say.

“Brax! Get up there! Replace Cora, she's too small for the metal head!”

“What?!” Cora exclaimed, sitting up. “I can go again! You can't send me out after one throw!”

Helga drew themselves up to their full height. “Come down from there! Do not argue!”

With a scowl Cora shoved off from the mat and stomped over to the ropes.

“You good?” Brax asked, as she stepped down.

“Yeah, terrific.”

On even footing, Brax loomed over Witts. He was a large, strongly-built man, and agile in the air, but how well did that translate to a straight spar? He assumed a ready stance but did not rush in the same way Cora had done. The two circled each other, exchanging probing jabs. Witts mis-timed a dodge and he almost had them, a ham sized fist surging forward, but they slipped out of his grasp by a hairs breadth. Witts tried to throw him in turn, but couldn't find the leverage. It was like trying to throw a brick wall he was built so solidly and anchored well to the mat.

On it went until a little over two minutes passed and Helga called an end to the bout, announcing it a draw as they only managed to spar each other into a stalemate. Helga gave her final evaluation as they stepped down. “All of you need to bulk up and train more, get those better reaction times in. You're too slow!”

“You say that every time.”

“Yes! And every time I am correct! Now, away with you, I must inspect this cadet!”

Helga shooed them away; Brax slunk away to his weights; Cora hopped onto a cross trainer. Witts watched them with only some small amount of envy; they at least weren't getting prodded and their cybernetics, not that they had any, inspected. With a hum Helga squeezed a bicep. “Hm. Could be bigger. We need to plan for your first annual fitness test. I was going to do it today but the big dummy has your mission planned!”

Even so, that didn't stop Helga from putting Witts through some “preliminary tests” that could have come right out of commando boot camp until finally, and not a moment too soon in Witts' opinion, they released her and sent her away in direction of the showers.

Washed, cleaned and dressed once more in their day uniform, Witts took one last look in the mirror. They had to admit their pale “scruff”, as it was so often called, was looking much tidier now it had been trimmed, and even better now she had washed out all that clingy product the stylist put in. Why did people bother with such things? You were only going to wash it out again later, and it left your hands in such a sticky, oily state. That, and it would only jam up the joints in Witts prosthetic hand and then it would take an age to clean out properly. Easier just not to bother in the first place. The natural fluffy look was better, anyway.

After meeting up with Cora and Brax again for a quick lunch, the group soon made their way to the conference room to find out just exactly what sort of mission the captain had planned. Dr. Nefarious was already seated on the far side of the horseshoe table, engrossed with a data tablet and barely glancing up at them as they entered the room. He hadn't been about for lunch in the canteen. Maybe he ate in his office sometimes? Save himself the hassle going to the canteen and back?

Brax and Cora took their places on the nearest side of the table. Witts began walking around to the far side.

“Where are you going?”

“Over here.”

“Why?”

“So... the table's balanced?”

“What?”

Witts looked at them. “Two on this side, two on that side. If I sat over there with youse, it would make everything look uneven.”

“Like it matters.”

“Maybe not to you. Besides, the doctor might get lonely if everyone's sitting over there.”
“He's never complained before.”

“That's because you never bothered asking me before.” Nefarious said, not looking up from his tablet. Of the three chairs on his side of the table, he sat closest to the head; Witts took the middle. Cora took the opposing middle, and Brax the other head. Qwark had yet to make his appearance.

They talked amongst themselves as they waited for him. It was Cora and Brax doing most of the talking really, Nefarious was still engrossed in his readings.

“You're really only seventeen?” Witts had asked, which was apparently the wrong thing to say from the way Cora balked and rolled her eyes.

“Why does everyone ask it like that? What's the big deal?”

“Nothing, you just seemed a bit young to living by yourself. Away from home, I mean.”

“I don't live by myself, I-”

Brax appeared suddenly at her shoulder, gripping the back of her chair. “Yup, cause she’s still technically too young to rent an actual place for herself, so she has to live here!”

Cora swatted at him. “Shut up, Brax! Three months, three! Then I can live wherever I want!”

“You know, I’ve always found that funny,” Nefarious said, finally joining the conversation, “you can pilot a fully weaponised Star Jumper and use all the latest weapons on the front lines, but you want to live on your own? Oh no, that’s far too dangerous for our little Cora.”

“You can shut up too!” to which everyone except Cora laughed some more.

It was just as the laughter started dying down when the captain finally showed up. “Oh, you're all here and ready! Good, no need to send out the search parties.”

He made a leisurely stride around to the head of the table and began tapping away at the waiting computer.

“So what's the plan, cap? What big mystery have you found for us?”

“Yeah, just a moment, I'm trying to...” He hummed and pecked away at the keyboard. Finally he stood up straight and rubbed his jaw. “Huh. Hey Neffy, get over here and make yourself useful. You're the computer geek, come take a look at this.”

Nefarious rolled his eyes as he stood and took one look at the computer, and then, his voice jumping up a surprised octave, turned sharply to Qwark. “What have you even done?”

Qwark shrugged. “Beats me. Think it'll take a while to fix?”

“Knowing you? Yes.”

“Right. Hey Witts, do us a favour and go on a coffee run for us. Might as well have a drink while we wait.”

“Uh....”

Qwark didn't seem to hear. He clapped his hands together. “Right, everyone put a list together of what you want and pass it on.”

Said list and directions rapidly sprang into existence and were pressed into Witts' hands, and before she could even protest she was pushed out the door with a “Don't be long.”

Standing on the edge of the Ranger compound, one step away from passing through the entry gate, Witts looked out into the wide, tall, dense city and realised they couldn't remember the last time they had been in any kind of city, especially one as packed as this. They shook off the discomfort and hurried along.

According to their phone the place in question wasn't too far, thankfully, and didn't take long to reach via taxi either even with the holo-lanes being almost riddled with traffic. It was a “ground floor”establishment, the actual ground floor being several hundred meters down, nestled between an all-hours convenience store and a laundrette. The place seemed nice enough. None too busy either, considering the time of day. Only a small queue stood waiting, reminding Witts it had been who even knew how long since she had been around so many civilians, and gave her a chance to scan the overhead menu for anything she may have wanted. It was a mammoth selection for such a small looking shop, however, and Witts found soon themselves at the counter with no idea what to have. They settled on nothing.

The till boy glanced at them, looked them up and down upon noticing the Ranger crest on Witts' jacket, and said, “Did the rangers finally all chip in for a new coffee runner? I don’t have to sit through a lecture from that pointy-eared, mouthy green-skin on how I’m brewing his coffee wrong ever again now, do I?”

Mouthy green-skin? Could only have been the doctor. Clearly Till Boy didn't realise or know Witts was the newest ranger cadet. Figures. It was only her third day, after all, and she hadn't even had her debut, as the captain put it, yet. Of course no-one outside of the Rangers would actually know who she was. A hello still would have been nice though. Even if she was a cadet, she was still a paying customer, after all.

That, and there was no need to mouth off about the team.

“You really shouldn't talk about my colleagues like that-”

It was just then when Till Boy's supervisor, thankfully, interrupted. “Could you go out back and help bring in delivery? I’ll take care of this customer. Thanks so much.”

Till Boy scurried off through to the back, and a small fongoid stood up on some form of platform behind the till so she was closer to level with Witts.

“Hey there! Don’t mind him, please. He’s gets a bit out of it this time of day. How can I help you?”

“I’ve been sent out on a, uh, errand. I have a list.” Witts handed it over.

The fongoid examined it, then took a good look at Witts. “You’re with the Rangers.” Again, the uniform. Always a giveaway.

“I am. Transferred recently.”

“You must be that new cadet the doctor was talking about a while back. He was saying about how they were getting a new cadet brought in and trained up and how he was looking forward to having someone new to work with. I believe his words were “competent and intelligent” for what he was hoping for.”

“Oh, so no pressure then.”

“Don’t you mind him. It just comes from being one of those young prodigy genius university types. You know what like. I'm sure you'll do brilliantly.”

“You hardly know me.”

“The Rangers would hardly have taken you on board you weren't skilled at what you do. Now then, will that be everything? Anything for yourself?”

Witts barely noticed she had put the order together whilst they were talking. “Nothing for me, thanks. This will be fine.”

Witts took the assembled order and weaved through the swarm of people, civilians, outside, hailed a new taxi, and was back in HQ within five minutes, give or take.

“What took you so long?” Qwark said, the moment he noticed Witts coming back into the conference room.

“I wasn't even fifteen minutes.”

“That's long enough for certain people to die of boredom in this place,” muttered Nefarious, who was still mulling over the computer.

Qwark frowned down at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“I thought so.”

The drinks were swiftly passed around, and before long Nefarious finally managed to fix whatever was wrong with the computer. He took his place back at the table and Qwark stepped up to give his presentation.

“Alright team, better late than never, here’s our plan of action.”

Qwark brought up a slide show that looked to be completely hand drawn in crayon.
“Our mission takes us to Rilgar, deep into the underbelly of Blackwater City to be precise. Once we touch down, we will be heading to the nearest entrance tunnel for our enemies' subterranean lair. Cadet Witts will break off and travel through the sewage system, sneak into the enemy compound, and shut off the security grid.

“From there, the rest of us can charge in and take the enemy in a head-on collision, shut down the compound, and secure the city from this menacing... uh, menace.” He squinted his eyes in thought at that lame finish, then stood up straight. “Any questions?” He took a long sip of his drink. “Yes, Witts?”

“Yeah, sewage?”

“Oh, yes,” he nodded. “Waist high.”

Witts thought a moment. “Your waist or mine, because there’s quite a height difference between us, sir.”

“I don’t recall. You’ll just have to deal when you get there.”

“This is like commando training all over again.” Witts muttered.

“Any other questions?” He sighed, “Yes, doctor?”

“Hello, yes, this plan. Now, I’m sure you put, ah….” Nefarious struggled for the right words, ”a lot of thought and effort into it, but might I suggest a handful of tweaks and adjustments to make it infinitely more efficient?”

“Now Neffy, I think it’s great that you want to get involved in the planning process like this, but you’re just too late to the starting gate this time. The course of action has been set, and we’re going for it. Maybe next mission.”

“Pretty sure that’s what you said the last time.” Nefarious grumbled. He pushed his yellow frames back up his nose and slumped in his seat, and took another long swig of his coffee.

Brax, who had been resting with his chin on crossed arms on the table, spoke up loudly. “I have a question. When do we go?”

“In twenty minutes.”

Nefarious choked on his drink. “What?!” he sputtered.
“I want us all suited up and ready to go within twenty minutes. Cora, you can drive this time.”

“Yes!”

With that, the briefing came to a close and everyone rose to prepare. Brax and Cora practically raced ahead of the captain on their way to the locker rooms. Witts sidled up alongside a dawdling Nefarious. “Tell me, is this how these briefings usually go?”

“...More or less.” He eventually said, in a voice that barely concealed his weariness, before taking one long final swig of his coffee. “If you were expecting actual tactics beyond “bang shoot explosion hooray we won!” then you should have stayed in the Silver Suns.”

“Ah.”

“Why did you come here anyway? What do we have that the Suns didn't?”

“Many things, but it's not the shortest story. I'll tell you some other time.”

Chapter Text

Within the half hour the squad were suited, booted, and assembled aboard the Ranger flagship, the Phoenix. The Ranger's “home away from home”, as the others put it.

Said home was roughly the size of a decent industrial warehouse, if Witts had to guesstimate. It was, of course, painted brightly in the Ranger blues and whites, and sleek as anything, with plenty of fancy looking gilding to boot, and likely cost a small fortune in upkeep to keep pristine in between excursions. The Galactic Ranger insignia was painted proudly up on the main body of the hull, just in case anyone within five kilo-cubits couldn't already guess who it belonged to.

It was, as Qwark proudly announced, the best ship in the entire Solana Fleet; the apex of current technology and design, especially in comparison to the ageing Cydonia, now that Witts thought about it.

“Nice,” they said, upon seeing the Phoenix for the first time at its dock.

Qwark nudged their shoulder, which had the side effect of shoving them forward a few steps. “Just wait until you see the inside.”

Inside was bright, airy, clean, a level of pristine cleanliness not usually found aboard military vessels in Witts' experience. Not that they had much time to admire it before being shepherded along to the bridge with the rest of the squad.

Qwark happily lounged like a king in the captain's chair. Cora took the helm, Brax monitored the weapons systems, and Nefarious oversaw the ship systems. Witts sat strapped in at one of the side consoles, some form of dusty science terminal, with strict instructions not to touch anything.

“Worry not cadet, we'll get you trained up with the Phoenix in no time.” Qwark told them, folding his arms behind his head. “Just sit tight and enjoy the ride.”

Said ride to Rilgar was completely uneventful and actually rather boring. Witts had never been on a military starcraft so quiet before, and not just because they ran into nothing during the journey. Where the Suns relied on flesh and blood bodies at all levels of operations, the Rangers happily operated on just the primary squad, themselves manning the bridge, and a small battalion of robots of varying sizes and configurations manning just about everything else aboard the ship, producing an almost eerily quiet atmosphere. To be fair the Phoenix operated with only a sliver of an organic crew in comparison to Sun ships.

The crew was quiet, the ship even more-so. It bordered on unnatural, and it was almost a relief when the ship dropped out of hyperspace with Rilgar coming fast into view and the landing procedure began.

Cora tuned into the communications. “Blackwater City Control, this is Galactic Ranger Starship Phoenix. Requesting permission to land, over.”

A grating voice shortly garbled over the radio. “Phoenix, this is City Control. Permission granted. Please proceed to City Docking Pad 17, over.”

“Copy that.” Cora said, shutting off the comms and manoeuvring the ship down to city level.

Through the main viewport, it looked to be a beautiful evening of typical Blackwater City weather – heavy rain with a severe chance of thunder and lightning. Water drenched the wind-shield in waves, the wipers working overtime trying their best to keep it clear. The open air docking pad was lit up brightly in preparation for their arrival, and the Phoenix touched down without fuss.

“Alright team, let's go.” Qwark said, rising swiftly from his chair. “Umbrellas at the ready,” he joked. He pressed down on the antenna of his cowl, and a helmet the same electric green as the rest of his suit telequipped into position. Brax, Cora, and Witts all grabbed their helmets and followed. Nefarious, on the other hand, remained at his console, quite busily tapping away at the various panels.

“You coming with us, doctor?” Witts asked. His chair spun around, and he propped one arm on the armrest, his fist wedged into his cheek. “Between here on the ship or down there in a sewer? Hm, tough choice - I think I’ll stay here, thanks. Besides, I’m mission support. Can’t do my job if I’m down there with you all, now can I?”

“Fair enough. At least you'll be dry here.”

“And for that I am most grateful.” He turned once more and went back to tapping away. The rest of the Rangers disembarked and Witts followed. Within seconds the squad was drenched by the heavy rain, the roar of the storm like a wall of sound breaking upon them.

The mayor of Blackwater City and the chief of security, a pair of spiny Rilgarians, were waiting for them. They stood just within the threshold of the reception building, bright light illuminating them from behind even through the thick grey curtain of rain before them.

“Captain Qwark! You've no idea how good it is to see you and the rest of your illustrious Rangers!” The mayor had to yell just to be heard over the noise of the storm. “Come inside, quickly.”

The squad rapidly filed into the building, quite happy to be out of a downpour that had them soaked in seconds. Water ran glistening down their armour and pooled at their feet.

“Another beautiful day in Rilgar.” Qwark smiled flatly, brushing droplets from his arms.

“Oh, isn't it just?” The mayor said, oblivious to any irony. “Not one of our better storms by any measure, but a belter none the less. Of course, you won't have to worry about it once you're under. Sewer control assures me that there is no chance of the storm drains being overwhelmed today, no chance whatsoever, captain.”

“We're all very glad to hear that. No need to bring our bathers, in that case.” The mayor, Qwark, and the two senior Rangers shared a laugh. The chief of security did not. A grim looking fellow, she did not seem to care for idle small talk before a mission. Witts quietly sympathised.

“Ma'am,” the chief began, “might I suggest we get on with this. Every delay is another moment the enemy may notice the Ranger presence here.”

“If they haven't noticed already.” Witts muttered, although it would have been a technological miracle for anyone to see anything coming down from space in a storm like that.

The mayor peered around the bulky forms of Brax and Qwark and finally noticed Witts at the back of the pack. “Oh? Captain, is this-?”

“Our newest recruit!” Qwark reached back, grabbed Witts by the shoulder and hauled them front and centre. “The cadet here is on their first mission.”

“Ma'am.” Witts said, politely inclining their head in greeting, the mayor returning it.

“It's an honour to meet the newest Ranger in training, and for our city to play host to your first assignment. I hope everything goes smoothly for you.”

Witts, never once in on the diplomacy and polite talks on Silver Sun missions and always on gun duty, shuffled around awkwardly, as much as they could do in Qwark's strong grip. He threw a meaty arm around their neck. It was a good thing they had armour on or they would probably have choked.

“You know what cadets are like,” he said, his voice dropping low, as if he was letting the Rilgarians in on a secret. “They all get a bit shy on their first missions.” He winked, and Witts repressed the sudden urge to roll their eyes. The mayor nodded thoughtfully in consideration whilst the senior Rangers laughed.

The chief of security, on the other hand, spoke up again, and for that Witts was immensely grateful. “Ma'am, can we please move along. I don't want that scum running around under our city any longer than can be helped.”

“Oh, very well. Show them the way then, if you're that desperate.”

It was almost a relief to be back out in the battering rain and away from the bright lights and fawning of the mayor. The chief of security was up front leading the way to the entry point, rain pelting her hooded longcoat. She filled them in on the situation as they went.

Apparently a small smuggling group had set up shop in an old, defunct pumping station in the maze of sewers and tunnels beneath the city. It had been one thing after another with them, but when they expanded into illicit mercenary work that was just one step too far, but by then they had become too well dug in for the local authorities to deal with them without heavy casualties and “inexcusable financial losses”. Thus the Rangers were called in.

The group stopped in a huddle before a sewer entrance.

“This entrance is closest to their base without being directly observed by them. I've had the map layouts sent to your man on the ship – It's a bit of a walk, but you'll find your way fine enough.” The chief unlocked the heavy grate door. “Good hunting.” She turned and marched back off through the rain, soon disappearing from sight through the vapour.

“Ladies first.” Qwark said, gesturing to the hatch. “Cora, take point.”

The squad descended some several meters and into the storm drain. Even through meters thick concrete and steel the storm rumbled on, the rain now just a constant dim rumble. Map layouts were uploaded into their helmet overlays, courtesy of the doctor, and they proceeded along their highlighted route without incident.

Nefarious piped up over the comms, disdain heavy in his voice. “Why anyone would choose to live in a sewer is quite beyond me.”

“Suppose you don't have to pay rent this way.” Cora muttered.

“Sure, but what about the cost to your dignity?”

They stopped shortly at the edge of one branch-off tunnel not far from the pumping station. Another, smaller grate was set into the wall, a crossover point with the regular sewers, and Witts access point into the compound. With some physical persuasion, courtesy of Brax, the hatch eased open.

Qwark slapped Witts on the back, a dull crack of his gloved hand off her armour.“Alright cadet, time to show us what you can do.”

“Aye, sir.”

Witts stepped through into the narrow secondary tunnel, having to stoop for the low roof and proceeded cautiously forward. The hatch shut behind her and the team sunk down to wait for their mark, close enough to the station doors to rush it when ready.

It turned out Qwark had been exaggerating about waist high sewage. It was so shallow it didn't even come up to Witts' ankles. Even so, they walked on an angle on the tunnels curved surface, away from the murky sludge in the middle. No need to muddy the new boots.

They trekked forward a few dozen meters before the tunnel took a gentle turn to the right. Still moving they soon began to pass beneath the compound. The storm above was just an echo now, but she could hear faint signs of life and activity from closer above, vague sounds of booted feet and raucous laughter. The station must be close. The increased amount of fresh garbage and rotting food waste that had been dumped into the tunnel was also a strong indicator.

Now and again there were round access hatches set into the tunnel ceiling.

“Which one do I want, doctor?”

“The one after next.”

Said hatch opened up into a cramped storage room with no-one in sight. Witts climbed up and out, swiftly, quietly, replacing the hatch, and ducked into cover behind a stack of crates. Tele-quipping their Combuster, they enabled the motion scanner in their helmet. A quick scan showed precisely twelve pings within the immediate surrounding area, not accounting for anyone out of distance.

Witts tuned into the team-wide frequency. “I'm inside. Searching for the security room now.”

“Copy that. Everything looks quiet out here.”

Nefarious tuned in. “I've had a study of the layouts sent to me. Assuming the enemy hasn't done any major restructuring, the control room should still be where it was before the station was officially decommissioned. I'll mark it on your map.”

“Thanks, doc.”

Witts stood to the side of the door and checked the motion scanner and map once more. No-one nearby.

Combuster at the ready, curious if it was as good as the captain claimed, they stepped out into a long, dim corridor and hugged the wall in direction of the security room, keeping one eye on their surroundings and the other on the map. There were louder echoes now from various side rooms and down narrow corridors as the mercenaries went about their usual business, blissfully unaware of the stranger sneaking through their midst.

As Witts checked a turn in the corridor the sound of heavy boots and voices caught her ear. Close-by, coming down the way she wanted. She quickly doubled back and ducked into a cluttered equipment alcove, listening for their approach. Sure enough, they were coming her way.

It wouldn't take much effort to get the drop on them as they passed, but any sort of scuffle would attract unwanted attention, and there was no need for that yet, not when it was still only herself in the compound. No. Best to just ghost on by. They were close now, heavy boots clomping on the metal floor, and laughing, joking around with each other. Good. As far as they knew, everything was situation normal.

A grumble came over the squad comms. “Knew I shouldn't have had that smoothie in a large.” Brax groaned, probably not even aware he was broadcasting to the whole team.

“Why didn't you go before we left the ship?” Qwark said sharply.

“I didn't need then!”

Funny; now he sounded like her younger brother. Witts nearly snorted out loud at the thought, and then almost choked suppressing it. The mercs, thankfully, passed by without noticing, completely oblivious. Witts waited for the footsteps to fade, and, checking the motion scanner once more, stepped back out and headed up the corridor.

They passed by more locked doors and open storerooms. Witts checked it one out. Inside was full of stacks as tall as they were of weapon crates and ammo and who knew what other goodies besides. A flared logo, probably the one the group used to identify itself, was painted crudely onto the side of every crate. If it was all arms and armour, it was enough for a small army's worth. Much more than needed for a small group like this; they were likely planning expanding soon.

Seems the mayor was right to worry about having these guys lurking under her city.

A whole group of them, about ten or so orange pings clustered tightly on the motion scanner, were on break in another room further along; Witts sneaked a glance through the partially open door –a group of men and women of various species; all rowdy, too distracted by their own food, drink and each other to notice Witts slip by.

Nefarious continued to feed directions as Witts continued through the compound before coming to a more open area. Railed walkways passed over and around a deep open storm drain, its gates locked tight and the stagnant water choked with garbage and plant-life and who knew what else. Little bugs that would love to give a swimmer diseases, probably. Witts passed by, clinging to the wall and darkness.

“Another left, and it should be at the end of that corridor.” Nefarious fed through their earpiece.

A quick check showed another lifeless hall, and, true enough, the security room was at the end of that corridor, just as the doctor ordered. The wall signs saying “Control Room” and “Security” were also a dead giveaway. The amateurs didn't even have guards posted at the door or cameras watching it.

As the door slid shut automatically behind Witts, the single guy manning the central terminal spun in his chair. “Oh, finally! I was starting to think no-one was gonna come let me go on break-”

The briefest of startled looks crossed his features before Witts punched him square in the face, knocking him unconscious. They caught him before he went down noisily, and settled him down in a dark corner of the room. Taking his place at the terminal, Witts surveyed the many screens before her.

“Captain, I have the security room.”

“Good, good,” Qwark said, sounding bored, “Let me know when you get the doors ready, and the real show can start.”

He tuned out, and just as promptly Nefarious jumped in. “So, cadet, do you know what you're doing with those computers, or do you need me to hold your hand for that too?”

The sarcasm was rich with this one. “You can save the hand-holding for when I get back to the ship. It looks like these guys are using an old version of the Tri-Guard security system.”

“That out-dated piece of junk? Pah, a child could crack it.”

“Don't have a child to hand, I'm afraid, so I'm gonna have to do it.”

“I could send Cora your way, but she'll only moan at me for it, petulant teenager that she is.”

Witts snorted down the comms. “I can manage, thanks. The Suns were using this system six years ago before we finally upgraded. Give me a second.”

Barring some changes in the graphics, file names and visual layouts, it essentially was the same system the Suns once used. In no time at all Witts located everything they needed.

She tuned into the squad comms. “Stand-by, folks. Disabling security and opening the doors... now.”

In the space of two seconds, the station-wide security went dead, the enemy comms went down, filled with nothing but static, and the main doors opened.

Another three seconds passed, and the distant sounds of gunfire was more than enough to let Witts know the squad had engaged. It was high time to join them.

Taking up their Combuster again, Witts stood to the side of the door and let it slide open. The echoing gunfire grew louder, mixed with distant shouts and bangs. The squad hollered over the comms, having the time of their lives by the sounds of it. All clear, Witts prowled down the corridor, blaster at the ready. A previously locked door halfway down the hall burst open, several guys running out. Strange. They hadn't shown up on the motion scanner before; must have been asleep.

Five ran out before the door shut again. Witts waited until most were around the corner, then took down a straggler before he went out of sight with a shot clean in the back. She ducked into the doorway of a side room as another two, backtracking at the sound of their buddy falling, engaged. When the lull in fire came, Witts took them down too with a couple well placed shots.

That made three. The fourth scored a glancing shot across her thigh, singing the blue paint of her armour, before her own shot hit him square in the chest.

Now for the fifth. The motion scanner put them at some distance away. Witts left their cover and stepped over the bodies of the fallen mercs, checking the corner for the last one. He had the common sense to not get into a gun fight and instead pulled back into the walkway area, staying in cover.

“Come out and fight like a real trooper, little Ranger!” he shouted, voice ringing like a bell down the hall.

So, he wanted a real fight? It was hardly the correct way to proceed, but those other guys had gone down so easily...

Witts checked again. The merc was standing right in the middle of the central walkway now, his arms outstretched and no obvious weapons in sight. She could so easily just shoot him and be done with it and get on with the mission. No doubt the squad was wondering were she was. Spying her, the merc shook his hands.

“Look, no guns. No knives. Just you and me, hand to hand. C'mon.”

The sound of gunfire were still distant, the other Rangers clearly occupied. This could just be a trap, and more mercenaries would swoop in the moment Witts had her guard down. Even amateurs could be clever, sometimes. A check on the motion scanner showed no other enemies nearby. No one else behind them, and the others most likely occupied with the Rangers. It was just the two of them, for now.

What the hell, why not have some fun?

Witts waved away their Combuster and stepped up in a combat ready position. No guns, no knives, hand to hand exactly as he wanted. The merc brightened, sharp teeth shining even in the poor lighting, and assumed his own stance.

“Hah, I always wanted to fight a real Ranger like this.”

“Well, I'm only a cadet, but I'll try not to disappoint.”

That seemed to please him. He rushed forward, eager, and Witts moved to meet him. A powerful right-hand smash came swinging in fast. Witts slowed and pivoted out the way. His momentum carried him straight into the railing. The metal buckled but held, and he threw his fist again in a wide arc with enough force that could take a person's head off. Witts ducked and brushed off his blows as he kept on coming.

Like Brax, he was a big muscular guy, but slow, too reliant on throwing all his weight into too many punches. He would tire himself out before long.

A left jab to the face sent him stumbling backwards, blood streaming from under the hand clutching his nose. Witts pressed; more hits to the gut and sternum and he doubled over, a metal elbow to the ribs when he tried to clinch.

He was bulky though, and well armoured; his sheer enthusiasm and endurance the only things keeping him upright. Usually the metal elbow was enough to have a person on the ground in agony with broken ribs. From the bloodied grin on his face and the fire burning in his eyes, it seemed this guy was having the time of his life instead.

Witts twisted his arm into a grab, and he only ripped himself free of her metal grip. Not many people could do that. For all his heavy-handed slugging and amateurish footwork, he had the guts for it. He had the willpower. With much refining he would make a fine fighter. If only they could recruit him. That would be fun.

A heavy thunder of footsteps, like a charging bull, and a roar to match, pounded down the hall, behind her opponent. Before he could even begin to turn and look, Qwark swept him aside with a powerful, effortless, brush of his arm and sent him careening.

Straight into Witts.

They both crashed straight through the railing and down into the dark stagnant water below. Before submerging Witts had the briefest look of Qwark continuing to charge over the walkway and further into the compound. He didn't seem to notice he knocked his own Ranger in the drink.

By the time Witts resurfaced he had gone. Yeah, he definitely hadn't noticed what happened. The big guy, on the other hand, wasn't taking the dunking well if all the flailing was to judge.

He thrashed about, black water flying in a dark spray. “Help! Come on, man! I can't swim!” He shouted, clinging to a barrel which promptly began to sink. “I can't swim, don't do this to me!”

Should have thought about that before setting up shop in a storm drain, Witts thought uncharitably.

“Hey cadet!” Witts looked up to find Brax lounging against the railing. “You mind dragging that one out for us before he drowns?”

With some effort against the still struggling mercenary, Witts hauled him above the waterline by the literal scruff of his furry neck and forced him onto the ladder. He more than happily scurried his way up it, managing to kick Witts back into the water, and onto the walkway.

There was a shout from Brax and swiftly after a large metallic crash as he bodied into the merc and pinned him to the floor.

“You get that from one of your wrestling shows?” Cora asked, only mildly impressed with his display.

“Nuh.” Brax grunted, fixing a set of hand-cuffs onto the merc. “Came up with it all by myself.”

With the merc neutralised, Brax jumped upright and drew close to the railing with Cora just as a humanoid form began to rise up slowly through the murk. Watery sludge and muck slid away from no longer pristine armour. Slimy plant tendrils clung to its shoulders. Witts angrily swiped a hand over their faceplate, smearing it. “I hate. Everything.”

Cora leant over the railing. “Having fun swimming?”

“It’s terrific.” Witts said, dryly.

“Why don't you join me?” “We’ll pass, thanks.” Brax said, shrinking away, a hand to the side of his helmet. The captain must have been in his ear. “They're fine, cap. Just wet and gross.”

Grumbling all the way, Witts climbed out from the storm drain and tried to wipe the worst of the scum back into it. “There's an understatement. I need a date with the decontamination crew.” That, and then a longer date with the shower once they were back to base. Whilst a Ranger Proto-suit created an airtight seal against all foreign contaminants that would make a biohazard suit proud, Witts' skin still shuddered to hell and back after being completely submerged in stars only knew what exactly.

Qwark's voice came loud and clear over the squad comms. “Tangos rounded up and neutralised, base secure, I think we can call this mission an absolute success!”

“What will we do with the mercs, captain?” Brax asked, eyeing the soaked merc at his feet. He didn't struggle, only trying his best to shake his furry head free of water and muck.

“Oh, they're perfectly safe in their restraints. Just leave them where they are. We'll let the city security handle the rest.”

“Copy. I'll let them know they can move in.”

“Good. The sooner we're out of this sewer, the better.”

Rain still poured heavily by the time the squad trekked back to the surface, and for that Witts was most grateful. They had gotten most of the muck off in the sewers, but their skin still crawled like mad under the armour after their dunking. A proper clean couldn't come soon enough.

Qwark led the way back to the reception room whilst Witts broke off towards the decontamination sector. City protection teams ran past the squad, en-route to take the mercenaries into custody. Back inside in the dry, the mayor was ecstatic upon hearing the news.

“Oh, you have no idea what a relief that is, captain! Chief was skeptical, but I told her, I told her! You can never go wrong with the Galactic Rangers! Didn't I say, chief?”

The chief's shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. “I stand corrected, ma'am. ...This time.”

Satisfied, the mayor peered around the squad, face searching. “I don't see your newest anywhere, captain. Everything's all right, I hope?”

“Oh, absolutely fine! Just had an impromptu swim; she's getting hosed off by your cleaning crew now.”

“It happens to the best of us. Be sure to give her our thanks as well, captain. We really must be off. A city won't run itself, and we must see to it that our people have the situation handled. You'll no doubt see us on the news later.”

“Local news, maybe.” Brax said when it was just the three of them again. “I don't think the folks on the other side of the galaxy care about Blackwater's sewer problem.”

“The people of Rilgar don't care about Blackwater's sewer problem,” Nefarious chimed on the squad frequency. “They just get on with their lives and get outsiders to do all the work.”

“Them, and half the galaxy.” Cora said.

Qwark cut in sharply, indignant. “Hey, it's more fame for us! I don't see why you're complaining.”

“Wasn't. Just pointing out a fact.” She shrugged.

Qwark made a face and tuned his communicator to Witts' frequency. “When you're done getting hosed off, cadet, come back to the Phoenix. We'll wait for you there.”

“Will do. I shouldn't be much longer.” With great relief Qwark, Cora and Brax stepped back aboard the Phoenix and out of one of the thunderous storms Blackwater City so proudly boasted of. They had barely passed through the airlock when Brax suddenly rushed off, his smoothie problem finally too great to keep ignoring.

On the bridge Cora practically threw herself at the helm before anyone else could grab it. Nefarious complained loudly at the rainwater thrown from her armour onto everything, but mostly onto himself. Cora told him to stop being a baby about it and made herself comfortable.

Qwark dropped into the captain's chair and crossed one leg over the other. “So, how do we all think the rookie got on?”

“Fine, if a bit wet.” Cora said, brushing off the venomous glare Nefarious was giving her.

“Efficient.” Nefarious offered, giving up and now brushing off his console as best he could.

“Really? Neither of you can give me a better answer than that?” The pair of them simply shrugged and attended to the consoles. Qwark rolled his eyes, wondering why he even bothered with them some days. Where was Brax when you needed him? He could always count on Brax. As if hearing Qwark's mental summons, the man soon reappeared, looking much more comfortable after his bathroom visit.

“Hey Brax, what do you think?” “About what?” he said, taking his place at the weapon systems.

“How the cadet got on.”

“Oh! Yeah, they were fine. Didn't really get to see them in action, but they're still alive, so.... Yeah, they were fine.”

There was a collective groan from the rest of the team. “One thing's for sure, we won't be winning any prizes for creativity anytime soon,” Nefarious muttered. “Oh, as if your answer was any better!” Cora started, turning sharply, finger pointing in accusation.

Eyes rolling, Qwark slumped deeply into his chair as the team started to bicker as they so constantly did. It was like looking after a bunch of children sometimes. He propped his chin up on his fist with a huff. “Where is that cadet? We can't sit here all day. I've got appointments to get to.” One more late arrival and he'd be getting charged extra again, and if that happened the money would be coming straight out of the cadet's pay cheque if she wasn't careful.

“This is day? I thought Rilgar lived in a permanent night.” Qwark jumped in his seat and spun to find Witts already sitting at the science console, strapped in and ready to go. The armour was looking clean again, but she still kept the helmet on. Probably for the best.

“How long have you been sitting there?!”

Witts shrugged. “Long enough. I don't want to wait here all day either, and I'd very much like to get out of this armour before I shrivel up completely from disgust.”

Chapter Text

“Hey-o, Braxxy boy~ Need a favour. Need u to take the cadet out sometime on the weekend, one of those well done for not dying on ur first mission type deals. Love to do it myself but my im shooting scenes for my new movie, u know how it is. K thanks a bunch see u monday :)”

Cora stood staring, face twisted into a borderline glare, at the too bright phone Brax shoved in her face when he showed up to the base mid-morning Saturday.

“Could he have given a shorter possible heads up?” She eventually said, peering over the top at him with quirked brows, glare not abating.

Brax only shrugged and shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Tell me about it. He's lucky I didn't have any plans today.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said yeah, alright. You know Qwark, you can't say no to the man. Besides, it's a good idea, even if it's short notice.”

With a long sigh, Cora threw aside the holozine she had been reading before Brax showed up. No doubt he had gone and ruined her plans for lounging about on her off day. “Alright,” she eventually said, standing from the break room couch. “Let me get dressed nicely, and we'll grab Witts and get out of here.”

“Sure thing.”

That was how Brax found himself playing the part of a door guard five minutes later as he waited outside Cora's quarters for her to finish changing. Soon enough she came out again, and together they went along to Witts room a few doors down. They peered into the cadet's assigned quarters, only to find it empty.

“You sure this is their room?” he muttered, glaring around the empty room as if the cadet was hiding from them.

“Positive. I was here the other day. Look, her stuff is here and everything.”

“Where'd they go then?”

“How should I know?”

At a loss, they checked in with a trooper on guard nearby if they had seen the cadet. With a nod of his head he directed them along to the armoury, where Witts had wandered along to some time earlier that morning.

There, under the dim artificial lighting, they found Witts busy reconfiguring their armour, sitting cross legged on a high stool. The armour had been in for its deep clean after its sewer dip and was good as new, at least until Witts started pulling it apart again. Armour panels and straps lay scattered in an arc around her on the floor, and half a toolbox worth of tools waited on a nearby work cart. She looked up briefly upon their entrance.

“Morning.” She said, before tightening the straps on one gauntlet.

“Mornin'. What are you doing?”

Another section of panelling was removed from the abdomen. Witts inspected it carefully before setting it aside. “I couldn't get back to sleep after the sun woke me up, so I thought I'd make a start on adjusting my armour. Our mission the other day gave me a good feel for where I can improve the fit.”

Now Witts held a combat knife holster and strap in her hand, and kept looking between it and the armour on a dummy. Nodding their head at the holster, they turned to Brax and Cora. “Where do you put yours?”

“In my weapons locker.” Brax said.

“...What use is it in there? What if you lose your connection to your locker?”

“I've got my guns.”

Witts hands dropped heavily to their lap as they stared at him. “And how you gonna summon them?”

“No no no,” he said, whipping his jacket off and flexing his bare arms, showing off his muscles, “these guns!”

“...Uh-huh.”

Witts didn't seem too impressed. With a flat face, they turned to Cora who was busy trying not to laugh. When she managed to get a grip of herself, she said, “I keep mine on my boot.”

“That's more reasonable.”

Deflated, Brax shrugged back into his jacket and stomped forward, taking Witts by one of their biceps before they could become reabsorbed in their work. Quick as a whip Cora appeared on their other side.

“We're taking you out for the day. No arguments, come on.”

With them on either side of the cadet, hands gripping their biceps tightly, they began dragging Witts from the armoury.

“Hey, wait! I wasn't finished-!” They were still reaching out in vain to their armour even as they were dragged down the corridor.

“No working on the weekend. You're making us look bad.”

Together they dragged Witts back to their quarters and shoved them through the door with an order to change. They couldn't have a day out on the town in their uniform, even if it was only the casual Ranger navies they had been wearing. Minutes later they came out again in an get-up that could only be described as-

“Tragic,” Cora said, as if reading Brax's mind.

Witts crossed their arms defensively. “I fail to see what's wrong with it,” they said, matter-of-factly.

Cora and Brax ran their eyes over them again. The jacket itself, admittedly, was nice – a mid wash denim number with an off cream collar and fleecy looking lining – but then worn over a bright button-up, and paired with pale wash jeans. And the same dark chunky work boots they'd been wearing before. Individually, each piece was alright. Together as an outfit? Not so much.

“Not a lot of people can pull off double denim.” Brax said, floundering for something even vaguely nice to say. “...You're not one of them, buddy.” Nailed it.

“Well, I don't have much else so you'll just have to stick.”

Perhaps the uniform would have been better? Witts, however, was stubbornly refusing to change even as Cora now continued to critique their threads. Eh, with resistance like that, better just leave it.

He gave them both a shove. “Come on you two, pack it up. Let's go.”

Even during the walk to his car the two didn't stop; Cora kept pressing - “Don't button it up. It looks marginally better as it is.” - and Witts wouldn't budge. Brax sighed. It was like listening to Qwark and Nefarious argue. Thankfully the two at least gave it a rest as they all piled into his three-door. Cora made herself comfortable up front beside him whilst Witts lounged in the centre back seat.

“So, where we going?” Witts said as the vehicle shuddered and rose off into the air.

Cora shifted in her seat to look into the back. “We're going out for lunch as a sort of well done thing for your first mission.”

“Since Cap's too busy with his new movie to do anything,” Brax said, not taking his eyes from the holo-lanes, “we're taking you out instead. I think you'll like the place; we go there all the time.”

“We picking the doctor up along the way?” Witts asked.

Brax and Cora shared a brief look before he answered with a jerky shake of the head. “Nah, he doesn't really go out. We used to ask but he was always busy so we don't bother much now.”

“Besides,” Cora said, “this is supposed to be a fun trip. He'll only find something to lecture us about given half a chance.”

“You mean lecture you,” Brax said smugly. “He likes me.”

“Nef doesn't like anyone.”

It wasn't long before they reached their destination and Brax pitched down to park. The diner seemed busy today. Usually whenever they went is wasn't heaving like it was now. Usually, however, they were there at odd hours of the day or night whenever the team just got back from a mission and couldn't be bothered with canteen grub at base. Even Helga's meatloaf lost its charm if you ate it too often.

The trio weaved through a bunch of folk leaving the diner. As they entered properly, a shout of greetings came up from behind the counters and one of the servers waved hello. Heads turned to look, people were talking amongst themselves about seeing the Rangers up close and in their diner too. Witts sneakily shuffled in behind Brax and Cora, using them as a shield as they took a seat at the squad's regular table to the side, next to one of the windows. It had a decent enough view of the traffic and the distant other side of the street. Every now and then the traffic stopped and the holo-bridges came up for the pedestrians.

“Uhm, excuse me...?”

A small group of fans hovered close to their table, a tharpod pushed to the front as their designated spokesperson was looking hopeful with a pad and marker in her hands. She, and the rest of the group, looked expectantly at himself and Cora.

“Could we maybe get a few autographs?”

He glanced over at Cora, who nodded in return. “Sure thing,” he said, turning back to the group. “Anything for a fan.”

A handful of autographs quickly turned into photos and selfies. From the corner of his eye, Brax couldn't help but notice the way Witts slunk down in their chair, menu held upright and close to their face, again like a shield, as if to hide away from all the fanboys and girls. A shy human. Who would have thought it?

Then he remembered they were probably new to this. Hell, Cora was the same too at first, and now she was like a fish in water. A few months and Witts would fit right in with the rest of them.

Satisfied with their gains, the fans soon left and were replaced by a single waitress, who took their order and left as well. Brax and Cora had their usual – a cheese-steak for him, and a burger and fries for herself. Witts settled on a club sandwich, and then went back to squinting out the window through the bright sunlight as they all waited, their chin resting on clasped, gloved hands. Huh.

“What's with the gloves?” Brax said.

They were black leather, and dulling with age and use. The right hand especially seemed worn around the joints. They looked like something holo-drama serial killers and movie assassins wore to keep their fingerprints hidden. It was hardly cold out at this time of year; perhaps this was yet another questionable fashion choice.

“Don't need people looking at me more than they need to,” Witts said, inspecting the gloves themselves and then looking at him. “At least with gloves they won't notice my prosthetic.”

They flexed their hand to emphasise. The old leather creaked with every flex, the material straining against the metal beneath. Between the odd dress sense, cyborg eye, and scarred up face, most folks would already have plenty of reason to stare at them. That, and they were training to be a Ranger now and it was only a matter of time before everyone and their mom knew about it. Brax failed to see how hiding one hand would make much of a difference.

“If you say so.”

“That,” Witts then went on to say, almost casually, smiling as they did, “and these murdering gloves are my nicest pair, once I washed the blood off them. You can't go wrong with a solid pair of leathery killers.”

Brax blinked at them. “Uhhh....”

“That was a joke.”

“Right. I knew that.”

Cora snorted into her hand, failing miserably at disguising it as a cough, and Witts only laughed dryly with her. Seems he hadn't been too far off the mark after all. Thankfully the waitress soon made the rounds with their drinks and cutlery before the girls could laugh at him further.

“So, Witts, what do you do?” Cora asked, now that she had some control over herself again.

“I assume you mean for fun. Well, uhh....” Witts took a generous swig of their water. “Let's see....” They sat there in silence, took another sip, squinted their eyes against the light again, quirked their solid jaw a little, before finally snapping their fingers. “I read. Sometimes I'd get roped into playing basketball with the star fighter teams back in the Suns, not that I was much good at it. I think I was there just to make up the numbers, really.”

They took another sip and rubbed their jaw. “Other than that, there was the usuals. Weapon and armour maintenance, and my cybernetics. I'd sleep a fair bit. Target practise, sparring. I'd help out in hydroponics a lot. That was always interesting.”

“Help in what?”

“You know, growing plants and all that. We may be a galaxy wandering fleet, but we don't want to rely on pre-packaged food constantly. Fresh food's good for you.”

Brax thought it over. Hydro-whatsits? Plants? Fresh food.... “...Like space gardening?”

“Yeah, exactly!”

Internally, Brax was beaming at getting it right first try, but at the same time something was bugging him too....

“And that's it?” Cora asked, leaning forwards in her seat. “Don't you ever, like, go out anywhere?”

That's what was missing. Brax hadn't known what to expect from the cadet, but certainly something more than that. Half the things Witts described just sounded like work, work, work. Hardly the definition of a good time. Seemed like they had another Nefarious on their hands.

“Not really. I've lived aboard active service vessels for years now, there's always something needing done, and I didn't go planet side much unless it was for missions so....” Witts cast their eyes about the busy diner, across the tables bustling with people, and then out into the hectic city. “It's been a while since I went anywhere like this.”

It should have been sad, really, but somehow Witts didn't even seem fussed by it. Brax made a mental note to take the cadet on a tour of the town as soon as they were done with lunch. Like hell they were having another boring Ranger join the club. One was already more than enough.

As Brax began making his mental list, the waitress came by with their food. He rubbed his hands at the sight of it laid in front of him.

They were always treated well at this place. Plates loaded with fries, glasses filled to the brim almost spilling, all the extras and trimmings. His cheese-steak seemed just that little bit larger than the standard size; the burger on Cora's plate extra sumptuous; even Witts' sandwich was practically overflowing. And all without even having to ask for extras.

The perks of being a Ranger.

“Ooh, you won't ever get grub looking this good from the work canteen.”

“That's for sure.”

They ate a while in happy silence before finally talking again.

“What do you guys do,” Witts started, “since you've got a whole city outside your door and all?”

Cora tried to speak around a mouthful of fries but it didn't work well, “There's the usual work and publicity stuff...” She tried to hurry her chewing, rolling her eyes and her wrist. Impatient, she gestured at Brax to pick up instead. Just as well he made that list. He hastily swallowed his half-chewed mouthful and thumped his chest before he could choke on it.

“What about instead of telling you, we show you instead,” he said, thickly. “That's way more fun. I've got some ideas.”

A single coffee run and one mission was hardly any way to appreciate the city around them. If this was to be the cadet's new home, they had to go out and take in the sights for reals. And Brax knew just the places. His suggestion got some vigorous nodding out of Cora, and an enthusiastic thumbs-up from Witts. He couldn't help but laugh at the pair of them with their mouths completely stuffed, like children insistent on taking the biggest bites possible.

Later, after bagging a box of brownies for the evening and splitting the bill three ways the trio headed back out to the car, but not before Cora and Brax got bogged down with another round of photos and autographs for a different group of fans who wandered in. Witts waited outside for them to finish.

“I thought we weren't going to get away for a moment there!” Cora exclaimed upon finally making it outside. She wandered along to the passenger door and laid her hand on the handle when Brax called out.

“Hey! Kids sit in the back, tourists up front. Let someone else have a turn.”

Cora balked but before she could even begin to move, Witts squeezed her aside and climbed in front.

“Sorry short-stack, this seat's taken.”

“Whu-?!”

Brax and Witts had already made themselves comfortable by the time Cora got over her surprise. In full teenage huff mode, she finally climbed in back and slammed the door with more force than necessary. For all Cora strived to act as an adult and be taken for one, she sure knew how to put the teenage antics on, whether she realised it or not.

With herself distracted with her seatbelt and angry mumbling, Brax, with a level of stealth that would make ninjas jealous, took a sneaky photo for his media feed. He managed to fit all three of them in it, but Cora and her moody face was the main star.

The tagline came fully formed to his head even before he started uploading it.

“someone got relegated to the back seat and is getting all huffy about it lmao”

Annnnd send. He couldn't help but laugh to himself about it. “What are you giggling about?” Cora said sharply.

“Nothing.” Brax said, acting the picture of innocence. He'd catch hell for it when she looked online later, but it was so totally worth it.

“Sure doesn't sound like nothing.” Cora huffed again. “Are we actually going anywhere or we gonna sit around like a bunch of idiots all day? People are looking.”

“We're going, we're going.”

Time to play the part of tour guide. Eh, that should be Qwark's job. He would be a natural at it, he was full of the kind of useless facts every tour guide seemed to know.

With a shudder the car rose into the air, and so Brax's aerial tour began. Aleero City was too big and densely populated to cover absolutely everything in a single afternoon, so he settled for something like a highlight reel. The best places to eat, the best cinemas that weren't stupidly over-priced, where not to go so you didn't get swarmed by the fans. Avoiding the crazies was harder than it looked; Brax sweared they just popped up out of the ground the way they could appear from nowhere sometimes.

They circled around the office district and headed on down along the main holo-highway, which Brax immediately regretted. Other cars and ships were packed five aside on both ways of the highway. The only consolation was their side was at least moving faster than a snail's pace; the other side had slowed to an almost imperceptible crawl. They watched as one van driver over the way, evidently fed up with the lack of pace, rose up a few meters and shot off like the world's squarest jet fighter down the lane. It took about two seconds for police cruisers, also stuck in the queue, to pop up and chase after him, sirens blaring.

"Ha! What did he think was going to happen?!”

After another ten minutes of not nearly enough movement, Brax took a detour down along an off-lane and past a bunch of new builds – residential skyscrapers of some kind. Expensive ones, probably. Always were. At least the construction vehicles were fun to look at.

Cora moaned at him for dragging them through a building site, so down they went along yet another side lane. They eventually passed by the expo centre – “that might be important later,” he said, as Witts leaned into the window for a better look, “when we do one of those big recruit drives for new techies and the other little people.” - and then on again through another high rise neighbourhood.

Witts, who had been trying to follow along to his tour with a maps app on her phone, spoke up. “It must be a nightmare trying to fly here. How do you not get lost constantly?”

"Eh, it's not so bad once you get used to it.” Brax said, shrugging. “If you've got a good sat-nav, you'll be alright.”

An unhelpful little voice piped up from the backseat. “Tell her about the time you drove into a bus depot on your way to work.”

“Can it, you.”

“Fine. I'll tell her then.”

Brax could only groan and roll his eyes as Cora sat up to hook her arms around their headrests and promptly launched into the story. He did his best to tune her out and instead circled the same group of towers a few times as he tried to find his place again in his mental list. He flew down a random lane just to try jog his memory. Behind him, Cora had finished her story and was now laughing, and to his side Witts was snickering. Great

“Oh hey,” Cora managed after catching her breath, “isn't that the depot down there?”

“No it isn't!” Brax said quickly, before diving down fast into another lane leading far away from it.

"Speaking of buses,” he said loudly before Cora had the chance to say otherwise, “down on your left somewhere, Witts, should be the actual bus station, that I've never accidentally driven into. It's joined onto the train terminal too, and the best mega-mall in the city. It's handy having the lot together.”

Cora perked up again. From the corner of his eye, he saw her stick her finger into Witts' lean cheek. “Remind us to take you clothes shopping once you get your wages. I'm not going out with you again dressed like that.”

“Are you like this with all your squad-mates?” Witts asked pointedly, turning in their seat to look at her, the finger digging further into their cheek.

"Only the fashion disasters.”

“Hey, look at that!” Brax exclaimed, before they could start arguing again. “See down there, Witts? That's the indoor stadium I hang out at sometimes. They've got wrestling, MMA, boxing, everything! You like that stuff too, right?”

Please, oh please say you do. He had been dying to take someone with him who was actually interested and who wasn't a camera magnet called Qwark. There was only so many times he could stand to listen as the captain gloated to his fans at his side when all Brax wanted was watch two guys really lay into each other.

"I do actually, yeah.”

Brax slumped against the steering controls in relief. Finally! Someone else who appreciated watching guys beating each other up for fun. “Great! We should go sometime.”

“Watch yourself, Witts,” came the voice of disdain and poor taste from the backseat, “he'll try to convert you over to wrestling.”

“Yes I will, and I'm not ashamed of it!” He laughed, and to his relief so did Witts.

It was during the drive back to base, some hours later when the sun dipped down the sky and into their eyes, when Witts caught sight of something glinting down below and spoke. “Hey. What's a Big Al's?”

Brax angled the car somewhat to take a look. Yep, that was his place alright. Seemed Al finally got about to having that neon sign installed. “Not what. Who. Al's a great little guy. Weird, yeah, but great. That's his robotics tech shop down there, but he does a whole lot of merchandise and stuff too. Sometimes we Rangers and him do proper business together. Upgrades and that, when doc is too busy or won't talk to us.”

Witts hummed in thought as Brax righted the car and carried on down the holo-lane.

Cora, who had been quiet for some time now - Brax honestly thought she had been asleep – suddenly wrapped her arms around the front headrests again and hauled herself upright. “And Al's a lot friendlier about it than Nefarious is, that's for sure.”

“We should drop by some other day when we've got more time, say hey.”

"I think he's at some sort of convention anyway. Won't be back until later in the week.”

"A tech con or one of those fandom things?”

“Dunno. It'll be a complete nerd gathering either way.”

It was early in the evening by the time Brax finished his little tour of the city and dropped the other two back off at the base, grabbed his share of the brownies, and returned to his apartment.

He idly wondered how long it would take for Witts to slink back along to the armoury, or if Cora would manage to intercept before they could and rope them into some sort of amusement. Maybe booby-trap Nefarious' office or something, that was always funny. It would be good for the both of them to bond. Team-mates should be buddies.

As he thought up of ideas for things the three of them could do later in the week and shoved a ready meal into the microwave, his mobile started ringing, buzzing away in his back pocket. He checked the ID and made a loud “Oh!” when he noticed it was Nefarious.

Talk about unexpected. Nefarious hardly ever called, which surprisingly made this more of a reaction than Brax got out of Qwark that day. Disappointedly he heard not one peep out of the captain ever since he sent that first message. Brax expected at least a text, maybe even a call, wondering how the day went, but nope. Nothing at all.

His mobile was still ringing but he only stared at it with a vague grimace. The doctor liked to launch into conversation about whatever was on his mind without as much as a hello these days, and he was loud. You didn't need speaker phone when talking to Nefarious; just hold him at arms length and you could still hear him perfectly clearly.

Brax answered the call and braced his ears.

"You lot went to lunch without me?!”

Even mentally prepared, Brax still couldn't help but flinch at the shrillness of Nefarious' voice when peeved. He held the phone well away from his ears. “We three, yeah. Qwark was busy so-”

No-one cares about Qwark,” Nefarious barked, “you went without me?! You didn't even call-”

“Buddy, the last time I tried to invite you out anywhere you yelled down the phone at me.”

“You called at two in the morning when I was sleeping, who even does that?”

"No, I called at two in the afternoon. Big difference there, smart guy. Who even sleeps that late in the day?”

There was a dry, almost sarcastic laugh from Nefarious. “When you work as hard as I do, you would too. Anyway never mind that, not why I called. Reason is, I can see what you're trying to do.”

Brax was met with a strong urge to press his face into the cold door of his fridge and groan. What was it with Nefarious always assuming everyone else knew the same things he did? “Do what?”

"Don't get coy! It doesn't suit you. You and Cora are trying to steal that new cadet away from me.”

Say what now? Steal Witts? It took a great deal of restraint to not laugh out loud at how badly wrong that claim was. Brax settled on giggling sarcasm instead. “Uhh, yeah no, that's not it.”

Nefarious wasn't buying it. “I'm not stupid, Brax,” he hissed. “Listen, you already have Cora, let me have this one. You have your own “little buddy” already, you don't need a second. Don't hog the cadet for yourselves.”

So that's what this was about. The man was whining like a little kid down the phone at him all because he thought they were trying to get to Witts first. What was this? Middle school?

“Dude, c'mon, don't be jealous.” Don't be pathetic was what he really wanted to say, but then Nef would only start shouting at him again. Instead Brax had to wait for Nefarious to stop sputtering on the other end of the line and then for himself to stop laughing before either of them could continue.

“J-jealous?! Me?! Of what, you?! Don't be stupid. What could you possibly have for me to be jealous about, that's ridiculous!”

Brax could practically hear Nefarious' eyes rolling right out of his big skull. “Dunno, sounds like something someone who's jealous might say....”

"Oh, shut up.” Nefarious muttered, and Brax laughed some more

“Sure thing but hey, for reals. You want the cadet as your buddy? Make some effort, man. You're always hiding out in your office, no-one ever sees you.”

"Because I'm too busy making weapons for you ungrateful lot,” Nefarious muttered, barely audible over Brax's microwave.

“Say what?”

"Nothing. Doesn't matter.”

Whatever. At least he was using his indoor voice now. “I mean it, dude. Al's got better people skills than you, and he's as big a nerd as you are.”

"Of course he does, he's a shop keep, isn't he? He has to be a people person."

"I'm just saying you could take a cue from him every now and again.”

“I'd rather shoot myself in the foot.”

Talk about cold. What was it Nef had against Al? “Wow, OK, forget I said anything then.”

“Gladly.”

There was an awkward pause as both of them fell quiet, the only sound on Brax's end of the line the dull drone of the microwave working.

"Was that all, or...?” Brax said, eyeing the timer silently ticking down into double digits. “It's just my dinner's nearly ready so....”

"Yeah. Sure. No, that was all I had to say.”

“Alright, well, good-” Brax couldn't even finish his goodbye before Nefarious hung up without another word. Oh, right. Nefarious liked to end his calls just as abruptly as he started them. And he wondered why he somehow struggled making friends.

Shoving his phone in his pocket, Brax paced around the kitchen, wishing the microwave could hurry it up. He sighed. It was always so difficult trying to speak to Nef, and not just because of the nerd-speak and techno-babble.

Problem was you could never really tell what was going on in that massive head of his.

Cora Brax could talk to, hell, the way they bounced off each other and worked in practically perfect sync on the battlefield, they could have been siblings. Certainly acted like it sometimes.

It was still early days with Witts but Brax felt it was going well so far. A couple more weeks and it'd be like they knew each other their whole lives.

Qwark was easy, he got on with everyone, very much the perfect example of a people person. Everyone liked Qwark. Even the criminals did.

Nefarious, however... was difficult, even after the years they worked together. It was as if he didn't want to be buddies with anyone else half the time, the way he hid in his office and held everyone at arms length and talked down to anyone who wasn't as smart as him, and yet there he was getting pissy at him and Cora for supposedly “stealing” the newbie. What was that all about?

What a weird phone call.

Then again, it was Nefarious. The guy was weird with a capital W.

The microwave dinged. Finally! Brax wrestled his food out of its awkward plastic tray without burning his hands and onto a plate, and with a happy groan he sunk onto his couch, flicked the holovision over to the watch some boxing, and tucked into his meal. All the weirdness with Nefarious and his bitchy phone call was promptly pushed from his mind and forgotten.

Chapter Text

Monday.

“Cap wanted me to show you something in the hangar. C'mon.”

It was shortly after the morning team meeting when Cora caught up with Witts and dragged them down by the elbow to the primary hangar.

There technicians, laden with heavy gear and equipment, bustled back and forth. Repair bots were flitting around open panels of the Phoenix, cleaning and doing minor service work from the looks of it. Someone, Brax probably, judging by the thick legs, was underneath their own star fighter, but didn't notice the pair as they passed by. Witts followed Cora along to a Star Jumper at the end of the row. A small artisan droid was hovering around at the side of it, humming away quite merrily to itself as it worked.

“This is your Jumper,” Cora said, slapping the hull to emphasise. “Just the finishing touches to make and it's all set and ready to go.”

Turning past the nose of the fighter, Witts could better see how the droid was busy applying decals to the sides of the fighter. Currently it was working on the base coat of a large, stylised, snarling portrait of Witts. Fancy.

“Ready for me, but I'm hardly ready for it,” Witts said, as they peered through the wind-shield into the cockpit. The sheer assortment of buttons and dials and switches on the dash could be charitably described as complicated, to say the least. “Star fighting was never my thing exactly. No doubt you guys can sort that out though, right?”

Cora nodded. Trekking back through the hangar, Witts noted how the other Star Jumpers proudly displayed similarly styled and snarling portraits of their respective owners on their sides. They certainly didn't pull any punches for the décor in this place.

Inside the main building Cora led the way along to the star fighter simulator room. Suspended in mid-air above a hexagonal pad built into the floor was, for all intents and purposes, another Star Jumper, exactly like the ones in the hangar only with no pilot emblems and opaque windows.

“This-” Cora slapped the hull again, and the fighter wobbled in suspension, “-will be your new best friend for the next couple of months. It'll get you up to Ranger standard in no time.”

Witts stared at the simulator with nothing but apprehension. Ground fighting had always been their thing, that was where all their years of training and experience had gone. Better to leave the dog fights to the professionals. Only a couple a months and they'll be at Ranger standards? Half a year, probably longer, sounded more like it, and even that Witts hesitated at. Taking the helm at a star fighter in combat was a vastly different beast from simply flying any other old starship.

“Why don't you give it a shot?” Cora said, oblivious to Witts' silent concern. “All the instructions are inside. You can't go wrong.”

Before Witts could air their grievances about it, Cora turned and left, leaving Witts all alone with nothing but the sim. It hovered innocently in mid air. A faint hum filled the room from the anti-gravity unit keeping it suspended. It made Witts' skin prickle.

Well, it was worth a shot, at the very least. They clambered inside, the ship wobbling until they settled down into the pilot seat, shackled themselves into the harness, and shoved on the headset. The sim came to life at the flick of a switch, imitating the start-up procedure of an actual Star Jumper. The overhead canopy closed over and the windows, opaque from the outside, lit up as the holo-screens filled with a view as if the Jumper was docked in orbit above the planet.

A computerised voice buzzed through the headset. “Ignition sequence finalised. Simulation on standby. Please sign-in and select simulation program of choice.”

How many years had it been since Witts had last been left in charge of a fighter? Too many. They selected the beginner module – there was nothing like going back to basics, and Ranger Jumpers probably had all sorts of tricks and fancy gimmicks the older Sun fighters didn't have; Witts didn't want to miss anything. If they were to be a Ranger, they would be the best they could be. Anything less wasn't worth the effort.

“Selection acknowledged. Simulation beginning in three- two- one....”

Some hours later Witts pulled themselves from the simulator, blinking wearily and squinting under the bright lights of the room after such a prolonged session. It was an excellent machine, technically speaking, with realistic field depth and graphics, not to mention an advanced degree of moveability and sensory feedback to give a proper, bone-jostling sensation of movement – one could quite easily become completely absorbed. Witts maintained their doubts over how long it would take to come up to Ranger standards, but at least the equipment was good. Even as a sim, it was still an entire league ahead of some of the best star fighters the Silver Suns commanded. The real thing should be even better. Scarlet was right; the Rangers really did have all the best toys.

Hungry, Witts checked their phone. It had been nearly four hours since they had gone in, and lunch should be served by now. The cafeteria was one floor up from here, if they remembered correctly.

It was Meatloaf Day, according to the crowd that had been drawn. Crowd was perhaps an understatement. The entire cafeteria was swarming with interns, technicians, trainees, and all the other organic members of the Rangers. Witts took their laden tray and cast one look over the roiling mass of bodies jostling for table space and arm room. Where the hell was the squad? The person in line behind them squeezed by, knocking Witts' arm, and merged into the mass. Prick. Perhaps it was better just to eat in the office? It would be quiet there, at least.

Abruptly, there was a shout from across the room. Cora had somehow spied them and stood on her chair just to be able to properly see Witts and wave them over. The squad had already gathered around one placid table deep inside the chaos. Qwark was on his third serving already, or so he announced to the general population, who didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to him. Not that he noticed.

Witts sat and prodded the meaty slab on their tray. It was Helga's special recipe, according to Brax. Rich in proteins, good fuel for a training session, batch-cooked to feed the entire organic division of the Rangers in one go. What a Valkyrie was doing with food, they had no idea, though as fitness trainer that might fall under their territory.... Who knew?

It certainly didn't taste much different from any other meatloaf. What was all the fuss about? Dad's was better anyway....

Qwark cleared his tray and throat, stood, and cast his eyes across everyone assembled at the table. The team looked up with various levels of disinterest and full mouths. “Now team, I have something I'd like to say-”

“You're finally giving me a pay rise!” Nefarious said, quick off the mark.

“We already had that discussion. No, what I wanted to say was-”

“You won the lottery and now you're retiring,” Cora said, equally as fast, “so you're going to pick the next captain!”

Qwark thumped a fist off the table, making everything rattle and nosy onlookers shy away. “Stop interrupting me! It's like you don't even want to know what I have to say.”

“Yeah, that tends to be true.” Nefarious muttered under his breath, laughing to himself.

“I don't appreciate all this sass, people. Now, if I can speak, what I was going to say was that the fifth Solarian Equinox is coming up in a couple months or so, so we had best all be vigilant in the run-up. Got to keep all those geeky star watchers and comet stalkers happy, not that I'm are expecting much to happen. Maybe some brigands and light piracy.” Qwark huffed and rolled his eyes. “Biggest threat is probably hawkers and scalpers with over-priced merchandise.”

“Oh yeah, the true bane of the galaxy.” A passing technician muttered sarcastically. Qwark side-eyed them as they hurried on.

Brax, who had been rubbing his scaly chin in thought for the past minute or so, finally spoke up. “Isn't the Equinox around your birthday actually, Cora?”

Cora stabbed at the crumbs on her plate with her fork. “I think so, yeah. Same day.” She grumbled, her shoulders hunched up almost to her chin, evidently not happy at the thought of it.

“Working on your birthday,” Nefarious chuckled, picking up on it too, “is there anything sadder than that?”

“Your life,” Cora fired off, quick as a whip.

There was a loud “Hah!” from Qwark. Brax was nearly successful in not spitting his drink out. Nefarious, on the other hand, sputtered and choked on his food.

“Talk about take no prisoners,” Witts muttered, and thumped his back for him.

Nefarious soon recovered and waved Witts off, staring at smiling Cora in stunned silence all the while. An angry looking hue rose to his face before he finally sneered and said, “I'm moving to a different table.” He ripped his tray up as he stood, and turned promptly and sat at another, much emptier table, his back firmly to all of them.

“Oh, don't be like that, doc, it was a joke!” Cora called, but Nefarious continued to ignore her.

“Forget it, Cora,” Qwark said loudly, pointedly, in the doctor's direction, “if he wants to be a baby about it, just let him be.”

“I can still hear you!” Nefarious snapped sharply, turning just enough to glare at Qwark who only stared back with a smirk.

With that, the squad, or what was left of it, went right back to business, Qwark helping himself to a monster slab of marshmallow square that would have done for three people.

Witts pushed the last half of their meatloaf and trimmings around, appetite gone after that verbal spat between the others. A theory, a question, had been building in their head over the last few days about what was going on within the squad and with Nefarious, and that spat only added to it. Now didn't seem a good time to ask, though. Still too many people about, for one thing, and too much tension in the air.

Brax finished his food and pushed back in his seat. “I'm stuffed. I'm going to the firing range, who wants to come with?”

“Maybe another time, Braxxy boy.” Qwark said, struggling to finish his square. He puffed his cheeks out in a sigh. “I think I'll need a nap after this.”

“Cora?”

“Already been. I'll be in the gym, it's my arm day.”

“I'll come with you.” Witts said to Brax, giving up on lunch. “I've been in that flight sim all morning, could do with a change of pace.”

“Sweet.”

It was just the two of them in the firing range. They changed into their protosuits beforehand and had at it with blasters. Brax originally wanted to see which of them could throw plasma grenades the farthest, but Witts wasn't having any of it. Not after their mishap a week ago. They were in no rush to fuck it up again. They still hadn't worked out if it had been the grenades or the explosions or Brax just sounding eerily like an old friend from long ago, but they had no interest in finding out. Best to just bury it again and let it be. That was the way.

At some point, after they swapped from blasters to rifles, Nefarious slunk quietly into the range. Witts didn't notice his presence until he stepped up to the firing line a fair distance along from them. He still seemed moody even this long after lunch, his pointed ears drooped and a frown pulling at his face, although he may just have been concentrating on the weapon he was currently readying in his hands. It looked like some form of rocket launcher, though not one Witts recognised. He activated the controls for his lane, and a lone target materialised far down the range.

Witts elbowed Brax and the two stopped to watch the test fire.

Nefarious readied the launcher upon his shoulder, took aim, and fired. A rocket burst from one of the barrels and not even half a second later the target was destroyed in a loud burst of fiery smoke. More popped up in quick succession and met the same fate, Nefarious taking them down in short work without a single dropped shot.

With his test complete, Nefarious set the rocket launcher aside and began typing his notes into a datapad. Not at any point did he say anything to them. He barely even looked at them properly asides from a wary glance when he first stepped up to the line.

Brax and Witts looked at each other. He shrugged and rolled his eyes, as if to say that he wasn't going to be the one to poke the snagglebeast first. They both looked at him again. As if feeling their eyes upon him, Nefarious threw a cautionary glance over his shoulder in their direction and just as quickly looked away.

“You know, for a man of science,” Witts began, taking a chance, “you've got pretty sharp aim.”

His ear briefly twitched, and Nefarious checked over his shoulder again. “...Thanks,” he muttered, ear twitching again.

Witts took it as an invitation to move closer. “I've never seen a launcher like that before. One of yours, I take it?”

Nefarious turned a little more in their direction, still not entirely face on. Setting his datapad down, he hefted the launcher up again. It was large and quad-barrelled, a mish-mash of different coloured panels and exposed wiring elements here and there, but still entirely functional, it seemed. “One of my latest prototypes,” he said, examining the sights. “Still some fine-tuning and cosmetics to do, but it's coming together nicely. I've been working on an improved auto-target system....”

He set it to a different firing pattern, reloaded, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. A full quad of rockets fired off, but half spiralled wildly off course, striking targets in other lanes; Brax, indignant, yelled as his disappeared in a burst of fire. The others fizzled off and spluttered, dinging harmlessly off the back wall.

Nefarious, eyes narrow, hummed in annoyance and cleared his throat. “A way to go yet.” He winced as an errant explosion went off. “Quite a way. Still working on it.”

Witts blinked away the after-images of explosions from their good eye. “Well, even as a work in progress it's still impressive. Some fine tuning like you said, and you'll be there. You've got this.”

Finally his ears picked up fully again and a smile nearly pulled at his mouth. Nefarious looked set to speak again when another, louder voice cut over him.

“If someone's setting the shooting range on fire, it can only be Nefarious!” Came the booming voice of Qwark, striding up to the stand. So much for his nap. “What are we playing with today, Neffy?” He reached out as if to take the prototype for closer look.

Nefarious jerked it away and hugged it close to his chest, stepping clear of Qwarks' reach. “I'm not playing with anything,” he said bitterly, “I'm testing my prototype again.”

“It's been two weeks, I thought you'd be done with that one by now. When do I get to use it?”

“It was only one week, actually, since you last saw it, and I've told you before not to rush me!”

“Oh, come on! It's not that hard! Eh Wittsy?” Qwark laughed, and playfully tapped Witts' shoulder with his fist as if to draw support. Witts looked at him with anything but. Undeterred, Qwark continued. “Slap a barrel to a body to a grip and you're pretty much there!”

With a snarl Nefarious rolled his neck. “If it wasn't that hard you wouldn't need someone like me, except it is and you do need me. You can't rush good weapon design, unless you really want it to blow up in your face!” There was a moment as the two stared each other down in silence. “Sir.” Nefarious added, curtly.

Qwark simply shrugged his massive shoulders and laughed him off again. “Since when have our weapons ever blown up when we didn't want them to? Honestly Neffy, you're worrying too much.” Qwark started to wander away, but Nefarious was right on his tail, his voice steadily rising in pitch and volume into a shrill shout as they left the firing range.

“I'm worrying!? You're the one who came running the moment the range was on fire! Why are you always lurking whenever I leave my office?! What's your problem?!?!”

The sounds of their one-sided argument eventually faded away. It took a while, the doctor's voice carried on long after he left, but eventually all was quiet again in the now smouldering ranger.

Witts chewed the inside of their cheek. Yes, only more data to add to the theory....

Brax was more than happy to fill the silence in between the bursts of his rifle. “If Nefarious wanted to build a really great weapon, he should make something that weaponises his voice; he could shout the enemy to pieces. We'd be unstoppable.”

Witts considered Brax's implication that the rest of the doctor's inventions weren't great, and how he would take it if he heard. They'd rather not be shouted at, thanks. “You know what, you can field that idea to him.”

Hours later, Witts returned to their office for some well needed quiet after the roar of gunfire and explosions, and continued slogging through the digital training on the computer. It was during a video on fire safety in the workplace when Qwark showed up without even bothering to knock. He seemed refreshed even despite his argument with Nefarious, or perhaps he just finally had his afternoon nap.

Witts paused the video. “Captain.”

“Greetings, cadet!” Qwark shot what others would no doubt describe as an “award winning smile”. “Settling into the new digs, I see. Good, good.”

“Never had a private office before. It's quite nice, actually.”

“Yeah? Good for you. Listen, I wanna ask you something.” He perched himself on the corner of their desk, one leg crossing over the other. “Something I've been meaning to check in with you about before I finish for the day. Social media.” He rested his chin on a meaty fist and stared down at them. “How are you finding it?”

Witts' head tilted onto one side. “...Sir?”

“It's been a whole week since you joined up with us, and I've noticed you haven't posted once. The boys did set your work phone up properly, right?”

“Uhh...?” What in the stars was he on about? Was this some weird kind of joke? Was this, finally, the “hazing” the other Suns said would happen in the Rangers? “I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to, sir.”

Qwark whipped his phone out from a pouch on his belt, tapped about on it, and showed them the screen. On a scrolling feed of a website Witts didn't recognise, various images, videos and bits of text rolled by. Many from Qwark, some from Brax and Cora and very occasionally Nefarious, and more from what looked like the interns or technicians. Witts recognised the photos Brax took the other day of his lunch and of Cora sulking in the backseat of his car.

“Neat, huh?” Qwark said, pulling his phone back and scrolling through the feed himself. “What put it in my head, reminded me really, was that hilarious shot Braxxy took of Cora at the weekend, when you three were out and about. I know the two of them were online, but I didn't see anything from you so I thought I'd check in.”

“I-” quick, genius, think of something! “-never thought to, sir. Suppose I was too busy enjoying myself.”

“Uh huh? Well, point is, that as a ranger, even a lowly cadet, you'd best get posting, and the sooner the better. It's part of your job, after all”

“Part of my...!” Witts couldn't help the surprise edging their voice. “Do I have to?”

“It's in your contract. A bare minimum of one photo and one video each week.”

“Where does it say that in the contract?!”

He borrowed their tablet and opened a digital copy of the document in question, scrolled a fair bit, and handed it back. “Right here.”

Witts scanned the highlighted passage. Yep. There it was. A video and a photo, minimum, once a week. “...I knew I should have read this damn thing properly before I signed it,” Witts muttered angrily, cursing their own impatience back on day one.

Qwark laughed. Witts resented it. “There's no need to be like that,” he said. “One photo and video a week is not so much to ask, now is it? It's for the fans, let's them get to know you, gets them to like you better. Being known as a person, a role model, or something like that, I dunno.”

“What if I don't want them to know me?”

“Now now Wittsy, no need to be shy. I know you're new to city life and living with the, uh, little people, and all that, but it's really not that difficult. If even Nefarious can do it, so can you.” He drummed his fingers on his thigh. “I have no idea what he posts about most the time but he does it, so it's good enough for me.”

“Captain, I've never used this sort of thing before. I don't have the first idea of what to do.”

“Never? Have you been living under a rock all your life? It's easy! Just as long as you don't swear or do anything rude or post the top secret stuff, you can't go wrong. A child can do it. Literally!”

Witts frowned down at their own work phone sitting on their desk. It was only yesterday when Cora had showed them the group chat, and now there was this to contend with too!

Before Witts could say they had in fact been living in space all their life and not under a rock, Qwark carried on. “Just have fun with it,” he said, shrugging his massive shoulders with a smile as he left the office. Seconds later, right as Witts returned to their training video, he poked his head back in. “Really?! You've never used it at all?”

Witts shook their head. “Never had a use or much interest in it.” That, and father never allowed it growing up, but since Witts had exactly as little interest back then as they did now they never thought to ask him why. A better question would have been why other people were so fascinated with it in the first place.

Qwark made a face but left, thankfully. Witts vainly hoped that would be the end of it, but then he sauntered in again not long later.

“Another thing that reminded me-”

Stabbing the pause button, Witts repressed their ire as much as they could. Oh stars, what now?

“Your holovision debut is coming up soon, so you and I will be getting ready for that. Very important.”

“...My what?!” Witts exclaimed, unable to keep the alarm from their voice. Not that Qwark noticed or cared.

“Your holovision debut, keep up, Witts. We Galactic Rangers are the mighty defenders of Solana, the people's heroes. They need to see us, they want to know us. You can't just sit and hide in your office like Nefarious does; you need to be a more public figure now if you're to properly be one of us. It's the Ranger thing to do.

“All the other Rangers have had a proper debut. Now it's your turn.”

Witts crossed their arms and scowled. “Is that in my contract too, sir?”

“Yes, so it's no use trying to wriggle out of it.”

Damn, how did he know they'd try? “When is it?” Witts hated to ask but knew they should, if only for the mental preparation. With luck it would not be for a couple weeks at least, maybe the end of the month. That should give enough time to prepare, as much as one could ever prepare for such a thing.

“It's this Friday. You ever watch the Friday Night Show on channel three? I go on it all time, and-”

Qwark continued to speak but Witts had since tuned out.

Friday...?

This Friday?!?

That was only days away, and he was only telling them now?! Was he having a laugh? Oh, this was definitely that hazing thing the Suns had warned them about....

It didn't matter; Qwark soon left again and thankfully did not return. Not that it would have made any difference if he did. Witts could already feel the headaches that would be coming every day until this holovision thing finally blew over. One was already beginning to brew right at the forefront of their brain, making their scars tingle like an itchy early warning sign.

Calling it now, the interview would be terrible. Awful. A complete and utter shambles.

Chapter Text

Friday came far too fast.

Witts sat rigid as a board in the passenger seat of Qwark's sky-car, staring blankly out the window as he talked aloud. He was probably trying to give helpful nuggets of advice for their imminent debut, but he may as well just have been talking to himself.

The only world registering now was that inside their own head.

How had the week passed so fast? Where did the days go- what had they even been doing? They existed, worked their job and trained, yes, but aside from that? No idea. The week may have well passed in a finger snap.

The headaches came every day, exactly as predicted. It was worse first thing in the mornings and whenever else bright sunlight caught them square in the eyes, which had become even more of an annoyance than usual given that Witts couldn't find their sunglasses anywhere. They really needed to invest in a new set.

Witts barely noticed the question directed their way. They blinked out of their cloudy, distracted state of mind. “Huh?”

Qwark cast a quick glance at them as he piloted. “Your vocal deliveries. You've been practising like I said, right?”

“Not as much as I would like.” In truth, they barely practised at all, preferring to sleep off the headaches or engage in flight training, not stupid vocal deliveries. Whatever that was.

Qwark turned off the main holo-lane and headed down into a section of town Brax hadn't showcased the other day on his little tour. In the evening dusk, the city glowed under the countless bright lights of bill boards, neon, and other sky-cars. A large, long building loomed up on their right. Qwark flew around to the back and pitched down into the busy lot.

“Here we are!” he exclaimed, far too cheerfully. “This might as well be one of my homes away from home, I'm here so often.”

Witts merely grunted in reply, wishing for the hundredth time that week to be literally anywhere else. The campaign on Thyrranosis. Being rota-ed to assist old Felix in the Cydonia sanitation division. Hell, being back on planet Dunlox, that thrice damned ice bitten hunk of rock where they were blown to bits years ago was almost more preferable to this, and they hadn't even entered the studio yet!

“Right, out you go. Can't have your interview in here, now can you?”

Numbly, Witts exited the car and trailed a small distance behind Qwark into the building.

Stars, what were they doing? What was the point of this?

Why did they let themselves be talked into it?

Why did they let themselves be talked into transferring to the Rangers?

More and more people were rushing around the deeper the pair went into the building, all preparing for the evening's programming. How many were working just for tonight's live show?

Damn, shouldn't have thought about that. Why did they have to go and remind themselves it was live? Where all the Solana Galaxy could watch in near real-time as the Rangers newest cadet made a fool of themselves for their amusement.

Fuck. This was a terrible idea.

Still numbly following Qwark, they took a side corridor along into some sort of backstage area. It was like stepping into an alien world. Small sections were partitioned off for make-up and hair and who even knew what else. Blue skinned aliens were busy carting equipment to the main studio – probably the sound and camera guys. How many cameras would there even be? Damn it, stop thinking about it!

A flashily dressed Rilgarian woman intercepted Qwark and the two started chatting rather animatedly. It was all Witts could do to hover close by and not get in the way of everyone else who actually wanted to be there and knew what they were doing.

There was a sudden laugh from the two, and Qwark draped a massive arm around Witts' shoulders and hauled them forward, showing them off to the woman. He gave Witts a squeeze he probably thought was friendly and encouraging. It was like getting a shoulder crush from a constrictor snake.

“It's going to be the cadet's first time on camera, would you believe?” Qwark said, loudly, forcing Witts attention onto the conversation. “But I'm certain you and yours can ease them into it. Maybe do to something about the hair? Jazz it up a bit.” He laughed loudly. “Cadet went and forgot to style it before we left.”

That was only partly true. Witts had no intention of styling it anyway, preferring the natural look. As it soon turned out, that was too unprofessional for the cameras.

With a slap on the back that could knock a lesser being over, Qwark left Witts in the hands of the stylists, and swanned off into the busy crowd to mingle.

Led away into a partitioned area, Witts dropped heavily into the stylists chair and immediately averted their gaze from the mirror, away from the equally uncomfortable reflection also wanting to be anywhere else.

The flashy Rilgarian waved over another couple of stylists – a Markazian and a Cazar – and the three looked over their charge, assessing, studying, this no-doubt lost looking human who had been dumped into their hands.

Witts mulled in withdrawn silence as the stylists draped a black cape around their shoulders and began debating amongst themselves over how to style their short hair in order to best hide the faded burn scars. They weren't nearly as bad or even obvious as they had been years ago, repeat nanotech treatments and special salves had seen to that, but the way these three talked it was as if Witts was some sort of intense burn victim with half their face disfigured. It was only a touch on the forehead and near the hairline, and a tad over the high collar of the jacket. Really, under the jacket was worse. Nefarious had maybe seen the worst of it in his office, but in the relative darkness and artificial light that was debatable, and even if he had, he smartly kept his mouth shut about it.

These three could be taking some pointers from him in that regard.

“If we comb the hair front and down somewhat, that should help, and make-up. What do you think about make-up?”

“If we've got the right colours.... Yes, that might work.”

No comments or questions were directed towards Witts, only to each other. Whenever they did, it was only to ask to look this way or that, turning them in the light for better assessment. Now their debate turned to makeup to try hide the other facial scars, although it would not hide everything. The vertical gash splitting their right brow and eye was a troublemaker to these people. The scar cutting down Witts lip, though smaller, was just as obvious.

Witts was usually ambivalent about their scarring, occasionally thinking it made them look cool. Facial scars especially really got some people going. Sitting there listening to these people, however, made them feel like there was something wrong with them. More so than usual.

The stylists came to an agreement – Witts hadn't been paying enough attention to take it in – and set about their work. The Rilgarian began misting and combing their hair, the Markazian assisting her. The Cazar, who seemed young judging from the softness of his face and the healthy shine to his glossy fur, alternated between observing the work, and prepping the make-up for afterwards. Probably an apprentice learning his craft.

For a xeno woman who didn't have hair herself, the Rilgarian knew what she was doing. With every pass of the comb and rub of gelled fingers, Witts' hair approached something that could have come out of one of the hairstyle holozines. The short length hadn't given much for her to work with, but what she did have she worked to the max.

Even so, Witts didn't need to look in the mirror to know their own face was turning into a scowl. Their skin crawled as gelled fingers continued to restyle a stubborn lock at the top. It was everything they could do to repress the shivers and feign a position of comfort as this stranger shaped them into a form considered desirable for live holovision.

...Damn, why'd they have to remind themselves it was live?

Soon enough, but in a time also took far too long, the stylists finished with their hair. It wasn't a style Witts personally would have chosen, but it was acceptable enough. It would take far too much effort to do themselves every day; best just to leave it as a fancy one-off.

For a moment, Witts could breathe.

Then came the make-up. The Cazar laid a selection of brushes, sponges, palettes and other miniscule little things in neat rows in front of the mirror.

“I had to go and borrow some palettes from the captain's selection, Avery,” he was saying to the Rilgarian. “We haven't got any pinks anywhere else.”

“That's quite alright,” flashy Avery said, cleaning her hands off on her apron. “I'm sure he won't mind. It's not his turn for the limelight tonight anyway. Now then, how shall we proceed?”

She made it sound like they were going to be conducting some sort of operation, which was nonsense since Witts had been through plenty of those and none of the surgeons ever opened with that.

“I don't think you'll get far,” Witts said, nodding at the assortment of cosmetics in front of them. “People will notice all this no matter what you try.”

“If it was anyone else, they might, but I am a master of my craft. One could have a three inch gash etched into their face and after an hour with me, none would be any the wiser.”

It took Witts a considerable amount of willpower to not roll their eyes. As if make-up alone could achieve all that.

Avery, determined nonetheless, hunched down to get a better look at Witts' face. She hummed and tapped her fingers against her knees. Witts stared coolly back. With a slap of the knees Avery stood straight and considered what would no doubt be the first of many brushes.

A layer of pale, powdery foundation was brushed on. The apprentice had been allowed to do that step. He managed to get it in Witts' mouth, for which he apologised profusely and was reassigned to his previous task of merely observing.

As the actual professional and proficient assistant took over, Witts stewed in silence, slowing hating themselves, everyone, and everything else with every passing second and swipe of a brush.

This was so, so not their thing. Never had, and at this rate, never would be. No-one had ever forced it upon them before. They had never allowed it to forced upon them either, and yet now...

Beneath the leather of their glove their hand was sweating, and the other hand was tingling. Twitching. A tightness took their throat and jaw.

Witts couldn't look in the mirror; they would only see every imperfection the stylists found, what the entire galaxy would soon be seeing.

The stylists briefly pulled back to assess their progress. A flash of green caught Witts' eye as the stylists moved and they finally saw the wreck they were. Despite the gel, despite the make-up, there was no hiding a decade of conflict, sleepless nights, and surgical procedures. Like dressing up a mud lurker. You could clean it up as prettily as you like, there was no changing what it really was underneath.

Avery made a move as if to go back in with another brush.

“It's fine!” Witts snapped. “Leave it alone!”

The stylists flinched away, one of them dropping their brush. They scrabbled along the ground after it and the other two left, muttering to each other.

Alone, Witts jerked the cape off and sunk down further into the chair, resting their head on one fist and looking everywhere but the mirror.

What a joke.

Qwark eventually sauntered back over. “Ah, you're all dolled up and ready to go!”

“Ready to go home,” Witts muttered, unable to drag their eyes up from the floor to look at him.

“It'll be starting soon,” Qwark continued, oblivious to their sulking. “Cameras go live in about half an hour. Before you go, you remember what I told you?”

Only somewhat grateful for a distraction from their thoughts, Witts rifled through their memory. “Look alive, smile, and keep them wanting more, or something like that, wasn't it?”

“And some enthusiasm while you're at it would be good too, Wittsy.” Qwark stood with his hands on his hips, weight shifted onto one leg as he looked down his nose at them. “It's an entertainment show, not a stuffy documentary. This night is as important for me as it is for you. Whatever you say reflects back onto me, so be cheerful!”

Witts bit their tongue to keep their comments to themself. They continued to sit and quietly fume in the make-up chair, Qwark still monologuing mostly to himself, until they absolutely had to leave and was shepherded along to the studio set.

Artificial light didn't typically bother Witts, but sitting there under bright set lights, as powerful as a small sun in their own right, made them wish they had picked up a pair of sunglasses on the way. Damn it, where had their own pair gone?

The other two guests weren't bothered by it, or indeed by anything else. The one sitting closest to Witts was another Rilgarian and looked ready for the beach instead of a holovision recording. On the far side of the sofa was a man of indeterminate species, a grey-skinned humanoid at least, done up in a fancy suit of armour and a helmet that covered all of his head except his mouth. The giant yellow star light on his chest was a flashy touch. Probably some kind of elaborate mascot, or something. There was a lot of that in this part of the galaxy.

A trio of sound guys came over and fixed clip-on mics to their collars, although they had trouble with Mr. Armour, who ultimately did it himself. The host had already been set up, and was getting one last gussy up from Avery. Witts made a point of trying not to catch her eye.

These two - Mr. Armour and Beach Man - they knew what they are doing. Witts couldn't decide if that made things better. If anything it might have been worse, since now Witts was the only one who didn't have a clue what they were doing, and soon everyone would be able to tell.

There was a cue from the cameramen, and a countdown to start.

Oh stars, was it too late to go back to the Suns?

At another cue the audience started applauding and cheering as the cameras rolled live, sending out to the entire galaxy. The host angled himself towards the lead camera.

“Hello! Good evening, morning, and afternoon, to all you lovelies across Solana-!”

Five seconds in and he was already far too chipper for Witts liking. Another blue-skinned alien, what species exactly Witts couldn't recall, and dressed smartly in a colourful suit. He continued with his greetings and rolled smoothly into introducing the three of them.

“Our old favourite Captain Starshield joins us tonight-” Starshield – alias Mr. Armour - gave a friendly little wave and a nod to the audience, “-after his recent excursions vanquishing wrong-doers creeping out from the woodwork of the Shadow Sector.”

Cheers and applause rose up from the crowd. Through the light, Witts dimly saw some of the louder audience members wearing matching grey and yellow star T-shirts, whooping for their hero.

“Professional hoverboarder Skid McMarx,” the host carried on

“'Sup man?”

“-raring to go for the upcoming hoverboard season, but also spill the beans about his plans for his new sports gear chain.”

An even louder roar came up from the crowd, and more fans shouting for him, trying to out-do the Starshield fan-boys from the sounds of it.

“Yes, yes, I know!” The host called, smiling even under the wall of noise. “Exciting, am I right? But that's not all I have for you! A fresh face joins us tonight. The newest ranger in training, say hello to Ranger Cadet, uh...” He checked his cards briefly, “Witts!”

Witts, clueless, spacing out, almost missed their mark, but a surreptitious elbow in the ribs from McMarx got them on track. Taking a cue from them, Witts managed the best smile they could muster and gave a little wave for the cameras and audience. Wincing at their side, McMarx rubbed at his elbow.

To Witts' surprise, another roll of applause rose up from the audience, modest in comparison to Starshield and McMarx. Why there were even applauding Witts had no idea. Probably just being polite.

As the audience calmed down again the host switched gears. “Let's get right to it. Everyone's been dying to hear about our newest Ranger-to-be, but Captain Qwark has been remarkably tight-lipped about it. Witts, our big mystery, tell us about yourself. Word is you're one of those spacer types; what's that like?”

“Well,” Witts, hesitant, began slowly, “it's nothing like living down here planet-side. How do I explain...?

Where did they even begin explaining the spacer life to a planet dweller, someone who probably never left his own world once and stepped out into the beyond?

As Witts tried desperately to think, Qwark loomed at the sidelines trying to silently encourage. The bright green of his suit kept catching Witts from the corner of their eye every time he gestured. The other rangers were back at base no doubt watching from the mega-holoscreen in the break room, laughing probably. They had all been sitting around and arguing over the remote when Witts and Qwark left for the studio.

They took a breath and spoke. “Asides from the obvious, living in space takes a certain kind of discipline you don't normally think about down here. You have to be constantly aware of your supplies – food, water, O2, fuel, – you run out in deep space, you're in trouble.

“There's always that edge of... it's not quite danger, but more an awareness of just how fragile your home can be- a ruptured hull, atmosphere failure, pirate attack.”

In their peripheral vision, Witts could see Starshield nodding along with every word. Good. They were on the right track then. Encouraged, Witts went on.

“I don't mean to make it sound like it's all bad, it isn't. People wouldn't live in space if it was. I find it peaceful out there, especially with the right people, and you're always moving. I've lost count of how many different places I've visited now.”

That seemed to satisfy the host. He was smiling. That must have been a good sign, even if it was all teeth.

“Perhaps you can answer a question for me, then? Starshield too, you're both the spacing type. The crew and I have been talking, arguing really, about it recently. Apparently some people think you can only be a true spacer if you weren't born planet-side. What do you make of that?”

Ah, that age-old argument. It didn't matter where you were, it flared up from one end of the galaxy to the other and via every space-going species imaginable.

“I think if you've spent most of your life in space, you can call yourself a spacer. I'm safe, anyway. I was born in a transport ship going between planets. No stations for me.”

“Must've been hard on your mom that, with no hospital, I mean,” McMarx said, almost grimacing at the thought of it.

“Wouldn't know. I don't remember it, and I never knew my mother. My dads raised me. I would say ask them, but good luck trying to get a signal to reach them.”

“I think I'd agree with that,” Starshield said, with another firm nod of his head. His arms were crossed almost contemplatively in front of the star in his chest. “Also, you bring up a good point about getting a signal in space. Sometimes I'm so far out there, I don't hear from anyone for days-”

The host exclaimed at that, something about not being able to imagine being cut off for so long, and the two went back and forth for a while, McMarx acting as a sort of referee.

If it took the attention away from Witts then they were happily all for it. Let that blinding spotlight shine upon someone else for a while.

Witts didn't come around until, with a start, they realised the host was addressing them again.

“And I must say, you're looking remarkably swish, cadet. We do so love a Ranger in uniform here, the cameras love our boys and girls in blue!”

Qwark insisted Witts wear the formal Ranger dress for the evening. Something about formality and keeping up good appearances. It had been about the only useful advice he supplied. “Just as well. I've been told my uniforms are what suit me best.”

“How about it, Captain? Fancy getting a suit like that for yourself?”

Starshield leaned forwards for a better look at Witt's uniform. “Navy isn't my colour, Anthony. Give me a suit of grey, and I'll be happy.”

“With a star, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“What about you, Skid? How about it?”

“Me? Aw, no, you kidding?! I'm a boarder for life, my man, suits just aren't my thing. I leave that to my sponsors, you know?”

With that, their host, Anthony as it turned out, spoke with McMarx on a tangent for a while. Witts did their best to not look like they were zoning out again, but of course Anthony eventually came back to them. Witts snapped back right in the middle of his sentence.

“-and, of course, we all wish you the very best of luck with it, and are looking forward to the day you are officially Ranger number four!”

“Five.” Witts said, bluntly. “I'll be Ranger number five.”

Anthony stared blankly for a moment before his obnoxious laugh and smile kicked in, like a poorly tuned reflex. “...Oh yes! So you will be! Forgot about that tech guy you folks have.”

“Doctor Nefarious, yeah, although he's Ranger number three. Cora is fourth.”

“Ah, little Cora.” He nodded sagely. “Seemed just like yesterday she debuted right here with us. How's she doing? Grown at all much?”

Laughter came rolling down from the audience. For a brief instant Witts also felt like laughing.

“I haven't known her all that long, but probably not, no.”

More laughter from the audience. So long as they weren't laughing at Witts, it was fine. If Cora was watching, and she likely was, Witts wagered she would get over it... eventually. They should maybe expect some grief about it when they got back to base.

“Plenty of time to get to know your new team, plenty of time. Just gotta stay outta trouble in the meantime, am I right?”

“That's the idea.”

There was a waving from one of the cameramen. One of them held up all their fingers. Anthony rolled into some waffling gossip with the three of them, and then shortly afterwards, he turned back to the cameras.

“We'll be right back, and finding out just what exactly a pro-hoverboarder gets up to when he's not boarding. See you soon!”

After more applause there was another round of thumbs-up from the cameramen, meaning that must be the feed set to ads.

About damn time.

Witts all but scurried off stage and out the nearest fire exit. It was already propped open; the Cazar stylist from earlier was out back, leaning against the wall and smoking. If Witts wasn't so busy they'd do the same.

With one smooth move their hand dived into their pocket and pulled their personal phone out. They thumbed the autodial and waited. It was picked up on the second buzz.

“I had a feeling you would call. You weren't looking so great.”

Hearing Lynch's voice was like a concentrated shot of re-assurance straight to the spine; Witts breathed again. How was it possible to miss the sound of someone's voice after only half a month?

“Boss, I don't think I can do this.”

“Come now Witts, I know it's your first time on holovision, but you're doing just swell all things considering. I've seen far worse, believe me.”

Witts shook their head helplessly. “I'm not built for this sort of thing. Everyone'll be laughing at me.” The public, the galaxy, the other Rangers, their own brother too probably. But that was to be expected from him.

“Tell them to fuck off-” Witts snorted, “-or, since they're feeling so high and mighty, tell them to do it. Everyone thinks it's easy until they actually try it out themselves.” Lynch sighed through the line. Witts drummed a beat on their thigh.

“What do I do, boss?”

“You listen, and you trust me, as you've always done.

“The worst is over now, isn't it? They got their fill of you, they'll focus primarily on Starshield and McMarx now, for a time. Keep breathing, and at least play at paying attention. Think of it in terms of an infiltration assignment. You were always good at those. You have been assigned a role, now play to it. Only another hour or so. Manageable.”

An infiltration assignment... why didn't they think of that?! It seemed so obvious now!

“Yes, boss. ...Before I go, how bad do the scars look? Be honest with me.”

It shouldn't have been possible, but Witts felt they could feel Lynch smile through the phone. “They aren't bad. Most we can't even see under the lights there. Your lip and eye scars will give you a sense of ruggedness and intrigue, think of it like that. People enjoy mystery. You look good, and when your brain says otherwise, don't listen to it.”

“...thanks, Sylvia.”

“Anytime, Olya. I'll message you later, and remember, the Suns and I will always have your back.”

Much relieved, Witts pocketed their phone and took a deep breath of cool night air to re-invigorate themselves. If Commander Lynch believed they could do it, then that must be worth something. At the very least, Witts could make a good swing at it, if not for themselves then for the Suns. For Sylvia.

Witts headed back inside at a pace; the ads wouldn't last forever.

“Where have you been?” Qwark said sharply as Witts passed. “The show's about to start up!”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming.”

They sat down pretty much just in time, the camera already rolling into gear and Anthony gesturing gaily to his audience.

They could do this. It would all be fine. Relax. The hardest part was over, just as Lynch said, and everyone would be more interested in McMarx and Starshield now anyway, at least for a while. Everything would be fine.

It still couldn't be over fast enough, but now it was at least manageable.

“Oh, they are useless at this!” Brax exclaimed, practically shouting, “They're almost as bad as you were, doc, and that's saying something!”

“Gee, thanks,” Nefarious muttered sarcastically, his fist jammed into his cheek as he leaned into the sofa armrest. Brax, with his thickset muscular width and his penchant for man-spreading, took up the entire other half of the sofa.

Nefarious didn't want to be there, preferring to be at home having some much needed peace so he could watch the show by himself - apparently Starshield was on tonight - but Brax strong-armed him into coming along, saying they all had to support the newest addition to the team.

“I never knew it was possible for someone to look so uncomfortable,” Cora said from her spot cross-legged on the floor. She leaned forward. “Looks like she's gonna throw up.”

On-screen Witts, white as a sheet, bore a visibly pained smile that didn't reach their eyes, Nefarious noticed. That, and they were hardly the picture of comfort. Where McMarx lounged most casually and Starshield relaxed in a polite manner, Witts sat with their back almost ram-rod straight, as if in school, and their clenched fists resting stiffly on their knees.

Oh yes, Witts was killing it, and not in a good way.

And then the host went and put Cora at number three spot and Nefarious' mood soured further. He dug his already tight fist deeper into his cheek. Once again he had been forgotten, not just in general but his name too. Being the actual Ranger number three, tech genius, smartest man in the entire Rangers, just wasn't good enough for these people. He was so rarely remembered.

At least the cadet made the effort – Witts corrected the host on both his name and his place. It was more than most people. Qwark, Brax and Cora were the only Rangers most people cared about.

Nefarious drifted off in thought. If this new cadet kept proving to be capable and display intelligence, and with some careful moulding on his own part, he might just have a half decent ally on his side eventually. It could be two against three, instead of just one.

Laughter from both the studio audience and Brax brought Nefarious back around. Apparently some joke had been made. Brax was shaking Cora's shoulder at the jab about her height, or lack thereof. She smacked his hand away and shuffled further along the floor away from his reach. She shuffled so far along that Nefarious was forced to sit with his legs drawn up to his chest just so she wouldn't inevitably shove them out of her way.

This was why he preferred to watch the holovision at home. Alone. In peace.

The show cut to ads whilst the other two were annoying each other, and by extension him, and when it came back the host went right into talking to McMarx about his new sports gear shop he was planning. Nefarious heaved a great sigh and rolled his eyes. Who cared about any of that? Put Starshield on!

The rest of the evening passed in an anxious blur as Anthony bounced between the three of them, but to Witts' relief he did in fact talk to the other two for a while. Good. Time to breathe, collect the thoughts. Maybe a chance to relax... no, there wouldn't be any relaxation until they were back at base, safe and secure in the privacy of their own quarters, with the door locked and their headphones on. Drown the galaxy under a wall of sound.

As a final piece of entertainment as the night drew to a close, everyone was treated to a live performance from some band or another with their new hit single.

They were alright; not exactly to Witts' taste. The focus was all on the band now anyway, and that was what mattered. When they finished and the cameras finally cut for the last time, Witts shot up and headed off-stage, bypassing everyone hanging around the sidelines and heading straight for the exit.

Qwark, who no doubt wanted to spend time schmoozing, was forced to follow. Outside, Witts leaned with their back against his sky-car, waiting impatiently.

“Do you have to be go fast?” He said, the moment he was close enough.

“I could go faster, if you like. I'll make sure to run next time.”

Qwark only gave them a sour look before finally unlocking the car and hopping in. Witts happily followed suit and buckled up. With grumbles from both the engine and the pilot, they rose off into the air and leisurely left the lot.

Darkness descended fully onto the city, where it was not lit up with life. With the situation finally over and done with, the anxiety slowly receded only to be replaced with tiredness and anger. Not realising until now just how much tension their body had been holding, Witts rolled their shoulders.

“Captain,” they said, gruffly.

“Yes, Wittsy?”

If Qwark wasn't too busy keeping his eyes on the lanes – ever busy, did this city ever rest? - Witts would have stared him down, look right into his soul if possible. “Never, ever, ever, make me do that again.”

Qwark only chuckled. Damn. Tone of voice didn't work on him. “Oh, come on, was it really that bad? Sure, you don't even nearly have the same charm and charisma as yours truly, but for a cadet's first time it was-”

“Awful. I am never going back, and no amount of contractual obligations can make me.”

“Technically, the debut interview in the only one you have to attend. All the others are suggestions, but-”

“And suggestions they can remain. I have better things to be doing than putting up with this degrading pageantry. I came here to train and to learn, not be paraded for the people's amusement.”

Qwark had nothing to say to that, which was just as well for Witts was in no mood for any further conversation. Silence, however, was something Qwark couldn't tolerate for long, for soon her perked up again with a voice sounding falsely chipper. “I don't know about you, Wittsy, but I am starving! There's a Galaxy Burger 'round here. What do you say?”

“Yeah, sure,” Witts said flatly, unable to care less.

This day couldn't end soon enough.

Having a warm bag of food to warm your lap was one thing, but then having to hand feed Qwark his fries as he piloted was another, and it took Witts all their restraint in fighting the urge to shove his burger whole into his mouth, wrapper and all, for the evening's ordeal. Sure, they may have crashed out of the sky in his panic, but it would have been funny.

At least Lynch supplied moral support. Witts' phone had been silently vibrating in their pocket all evening without a good chance to read her messages until now. All more encouragement and reassurance that they were doing well. Except for the most recent, which simply said, “Also, you forgot your cap and sunglasses before you left. I found them the other day, and am having them shipped out to you.”

Witts replied, “Thanks. Had a feeling I did. Couldn't find them in my bag. Sun here's been bothering me, not acclimatised to planet side yet.”

“I still believe you should get checked again for photophobia. When we were last on deployment, you were complaining about the sun there too.”

“Only because I had been in space for so long. My eye will come around soon enough. Won't hurt to get looked at, I suppose. If it stops you fretting over me.”

They soon touched down at HQ, and they were out in the cool evening air again. Witts fished their own food out from the bag as they passed into the Hall of Heroes.

They took a turn for the stairs when Qwark called out to them. “Where do you think you're going?”

“To the roof. I want to be by myself for a while.”

Cora, Brax, and Nefarious were still lounging around in the break room even after Friday Night Live finished. Nefarious planned to head home the minute it did, but then Brax found Annihilation Nation highlights on another channel, and Nefarious could never say no to that. Watching idiots getting their asses kicked for all the galaxy to see never lost its charm.

To their mutual surprise, Qwark eventually wandered in with a Galaxy Burger bag in one hand and a milkshake in the other. And no sign of Witts.

“Hey!” Cora called, “Where's the newbie gone?”

“Up to the roof.” Qwark muttered, and bit off half his burger in one go. He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I dunno. They didn't seem too happy. Probably just hungry after being in the studio for so long.”

Brax jumped up and swiftly pulled Cora and Nefarious to their feet. “Come on, let's find them!”

He had entirely too much energy for this time of evening. Nefarious would never get home at this rate. He didn't get the chance to slip away either, between Brax leading the way and Cora pushing him along from behind, her fingers jabbing into his sides whenever he let up.

Up several sets of stairs later the three were up on the roof. True as Qwark said, for once, Witts was there, lounging against the waist high barrier with their back to them, looking out over the city.

“Yo!” Brax called.

Witts cast a sullen glare over their shoulder, realised it was three of them, and went right back to watching the skyline. Under the wind, Nefarious heard a faint, irritated sounding grumble from them.

Brax, dim as always and unperturbed, walked right on up beside them anyway, Cora following him. Unwilling to yet again be the awkward one out, Nefarious joined them.

“What do you all want?” Witts said, looking at them all again, briefly, before tapping away the ash built up on the end of their cigarette and taking a long inhale of it.

“You smoke?” Cora asked, eyes narrow.

Nefarious rolled his eyes at the stupidity. Obviously Witts smoked, they were doing so right now!

“Sometimes,” Witts said. “Only when I'm stressed out.”

“Don't let Helga catch you. They'll throw the packet over the edge then make you run laps around the building.”

The dull tone in Witts' voice didn't change. “Duly noted.” They went right back to smoking and staring out across the city. A Galaxy Burger meal sat near their elbow, untouched.

Predictably enough Cora and Brax soon get bored when it became clear Witts didn't want to talk about the evening, no matter how much they pressed, and they wandered off – Cora back to the rec room most likely, and Brax home.

Savouring the relative quiet up on the roof, Nefarious stayed put, if only to soothe his frayed nerves for a moment.

Witts soon noticed. They offered up the packet to him and gave it a shake. “You want one?”

Nefarious considered the packet, but ultimately waved a hand in dismissal. “Not for me, no. I used to in university, for a while, but it's an expensive habit to keep up.”

The packet disappeared into a pocket. “Fair enough.” Witts breathed a fresh cloud of smoke, only for it to be swiftly carried away by the wind. “Do you want something?”

“I want lots of things. A pay rise, an actual laboratory, a competent boss, to name a few... but I get the feeling I'm talking to the wrong person about securing those.”

“They're not exactly within my control, yeah.”

Nefarious sighed. “No, I was only watching the sky-line before I go. Enjoying the quiet while it lasts.”

“It's nice up here, yeah, even if the city doesn't stop.” Witts shuffled about and tapped more ash away. “...Does it ever stop?”

“No.”

A city of more than a billion people was never - could never - be quiet, but there there was no-one up here to bother him with incessant chatter or irritating laughter, no obnoxious HV hosts or colleagues getting on his nerves. Only the wind blowing through countless high rise towers, the ever-constant grumble of traffic, and the sighing of another cloud of smoke being blown into the night.

Somewhere far away, the sirens of a patrol ship went screaming by, the high pitched cry soon drowned out amongst the towers.

Witts flicked the glowing stub of their cigarette out into the night. It spun end over end and vanished into the clouds below. “Wait... you mean... that's your actual lab, that cupboard down the stairs?”

Thinking about it made him wish he had taken the offered cigarette. Nefarious sighed. “Yes. That is my actual genuine lab where I am expected to make my miracles on a weekly basis.”

Witts stared at him, disbelief etched upon their scarred face. “I thought that was just a temporary room whilst a proper space was being set up for you, or something.”

“No. I wish that was the case, but it's not. The 'broom closet' is my lab and office,” he rolled his eyes as an old saying came unbidden in his mind. “Home away from home.”

There was another silence between them, and then, “That sucks.”

“You've no idea,” Nefarious agreed.

Chapter Text

The enemy trio of fighters broke off into different directions. Having whittled down the group from eight to now three, Witts pursued the slowest of the survivors through the debris field. A scatter burst of rocket fire clipped the rear of the ship, not enough to disable but it slowed. The exhaust sputtered; the engine must have taken damage.

Another enemy fighter swooped in to assist, but it was too slow. Witts pressed their attack, and with another burst of rocket fire enemy fighter number seven was history. The hopeful rescuer turned sharply to avoid the debris and shot off in another direction. Witts pursued, angling their head as they did for that last enemy fighter. Where had they disappeared to? The swirling debris field made tracking via scanner a nightmare.

A sharp alert from the controls brought Wits forward facing and they very narrowly avoided the shredded remains of an earlier destroyed fighter. Cursing, Witts re-adjusted to their previous pursuit course but by then the fighter circled and was bearing down upon them.

Another alert sounded. Enemy weapons fire from behind.

Witts couldn't angle their Star Jumper out of the way from the oncoming fighter fast enough and avoid the rear enemy fire at the same time. One missile rushed by – a hairs breadth away – and the another struck the Jumper's right wing directly. The strike jostled Witts in the pilot's seat. The enemy from behind raced by, little more than a blur.

The onboard computer very helpfully relayed details of the damage just as weapons fire from the fighter in front was released. With a damaged wing there was no way to avoid it. Despite a last futile barrage of gunfire, the incoming missiles still found their mark head-on. A direct hit.

Witt's Star Jumper was effectively destroyed.

Another computerised voice, different from the first and far too calm, spoke serenely over the clamour of rending metal and explosive decompression.

“Exercise failed. Simulation terminated.”

“Damn it!”

As the simulated enemy fighters and ship debris faded away to be replaced with a neutral star field, Witts swore and thumped the controls of the simulator.

This was the seventh time this week they failed this exercise.

Everything had been going so well. The first couple dozen flight training exercises had been straightforward, almost easy, dare Witts to say.

Now they had flown straight into a brick wall. Going from a dogfight against five opponents with one ally was doable; surviving and fighting solo an ambush of eight enemy fighters was just getting thrown in at the deep end whilst wearing heavy armour by comparison.

Everything started going wrong after that terrible evening on Friday Night Live. That was the cause. Must have been.

Almost two weeks had passed since then, and Witts almost literally refused to leave the base that first weekend despite Cora's protests they needed a better wardrobe and the sooner they got it the better. The only things Witts did leave for were missions – of which there had only been another two, one of which a false alarm – and morning coffee runs which, as the new blood, Witts had no choice but to go.

They may or may not have been avoiding other people, judgemental civilians especially, at all costs, depending on who was asked.

Was it childish? Very probably.

Did they carry on regardless? Absolutely.

It was during this time that Witts finally realised that Anthony hadn't even asked about their time in the Suns at all – despite that making up their entire career and around a third of their life.

It would have been a perfect opportunity to talk up the Suns, help make those connections in bigger circles the higher ups were so keen for, spread the company name around where all the big jobs were. Damn it, why couldn't they have focussed instead of getting so wound up their over personal issues?

Witts thumped the pilot's seat, but there was no force behind it. They only sighed and knuckled their brow. There was nothing to be done about it now. There was only the next time, the next opportunity. Next time, they could do better.

For the Sun's sake, they would.

Witts jumped and swore again when someone banged on the hull of the simulator. A muffled voice called out to them.

“Out you come, cadet!”

Witts opened the hatch and blinked wearily into the light – how long had they been inside? - to find Helga staring down at them.

“Helga?”

“Who else! The time for moping has past, little squishy! Out you come, you have a fitness exam to take and I will not take no for an answer. Qwark is occupied; Brax and Cora are on deployment. There will be no distraction!”

Reaching into the sim, Helga grabbed Witts by their uniform collars and promptly hauled them out.

Once in the gym Helga shooed away the other instructors and their charges. Witts came out from the changing room into a gym almost ominously empty and quiet. Even the music had been turned off. Oh, Helga really meant business then. There would be no distractions.

Good. Perhaps a workout was what Witts was needing to distract from the maelstrom within.

Helga turned to them, datapad in hand.

“Ready to be worked to the bones, crushed under the observation of an all-seeing Valkyrie?”

“Yes, m-”

Witts stopped, trying to recall what the others called Helga. Sir? Ma'am? Some kind of Valkyrie honorific? They couldn't actually recall anything being used, only Helga's name. Either their recent distractions had dulled their powers of observation severely, or they had been spending too much time in the sim and not enough in the gym.

Probably both.

“Yes what?” Helga pressed, eyes narrow.

“Yes, Helga?”

“Ha! Good! You have not fallen into the trap like the child and the string bean have done!”

After some initial stretches, Helga motioned them over to a waiting floor mat.

“What trap do you mean?” Witts said, kneeling, waiting for instruction.

“Push-ups, cadet, as many as possible in a minute. Others think with this strong chest and deceptively alluring voice, that makes me a lady, but no! I once was, yes, but no more. Gender is an artificial construct, restrictive and limiting, with no true purpose but to sort into arbitrary categories. I wager it's a marketing scam. Why else would they divide clothing in stores?”

Minute complete, Witts took their brief rest and then switched to sit-ups.

“You say your father told you of the Valkyries. Detail the schism between the men and the women following the destruction of the home-world.”

Witts would never have guessed this would turn out to be a fitness exam and history quiz rolled into one package. In between breaths, Witts gave their answer.

“After the Valkyrie home-world was destroyed following a supernova, the survivors banded together and travelled the Polaris galaxy, heading for one of the colonies-”

“Which colony? No credit for vague answers, cadet!”

Witts grunted, trying to recall the bedtime stories Maxwell would tell them and Stephen as children. “Uhh, it's Vapedia, wasn't it?”

“It was. ...Time. Rest, and then treadmill.”

After catching their breath, they joined Helga at the waiting machine. Witts settled into a warm-up jog and continued with their answer.

“Yeah, so they were on their way to Vapedia, but on the way the men and the women argued over something and eventually split ways. I don't remember what about, my memory is a bit fuzzy.”

“Directions.”

“Ma- Helga?”

Helga kicked the speed of the machine up a few notches, their finger jabbing the controls as the words fell out of them.

“We split over directions! Our star maps were damaged, incomplete, and in their overconfidence – hubris! - in navigating, the men felt no need in the slightest to ask for direction to the colony. Folly! They almost directed the fleet into a black hole, the idiots!

“As punishment, they were banished from the fleet – all of them – and sent out on there own, and the women continued themselves to Vapedia, largest and grandest of the colonies. But did they ask for directions either?”

It took Witts a moment to realise Helga wasn't being rhetorical. “They didn't?”

“They did not! What should have taken days at most took us years! Years, cadet! Our glorious leader in her own idiocy never bothered for directions either; who was the bigger fool, the men or the women? Bah!”

By this point Helga had Witts rest again following their run, and then they switched onto the stationary cyclers.

“Our glorious leader...” Helga's gaze drifted off, where exactly Witts couldn't see, and then they swore in a language Witts didn't recognise. “I was so embarrassed, furious even, with her after that. We never agreed on anything afterwards, even after arriving at the colony.”

Witts wondered if Helga even realised they were still talking aloud to themselves about it, but they didn't dare shift their focus from cycling lest they be shouted at.

“That's why I came here, cadet!” Helga snapped back to. If Witts hadn't been so busy concentrating, they would have jumped. “The Valkyries were of no use; they could not be salvaged. So I sought new work in Solana, found work as a trainer for Qwark – he was such a shapeless lump then, you should have seen him – and now I train the rest of you too. I'd like to see the look on my ex's face now! Cass never could stand-”

Witts turned sharply like a magnet in their direction. “You're married?!”

Helga sharply slapped their datapad off the top of Witt's head. “Was married! Use your ears! Correct your form and pick up your jaw, you half machine cretin! This isn't summer camp!”

Witts huffed. Only a few hundred meters left to go now.

“But nevermind the Valkyries now. You and the scaly one – Brax – you both have the right idea, you need only to push it further. Disregard the limitations of gender and free your potential, as I have. And if the captain ever neglects checking for directions, no matter how trivial, punch him on my behalf!”

Now that Witts could quite happily do. “Yes, Helga!”

“Good! That's enough, onto the pull-ups. Get to it!”

About an hour later Witts was finally released from Helga's clutches. The final leg of their exam was a timed run on the outdoor fitness and obstacle course. Created by Qwark and Helga both, it was designed to test every aspect of a Ranger – their strength, agility, stamina. Any physical quality worth having was measured here.

It was the first time Witts had taken a timed run of the course, Helga watching from the air via air-taxi, and by the time they both circled back around the start Helga simply told them their exam was complete and to shower off.

Did they pass? What was their score? And their final time?

The only reply Helga gave was a hmph, before they went back inside. Maybe such things just needed compiling first. It was a rather comprehensive exam.

Witts trudged back inside to shower and change into a fresh uniform. Leaving their hair to air dry, they went off in direction of the canteen, checking their work phone as they went.

Huh.

A ping from Nefarious. What was he after?

“Heard Helga dug you out of the flight sim,” his message read. “Whenever you're done, come to my office. Bring lunch.”

Lunch sat at the forefront of Witts' mind regardless, and it didn't matter to them where they ate, only so long as they did. Maybe Nefarious wanted to talk about that new prosthetic Qwark told him to make. They hadn't heard anything about it for a while now.

With a lunch tray in each hand, Witts slumped along to the doctor's shoebox of a lab. It would make a change from eating in their own office.

A series of thuds at the door broke Nefarious from his trance of scanning through endless computer code, and then a muffled voice called through.

“Hey, doctor, could you get the door for me? My hands are full.”

It was only the cadet. They must have gotten his message. Nefarious thumbed the remote open for the door, and Witts stepped inside.

Nefarious half turned in his chair. “Ah, there you are. I was starting to wonder if you got my message.”

“I was having my fitness exam with Helga,” Witts said, as they moved further into the room and handed him a lunch tray. Good, he was starving.

“And you can still move after that?!”

“...Yeah?”

After his last fitness exam, Nefarious practically collapsed on the floor. He still wasn't sure how he managed to scrape by with a passing grade. Gym had never been his thing in school, and it was perhaps even less so as an adult.

Perhaps humans were just built different, although the only other specimen available for comparison was that freak of nature Qwark, and by the man's own admission no-one could compare to him.

“Huh. That's pretty much a passing grade in itself then.”

Witts eased down into a spare chair. “I hope so. Helga didn't say anything after we were done.”

That was just Helga's way. Their answer was either immediate or it arrived after several business days.

He eyed the cadet. Their hair was still damp, and their uniform hid their body, but it didn't hide the bulk of their musculature, or the contraction of their right bicep every time they lifted their hand, or the sheer size and swell of their thighs. Thighs like that could probably crush a Pokitaran watermelon....

Honestly, what were they even worrying about?

“Cadet, if I can somehow do it, then you certainly can.” Nefarious took a generous bite of his food. “What did Helga quiz you on?”

“Valkyrie history. Do they quiz everyone during the exam?”

“Yes. It's not enough they try to kill us with a physical, but we have to stretch our brains too for no other reason except their amusement.”

Such were the demands of being a Ranger. Sometimes it was almost more effort than it was worth. The sleepless night after countless collective hours of overtime certainly made it feel like it.

“Mm,” was all Witts had to say to that, and the two tucked into their lunch, a highlight reel from Annihilation Nation playing over the largest monitor in the office.

Eventually they finished eating, and Witts spoke, “So, what was it you were wanting to talk to me about? I assume you didn't just want your lunch delivered.”

“I need your opinion on a few things.” Setting his tray aside he rolled over to a workbench and picked up the skeletal construct of Witts' new prosthetic. He rolled back over and held it out to them. “It's bare bones and wiring, but I want to ensure everything is correct before I build it up properly.”

Double check measurements, whether it had all the basic requirements Witts needed, and so on and so forth. What he really needed was to make sure what electronics already put into place would sync up correctly with the rest of their cybernetics.

Witts took it gently from his hands. “Oh, you've built this much already?”

“I've been working on and off it between all my other work. It has actually proved something of a beneficial distraction when I hit a roadblock on my other designs.”

Like that stupid rocket launcher. He still couldn't get the auto targeting to work as he wanted, which meant a complete redesign and rebuild. The thing was currently dissembled in its entirety and waiting as he finalized blueprints for the next iteration, however long that would take. He'd never hear the end about it from Qwark at this rate.

“Well, it's looking good so far,” Witts said, inspecting the skeletal arm closely. “You need me to try it on?”

“It would help, yes.”

Nefarious switched between his computer programs to bring up the cybernetic interfacing as Witts swapped arms. He was readying a slim connection cable for connecting arm and computer when a strained sounding laugh caught his ear.

“Oho, I can feel that up my spine, ahaa!”

He turned. Squirming in their chair, Witts left fist clenched and their shoulders rode up. Their right hand, skeletal as it was, twitched and spasmed exactly like a real hand in pain.

“I take it that's not supposed to happen?”

“Aaaah, no, not at all!” They inhaled deeply through their nose. An eyelid twitched. “Yeah. This definitely needs some calibrating, doctor.”

“Right. I can fix that. Don't rip this cable out.”

Witts offered up their still twitching right hand; Nefarious took a firm hold and linked it up to his computer, the cable trailing from a port midway up the inside of their forearm like an IV for robots.

The monitors lit up brightly with the various data readouts the link-up provided. Somewhere in the scrolling data was the problem. Without taking his eyes from the screen as he skimmed through it all, he questioned Witts.

“What does it feel like?”

“Specify.”

“The arm. What exactly is it doing to you? Electrocution? How bad?”

“Yes and no. Actual electrocution is especially dangerous for me with all the metal and shit in me. This is, aaahh, this is more like exceedingly uncomfortable electric pulses I can feel with my whole skeleton. Ow. And my nerves. If I wasn't sore after my exam, I will be after this.”

Nefarious hummed in acknowledgement as he continued to scan. One of his specialities was robotics. Cybernetics, though it was brushed upon in his uni course, wasn't his thing. Oh, he could absolutely make a metal and wire arm, no problem. Attach it to a robot? Easy.

Attach a metal and wire limb to a flesh and blood organic being? No, thank you. It was never straightforward, even for the actual cybernetics professionals. At least the professionals had done the messy, gory parts; this was practically cosmetics by comparison.

Biology never was simple like robotics. Not nearly as clean either.

“You could try Kelvin-”

“I'll figure it out,” Nefarious said sharply.

He hadn't needed help since university. He could have been a lecturer if he wanted; he had been teaching himself robotics since childhood and by the time university came he already knew as much or even more than some of his teachers. He just needed the qualifications out of it. No-one hires you if you don't have a degree.

This matter of cybernetics wasn't too great a problem, not really. The arm moved, albeit erratically. It responded to the body, it spoke with it. It just wasn't fully there yet. It just needed those last little corrections and it would be good to go.

He compared his schematic to Witts' current prosthetic lying next to his keyboard.

Electric pulses; erratic movement, little manual control....

Sounded like a connection issue coupled with not enough insulation. That, and it would need proper calibrating, but that could wait until the thing was actually working as it should.

He turned to Witts, still watching with almost pained fascination as their hand continued to flex unnaturally. “Give it back.”

Witts more than happily handed the limb over.

Comparing it with the original, Nefarious inspected the connectors. One of the power pins was back-to-front. Now that wouldn't help. As it was, it would be trying to give power instead of taking it. The body supplied power to the prosthetic, not the other way around – with even one pin wrong both would try to power the other, but a few tweaks should fix that. It was a ten second fix, tops.

It was always the little things.

“Try it again. There may still be some slight tingling, but that's only because the proper insulation won't be in place until I actually start building it up.”

Witts made their own inspection of the connecting end, and then shoved it home. They rolled their shoulder, and clenched their metal fist. There was none of the shaking and twitching of before. With something like a pleased hum, Witts flexed each of their skeletal fingers.

“Much better, doctor. Moves smoother, and it's not buzzing my skeleton.”

They ran through some basic co-ordination and mobility tests, rolling the wrist around and touching each finger tip to their thumb, Nefarious undertaking system calibrations as they did.

“Yeah, I'd say this is good and ready to go on for building, doc.”

“Good,” was all Nefarious had to say as he took the arm back once more and placed it upon his workbench.

He expected them to leave. All he needed from them that day was done. They no doubt had their own work to be doing; the cadet didn't exactly strike him as a slacker unlike certain other people in the corp.

“So... how's your rocket launcher coming along? The one you were testing that time Brax and I were at the firing range a while ago.”

“Still working on it.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder roughly in direction of the thing, lying around in two dozen pieces. “Not right now. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Witts echoed. From behind him, he could hear the creaking of their chair; they were probably trying to get a better look at it.

“Smart man like you, I'm sure you'll figure out what's needed to get it working as it should.”

“I already know. It needs to be bigger to accommodate the superior targeting system I found the other day, and since I'm rebuilding it bigger, I may as well work extra barrels into it.”

“An even bigger multi-launcher? There won't be much that could stand up to a barrage from that.”

“No. There won't be, once it's complete.”

He turned away from his keyboard to look at Witts, and then the dissembled weapon.

“...Most people aren't usually interested in the finer details of my work. Everyone just wants to know about the end product and how soon it'll be in their hands so that they can use it. Sometimes they don't even wait that long to try it out themselves.”

“I used to spend a lot of time in the R&D and engineering departments back in the Suns,” Witts said, when he trailed off. “Mostly for my cybernetics, but also staying on positive terms with the people in charge of weapons and maintenance is a good idea. Don't want to piss off the wrong people, know what I mean?”

Nefarious laughed dryly. “Perhaps you could encourage that sentiment in our colleagues. They haven't gotten the memo yet.” He turned back to his work.

“Right. ...Say, Nefarious...?”

He was mutely surprised the cadet was still here in his lab. If it had been any of the other senior Rangers, they would surely have left by now, or much earlier.

“Yeah?”

“Got a question for you. Something I've been wondering for a while now, but I don't really know how to word it, uh-”

“You could just try spitting it out. That's what everyone else here does.”

“That's kind of what I mean. You and the rest of the squad. What's... well, what's going on there?”

He breathed sharply through his nose, and pulled back from his keyboard. “So, you've noticed, then.”

“I've come to notice that, hmm, certain people here aren't perhaps treated as equally as others. The interns, technicians, the cleaning staff, anything and everything that might be considered a support role. Including yourself.”

Nefarious turned sharply on them, his ever-simmering temper flaring. “Especially myself, you mean. If you aren't an action hero leaping around on the front lines and charming the media afterwards with your tales of glory, whether their actually real or not, then you may as well be nothing. There's only two types of people here in the Rangers, cadet: the actual Rangers who shove everyone around, and everyone else.

“The other three are only being nice to you right now because you're still new. They're still trying to figure out exactly where you fit. With them in their select little group, or with the rest of us, with the “little people”. With me.

“Sure, on paper, we're a squad. A team, theoretically. Sometimes in the thick of a mission I can forget all the problems and pretend we all like each other, maybe it is all just in my head, I'm just over-reacting. Then the feeling passes and I remember they do tell me to my face I'm over-reacting, that I'm just being stupid....”

He breathed another sharp sigh and turned back to the monitors with a grimace. He hadn't meant to say that much. Did the cadet need to know exactly what the score was here, how things were arranged? Yes, and who better to tell them than him, the one who bore the brunt of it all. They didn't need to know all that other stuff. All that squishy emotional baggage. For once, maybe he should have done what the captain always suggested after he went off on something, and keep his stupid mouth shut.

“Why stay then?” Came the inevitable question.

In the sleepless hours of countless early mornings, he asked himself the same thing.

When he didn't answer, Witts continued. “Kelvin tells me you are the greatest inventor of a generation. I looked up your record; you were brought into the Rangers fresh out of graduate school and assigned to a squad position and the top engineer role. How many other people can say that?”

Witts stood picked up the skeleton of their future arm. They ran bare fingers along the metal, eyes reflecting blue glints of light from the monitors.

“You have no formal training as a biomedical engineer, yet your first design, not even finished, functions as well as my own current wear. I imagine it will be superior once complete. What inconsequential errors were found were swiftly corrected and it didn't even take you ten minutes. There are some medical groups out there that would quite literally kill, if you'll forgive the irony, to have talent like yours working with them.”

They returned the limb to its place on the bench and took a seat.

“There isn't any group out there who wouldn't want you in their ranks. What do the Rangers offer that make you stay?”

“What do they offer that made you join them?” He said, turning the question back upon them. They still never explained just what it was exactly that brought them here in the first place.

Witts had the look of someone chewing the inside of their cheek as if it owed them answers. They cast a look over their shoulder to the door. Still closed. They turned back to him, and leaned forwards in their chair.

“Can you keep a secret, doctor?”

Oh?

“Sure,” he nodded, and leaned forwards as if anyone would be able to hear their hushed voices in the first place

“I'm actually a spy sent on behalf of the Suns to infiltrate the Rangers and ferret out as many secrets and as much sensitive data as I can and send it on home to high command. We've been operating in the Ranger's shadow for too long, it's time we had the limelight now, but we can only do that if we can get to the good payouts before you people can.”

Nefarious stared at them. Witts stared back, unflinching.

For a few moments more, their face continued to hold its serious edge, the green eyes that seemed so truthful.

And then Witts snorted. The facade broke down and they laughed.

“Oh, get lost, cadet!”

Nefarious shoved their chair away with his foot and they rolled away to the other side of his office. They didn't travel very far. He shook his head as he turned back to his computer, trying to get rid of the silly half smile on his face. It wasn't even that good a joke!

“Did I really have you?! I'm just messing with you, doc! I'm not a spy, and stars have pity on anyone who actually mistakes me for a one. I'd make a terrible spy. I don't have the social skills for it.”

“I know,” Nefarious drawled, “we all saw you on Friday Night Live.”

“Oh, don't remind me. I'm still annoyed about that.”

“You were as bad as I was, pretty much.”

“At least I'm not alone then, in that regard.”

Witts slapped their thighs and stood. “Right then. I suppose I've distracted you for long enough. I'll let you get on with your work. Good luck with your projects. I'll see you later.”

“Right, yes. Goodbye.”

Witts left.

Nefarious wouldn't have minded too much really, if the other Rangers decided Witts wasn't their type. The two of them seemed to get along just fine, maybe he would have that friend he wanted.

They were actually polite for one thing; they didn't call him stupid nicknames, or put down his work.

Yeah, this could work.

Barely a minute passed and someone was knocking at his door again. In stepped Witts.

“Alright, I know I said I wouldn't distract you,” they said, as they took their chair again, “but everyone else is busy or on deployment right now, and I just have to talk to someone about it before I forget.”

“About what?”

“Did you know Helga used to be married?”

Nefarious' fingers stalled over the keyboard. His head swivelled in Witts' direction. “Our Helga? Are you sure? They don't seem the type.”

“That's what I thought! I thought Helga was a career type, married to the job and all that.”

“I know they've dated a few people, but I would never have guessed about marriage. Did you know Helga and Qwark had a thing for a while? I don't care to think about it, but-”

It wasn't for another two hours until Witts finally left Nefarious' office again. He didn't get much work done with all the gossip, but Witts did assist in the start of building up the new prosthetic. That had to count for something. If the other Rangers decided they really didn't want them, maybe he could take them on as an assistant? They weren't half bad at it.

Chapter Text

Three and a half hours into a nine hour patrol pattern, and Cora was bored out of her mind. She had been “volunteered” for the lead fighter; Brax had cited other engagements but they all knew he really just wanted to be swinging around the grapplehook course. Witts took the support position.

Neither of them had any say on the matter.

Over team lunch the other day, Witts spoke about their troubles with one the flight sim exercises, and when Qwark stopped shovelling food into his mouth long enough to talk, he had the bright idea of sending them out on patrol duty. When the sim doesn't work, there was always the real thing instead.

Except this was the cadet's very first patrol. An experienced, senior Ranger had to supervise.

And now Cora wanted to faceplant her fighter's controls.

The patrol was everything except interesting, with exactly nothing out of the ordinary within the system. Not that Cora expected to find trouble blipping around the seat of government space, but you could never tell with some lunatics these days. Trouble could appear from nowhere, from right under your nose almost.

Cora had been on enough patrol flights here to know the routes like the back of her hand, long hours spent tailing Brax and wishing even then for some excitement. At least Brax tried to make it fun with his games and races. Sighing, she filled out another entry for the log - no events - and soon her mind began to wander. Routine flights were always the most boring, right up until something exploded and all hell broke loose. It didn't feel like that would happen anytime soon. She supposed she ought to chastise herself for such wishful thinking.

Trying to put her mind back on the job, she turned in her seat to reaffirm Witts' position. Just as they had been an hour ago, and the hour before that, Witts was still to the right and somewhat behind. Cora idly wondered if they deviated even minutely from that position once. Probably not. The cadet had taken to patrol with an almost robot-like precision. Having chunks of metal and circuits in your brain and wires instead of veins probably would do that to a person. Not a pleasant thought.

They were quiet. Not like the other Rangers at all. At least when Cora patrolled alone she had her music, or when with Qwark or Brax, she had someone with plenty similar interests to talk to. Nefarious never went on patrol, too busy in his lab, but they at least knew each other and might have been able to talk. Probably. So long as he shut up about science and robots. Wait, what did he do for fun? Did a guy like that even have hobbies?

Witts seemed to enjoy the silent void of space, keeping all comm chatter strictly related to mission business. It was like going on patrol with a ghost for company. Or a duty-driven machine. Where did Qwark keep finding these people?

Cora shook her head and focussed again on the expanse of space before them. Still no exciting prospects to break up the monotony. Only near endless, organised streams of civilian traffic coming and going from the system.

It would be another twenty minutes until their lunch hour, and it couldn't come fast enough. Her stomach complaining, Cora considered lunch. They were in the outer solar system now, partway between the last two planets. Neither were nowhere near as populated as Kerwan, and were largely just bases for industry and research. Not exactly the most appealing of places for a lunch stop. There were the orbital stations of the last planet, however. Most were refineries and research stations, but a few were recreational; rest stops offering respite for those coming and going from the system. Whenever she and Brax patrolled, they would often spend the lunch hour at one of them.

She opened ship-to-ship comms and voiced her idea to Witts.

“Yeah, sure. Wherever you like.” Even their delivery bordered on robotic. Either the augmentations ran deeper than she first thought, or the cadet was as bored as she was. Cora eventually settled on one of the usual Ranger haunts – a small diner in the leisure ward of Dermacles Station, in high orbit over the icy planet.

As their break and the station approached, Cora radioed HQ to let them know of their plans.

“Hall of Heroes, this is Flight Leader Cora. Patrol all quiet. Proceeding to Dermacles Station for one hour break, acknowledge.”

A tinny, computerised voice promptly came through the comms. “Flight Leader Cora, this is Hall of Heroes. Acknowledged. You are cleared for break.”

“Copy that.”

The communications crew must have swanned off for an early lunch if the robots were answering the space phone. It must have been all quiet on Kerwan too. Maybe the lawbreakers of the galaxy were all on lunch break.

The pair soon docked at the station without fuss. Leaving the Jumpers to refuel, they left the hangar behind them and stretched their legs, Witts still following Cora's lead. She couldn't but notice how they still mimicked the patrol position even now, to the right and back a bit.

The place Cora had in mind was only about five minutes away, and not yet in the throes of a lunch-time rush. Bonus. She went to take the first seat she saw at the front counter, but Witts pulled on her arm.

“Not there.”

Instead Witts directed her a few seats along to the corner.

“Don't know how you can stand to have your back to a door,” Witts said, as they took the nearest chair along the side of the counter. “Do the Rangers teach you anything?”

Cora rolled her eyes. “We're in a diner, cadet, what could possibly happen?”

Witts grumbled and made a face but said nothing else. A server soon came to take their order and the pair waited. Cora spared a few glances around the rest of the diner. It was a quieter day; a couple families with children, a few loners, workers on break huddled over their food and phones. Just the regular members of society. Not like them.

Cora turned back to the counter at the sounds of clinking. Their drinks had arrived – one soda pop and one cold water. She raised a brow at Witts choice.

“Wow. Real adventurous.”

“I don't like carbonated drinks. Don't like the texture of the bubbles, or the taste.”

“What are you, six?” Cora scoffed. Even six year olds liked soda. She first tried some when she was four and was buzzing the rest of the day and bouncing off the walls, or so mom said.

Witts rolled their eyes and took a drink. “You sound like my brother.”

“I didn't know you had siblings.”

“Only one – my younger brother, Stephen, or just Hen as we like to call him. He's the sensible one and decided to go into science, not like me.”

Now it was Cora's turn to roll her eyes. “What's so sensible about science? It's just a bunch of nerds in labs staring at computers all day. It's not even fun.”

“He doesn't get shot at or blown up for one thing.” Witts said, wiggling their mechanical fingers in her direction.

“What did happen to you?” Cora nodded at their right hand. “You haven't said.”

“Well, uh....” The server, with impeccable timing, came back around with their food. Witts only shook their head. “Nevermind, I'll tell you another time.”

The arrival of lunch put a stop to all talk. On the one hand Cora was dying to know what the story behind all the cybernetics was; none the rest of the team knew either. If she could find out first.... But on the other hand, food. Her stomach sang for it.

It wasn't until Cora was about halfway through her burger when something, someone, tapped on her right elbow. She turned to find one of the kids from a nearby markazian family had pulled himself up onto the empty stool beside her, trying to get her attention. He was small, couldn't have been more than five or six.

“Uhm... Excuse me. Are you the Rangers?”

Cora set her food down and turned more fully in the kid's direction, a friendly smile on her face. “Hey there. Yeah, we are.”

The boy sat for a moment absorbing this information. “Cool!” He eventually said, a little starstruck. “Can you- can you sign my puzzles?”

“Of course we can!”

The boy handed over his paper and a crayon. It was only one of the cheap little ones shipped out to restaurants all over the galaxy to go with the equally cheap activity pages to keep kids occupied whilst they ate, but Cora treated it all the same as she would a glossy print and marker.

“What's your name?” she asked, as she readied to write.

“Maika.”

“Maika – that's a great name!” Cora signed in the slim blank space under a maze, and passed the paper along to Witts, although she had to sneakily kick the cadet in the shin to get their attention. Mouth and hands full, Witts only looked blankly at her. Cora gestured more firmly with the crayon and paper, pushing them into their space until they caught on.

In the empty space underneath Cora's name, they signed a simple 'Witts', and passed it back around.

The boy was happy enough, practically ecstatic as he ran back to his family to show off his newly improved puzzle page. The older man – probably the dad – mouthed a thank you to them across the diner.

“That's the first time I've ever signed anything for anyone,” Witts said, when the child left the counter. “Apart from contracts, I mean.”

“We better get you practising. You'll be signing a lot more things from now on.”

“You think my signature's worth much?”

“If not now, then soon.”

They went back to eating, with no further interruptions to their lunch. Witts finished first, and played around with the condiments sachets as they waited on Cora.

“I was talking with Nefarious the other day,” they said.

Way to come out of the blue left field. “Oh? What's King Geek of Nerd Mountain got to say now?”

“We had an interesting talk, it reminded me of something I've been meaning to ask one of youse. What's everyone's deal with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he's not really treated like the rest of us, is he? 'King Geek of Nerd Mountain'? What's that about?”

“It's just one of his nicknames. He's the biggest nerd in the corps, so it fits, right? We all name each other.”

“You've not named me.”

“You're still new. We haven't figured it out yet.”

Witts stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged with a vague scowl. “Hmph. It better not be anything stupid. There'll be trouble if it is.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever, listen. Whatever Nefarious said to you, he's just being dramatic, like always. We all give each other a hard time, that's all. It's that camaraderie thing Qwark talks about. Its not our fault if doc is sensitive about it. He should grow a thicker skin if it bothers him so much.”

If it were up to Nefarious, you wouldn't be allowed to breathe or look at or even think in the same room as him. He practically threw a fit if you so much as touched any of his things. It was just as well Big Al's shop was close by; he was a hundred times easier to deal with than Nefarious, even if he was just as big a nerd as him.

Witts cleared their throat. “You know how earlier you said 'what could possibly happen'? Far corner table, three guys, look but don't be obvious.”

Acting casual, Cora cast her eyes around the diner again. She grazed briefly over the table in question. Yeah, three guys, no food, only drinks, tough and looking mean alright... and glaring right in the cadet's direction.

“How handy are you in a real fight? Not mucking around sparring.” Witts said, playing with a sauce packet all the while. “I don't care to use guns in a place like this. Not with families around.”

Cora looked over her shoulders again. The markazian family was still here, eating ice cream. Another, a fongoid family, had also recently entered and taken a table. Their kids were fighting over a menu. Yeah, not a good place for a fight. She faced front again. “I might not be the strongest, but I'm fast.”

“That's fine. We should leave and find somewhere quiet for a fight. My 'friends' will follow us.”

So much for Cora's plan of a quick stroll through the leisure ward for more birthday ideas before getting back on patrol. At least with a fight she'd get an interesting story for the boys later.

They paid for their lunch and left the diner. The trio of men followed shortly after, heavy sounding boots following their path.

More than a few heads turned to stare as the Rangers passed by. It was mostly other travellers doing the staring – the regulars had become used to a Ranger presence with all the times she and Brax had stopped at the station. Still, there were plenty looking at her new companion. They expected Brax and got to see rookie ranger instead. It must have been a novelty for them.

Witts made sure to lead her and their trio of “friends” along down a quieter section of the ward. Wait, when had the cadet even taken charge?!

“This will do,” they said, coming to a stop some way down a vacant, dimly lit maintenance hall. Witts pivoted on their heel and waited. Cora had the sudden, inescapable feeling it would be a bad idea to stand directly in the way of them and three goons who had no idea what was about to happen to them. She moved around to stand just a little behind Witts.

“Cosy little spot you picked for a beat down,” the leader of the men said as they rounded the corner.

Witts bobbed their head in acknowledgment. “It is, isn't it.” They clucked their tongue and hummed in thought. “You seem vaguely familiar, have I beaten you up before?”

“Mercon. Your lot and mine were scrapping over raritanium mines.”

“Oh yes, that's right! Our employers both wanted the same thing and sent us all in to fight over it. We sent what was left of your lot packing, didn't we? You must have needed a lot of body bags after that fight.”

The leader had to restrain one of his men from charging forward. “Let me take them!” He was shouting, waving a metal bar menacingly. “Broken metal heads don't deserve no respect!”

“Easy! You'll get your chance!”

“Yes,” Witts said, perfectly casual, “You can all have a turn. Line up, if you like. I'll knock you all down just the same.”

The third man, big and bulky, gestured roughly at Cora. “Tough talk from someone with only a kid for back-up.”

“I don't need back-up.”

The goon with the metal bar threw off his boss, and it started.

And then it was over.

Witts swiftly disarmed and beat him down with his own weapon. A bone shattering crack. Now he was groaning on the floor, clutching his broken arm.

The other rushed in and swung with a sharp smash, aiming for their head. Faster, Witts countered and punched him clean in the face. He went careening into the wall, teeth and blood spraying.

The leader lasted seconds longer; now he was caught with his jaw in Witts' bloodied right hand. The cadet had him raised almost a foot off the ground with only one arm.

Cora, frozen, awed, couldn't move.

The sheer speed. The power. The calm ferocity of it all. Witts made it look so... effortless. How could she ever catch up when Witts had a ten year head-start over her. No amount of training or talent could catch up with that.

A cold feeling settled into her stomach, now that the excitement of a fight passed. Anyone watching would think Cora was the cadet, and Witts the senior Ranger.

“I don't want any more trouble from you and whatever friends you have left,” Witts was saying. “Do you understand me? Tell your friends, and anyone else tracking me down. Come after me again, and your pride won't be the only thing that gets crushed.”

There was a dull, cracking sort of sound. It took Cora a few seconds to realise it was the sound of bone breaking, as the mechanical fingers of Witts' right hand squeezed the merc's jaw just that little more tightly. His eyes bulged and a strange, strangled sounding groan came from him as he pawed feebly at their arm. Witts dropped him and he hit the floor with a heavy thud, where he scurried away to the wall, clutching his jaw. A hand shaped bruise was forming. Blood dribbled from his mouth.

The only thing running though Cora's head was the quiet thought that yes, maybe it would be best not to give the cadet a stupid nickname after all.

It took another moment longer for her to realise the fight, if it could be called that, attracted onlookers – a small group of civilians and workers had gathered at the mouth of the corridor, sensibly staying well back. Members of station security soon muscled through them.

“All right people, nothing to see here. Move along.”

The crowd slowly dispersed. One of the security detail took some details off Witts, and then she and her buddies started moving the mercs away to confinement.

Witts produced a paper napkin from their pouch and started cleaning off their right gauntlet.

“Sorry 'bout this,” they said, as if they hadn't just handed out the most one-sided beat-down Cora had seen for months, when Qwark almost single-handedly dealt with a bunch of raiders in similar fashion. “I don't mean to involve you in my personal affairs like that. You know what mercs are like when they've got scores to settle. There's nothing to do but put them down.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cora said, not quietly, but also in a manner as if not wanting to attract undue attention.

The cadet hadn't even broken a sweat, or taken any hits as far as Cora noticed.

Clean. Efficient.

Borderline ruthless.

So that's how a veteran did it.

In an attempt to reassert herself as the senior Ranger, Cora shook herself free from the inaction and drew herself up. “We should get back on patrol. Station security can manage this now.”

“I should hope so. I wouldn't want to have to put these boys in their place again so soon.”

Cora led the way back to the Jumpers, re-fuelled and ready to go for the return trip.

“You could have saved one for me, you know,” she said as she climbed into her fighter.

Witts was already seated and strapped into their own fighter. “Should have moved faster then, eh?”

Back out in space, Witts resumed their earlier position and silence. Great. Another flight with a ghost for company. It wasn't until they were well past the first couple of planets when Witts finally spoke over the comms.

“...Say, Cora, what do you want for your birthday? I'm struggling with it.”

Cora smiled. Maybe the flight back to base wouldn't be so long or boring after all.

“I've got a few ideas. I'll show you when we get back, I've got them saved to my phone.”

“Right. You can show me at dinner call. It'll be late by the time we get back, and I want to get my report done before lights out.”

They swooped under a convoy of cargo transports heading out the system and looped back up to their normal route.

“Listen,” Cora said, thumbing the toggle on the left hand control stick, “it's really not that long now 'til my birthday, and I'm planning moving out of the base as soon as I can. I was thinking... maybe we can help each other out looking for apartments, if you're still planning moving out too.”

“Sure, that sounds like a plan. Two clueless people looking together will have a better time of it that one clueless person by themselves.”

“Hey! I'm not clueless! I have ideas on what I want!”

“Well, you're already doing better than I am. I've never lived by myself and I don't have the first idea what to look for. Never even lived planet-side.”

She shook her head. “You spacers are hopeless.”

Witts only snorted in amusement.