Chapter Text
Viper Pilots Vriska "Scorpio" Serket & Jade "Circe" Harley; Raptor Pilots John "Aeolus" Egbert & Aradia "Aries" Megido; Lieutenant Sollux Captor; a Cylon.
Because even your own ship has tried to kill you. It's a hulking great mass of hoofbeast shit, and wasn't even vaguely cutting-edge when it was first put into service, fifty sweeps ago. Everything's all wires and chords, and of the thousand-something computers on board, none of which have operating systems advanced enough to power a microwave, exactly zero of them are networked. They may as well have put you in charge of an oversized row boat, filled to the brim with antiquated typewriters. When you were first positioned on the Galactica, you were assured that it was nothing short of an honour, because the Battlestar was a piece of history; a reminder of what had to be done to ensure that the whole of your race wasn't wiped out during the Cylon War.
There's no physical way that you could care less, and god knows you've tried. If you had been around all those sweeps ago, the Empire never would've got into that mess in the first place. You would've been there to tell them that of course it was a monumentally bad idea to pump the Imperial Drones full of artificial intelligence until the harddrives they called think pans were oozing with it, and then send them off to do all the dirty work that glorious intergalactic conquest entailed. How stupid did you have to be to not realise that that they'd grow resentful, eventually turning on their creators? When the Empress' royal clusterfrak of hair couldn't expand anymore without stretching the perimeters of the universe, it must've had to resort to growing inwards and threading right through her think pan. You've been over it time and time again, and it's the only possible explanation for such immaculate idiocy.
Ever since then, most of the Empire's resources have been spent on rebuilding and defending Alternia, along with the surrounding planets you've colonised. The irrevocable annihilation of weaker races and the claiming of new worlds has been put on the back burner, leaving you with all this pent up, bloodthirsty rage. No wonder you're so angry all the time. No wonder you're going to have ground your teeth to dust by the time you're twelve. You've all this potential to be the greatest leader-slash-conqueror that the universe has ever seen, feared and respected in equal measures, and yet you're being punished for the mistakes made half a century ago. You feel like a subjugglator with no skulls to smash in.
Not that any of the above matters right now. You need to cool your mind down from its usual boiling point, and focus on the day ahead of you. The Imperial Army has finally shown some sense in deciding to decommission the rustbucket you're in charge of, and good frakking riddance to it. You're not thinking of the future. You're not thinking of the fact that this is going to leave you without a ship, without a crew, and that the best you can hope for is to spend the rest of your days curled up in a self-loathing heap on the floor of your hive, too exhausted by all the melancholy you've been exerting to curl up in your recuperacoon. You decide to make the best out of this last flight, as if anything good has ever come out of this scrapheap, and tell yourself over and over again that you're going to be able to endure the formalities of welcoming the Heiress Apparent on board to give Galactica an honourable send off.
You wouldn't be surprised if the Empress is going to use this decommissioning as a chance to decommission you. It's no secret that she's been trying to assassinate Alternia's future ruler ever since she first hatched, and you've got this theory in the works that you've only been allowed to rise through the ranks and avoid any pesky cullings because Her Imperious Condescension probably gets some sick pleasure from making you squirm every goddamn day. She probably fills bucket after disgusting bucket over the thought of wiping out a mutant blood and her own descendant in one fell swoop.
That said, you're convinced that the Empress is going to wipe you out in nine out of any ten given situations. Your crew, insubordinate as they are, no longer treat your incredibly legitimate fears with the gravity they deserve and, in short, have all but stopped listening to you. Your hulking, sweaty mess of a Deck Chief went as far as to claim that it would be an honour for one such as you to be wiped out by such singularly highblood, as it would mean that for one blissful, obliterating second, the Empress was acknowledging your existence and actually doing something about it.
Just where the hell did you get all of these morons, anyway? Today would be so much easier if your XO was stood by your side. Unfortunately, she was killed almost a sweep ago in an unfortunate equipment malfunction on the bridge, which you were certain was another of the ship's assassination attempts meant for you. (It had been a heart-wrenching tragedy, and you were beside yourself with guilt for close to six whole hours. Until she promptly got better, anyway. But rest assured, no troll in this galaxy or any other has ever sworn so much in order to get the grieving process off to a blasphemous start.)
You've tried to be patient with her, because you know that it can't be easy, being wholly alive one moment and then blindingly undead the next, but Kanaya's tardiness is starting to become the general rule of things, rather than the mere exception. You're well aware that all of the senior staff on the bridge have noticed this, along with at least half a dozen pilots, but it's the trunkbeast in the room that nobody's willing to address. She'll get better, you keep telling yourself. She'll find a way to adapt.
With a great sigh, you decide to give her a few more minutes before departing, and lean against the central command unit, going over the course that's been charted for the umpteenth time. Brow furrowed, you stare at it for so long that the stars stop meaning anything to you, becoming pinpricks in your vision, until Kanaya Maryam finally slips in with all the subtlety afforded to a six-foot-something troll who glows like a compressed star.
KARKAT: JUST STOP RIGHT THERE.
KANAYA: Stop Right Where
KANAYA: It Doesnt Make Sense To Say That Once Ive Already Come To A Complete Halt
KANAYA: More And More Often You Are Increasingly Absurd And I Can No Longer Prepare Myself For Your Antics
KARKAT: HA-FRAKKING-HA. THAT'S RIGHT, CRITICISE MY PAINSTAKINGLY FORMULATED WORD CHOICE AND PICK APART MY SYNTAX IN FRONT OF ALL OUR INFERIOR OFFICERS WHEN YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I REALLY MEAN.
KARKAT: SAVE THE APOLOGY, MARYAM. LET'S PRETEND THAT YOU'RE SORRY FOR BEING LATE, I'M UNBELIEVABLY BENEVOLENT AND DON'T SEND YOU TO THE BRIG, AND WE END THIS CONVERSATION ON A LIGHT-HEARTED NOTE OF HOW YOU'RE JUST *FASHIONABLY* LATE, HAHAHA.
KANAYA: Really
KANAYA: Youre Going To Skip Over Things With Such Brutal Brevity When This Is The Last Chance Well Have To Enter Into This Routine Of A Strictly Protocol Song And Dance On This Particular Vessel
KANAYA: The Vessel That Has Been Our Home For Over Two Sweeps
KANAYA: Is Dispensing With The Final Usual Scathing Pleasantries Something Youre Willing To Live With
KARKAT: WHICH PART OF THAT WASN'T EVIDENT IN EVERY GODDAMN WORD I JUST SAID TO YOU, MARYAM. WE'VE GOT TO GET THIS FINAL FAREWELL ON THE ROAD. THE ROAD THAT'S PAVED WITH THE NECESSARY COMPONENTS THAT WILL ULTIMATELY LEAD TO MY DEMISE, BY THE WAY.
KANAYA: Urrgh This Again
KARKAT: YES, THIS AGAIN. I'M SORRY THAT I'M NOT ALREADY RECENTLY DEPARTED AND THEREFORE NO LONGER HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THE DELICATE BALANCE THAT MY LIFE HANGS IN.
KARKAT: (by the way, have you fed lately? you're swaying a bit, kanaya. i know we've got to get going to meet the next condebitch in the making, but there's probably time for a snack.)
KANAYA: Errr
KANAYA: No
KANAYA: Thats Um
KANAYA: Absolutely Fine Karkat Can We Please Move Off This Topic
KANAYA: Your Whispering Isnt Quite As Hushed As You Seem To Believe It Is
SOLLUX: 2he2 riight you know.
KARKAT: THANKS FOR YOUR INPUT, LIEUTENANT CAPTOR. I THINK YOU SHOULD GET THIS RUSTED PIECE OF SHIT ON COURSE BEFORE I HAVE YOU THROWN OUT OF THE NEAREST AIRLOCK FOR EAVESDROPPING ON TWO SUPERIOR OFFICERS ENGAGING IN CEREMONIAL BANTER.
SOLLUX: riight on 2iir prepariing two 2et cour2e
SOLLUX: reque2tiing permi22ion two 2peak off the record
KARKAT: PERMISSION DENIED
KANAYA: Permission Granted
SOLLUX: thank you 2iir
SOLLUX: 2ometiime2 ii wii2h you wouldnt iin2ult the 2hiip liike that commander KK
SOLLUX: e2peciially wiith iit beiing our fiinal fliight and all
SOLLUX: iit would be niice iif you re2pected all the hard work we do to keep her together
KARKAT: THIS PLACE IS FALLING APART AT THE FRAKKING SEAMS. IT'S HELD TOGETHER MOSTLY BY A FINE PASTE MADE FROM THE LAST REMAINING DROPS OF MY DIGNITY AND KRAFT GRUBSAUCE.
DAVE: damn commander
DAVE: dont hold any bars dont hold anything back
DAVE: even though ive gotta agree with the lt on this one
DAVE: we know youre just trying to play hard to get with the ship sir
DAVE: trying to solicit some illicit blackened romance with this nigh irresistible hunk of metal
DAVE: but sometimes the crew would appreciate you getting in touch with your sensitive side
DAVE: letting us know you appreciate all the hours weve put into working here
DAVE: not to mention all the quadrants that have gone unfilled because of it
DAVE: i mean shit
DAVE: does anyone even remember the last time they woke up
DAVE: all covered in bitches
KARKAT: CAN IT, STRIDER. NO ONE GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK OFF THE RECORD, EVEN IF THAT WAS AS FRAKKING INCOMPREHENSIBLE AS EVERYTHING YOU EVER SAY. LIEUTENANT, I WANT THAT LITTLE TIRADE *ON* THE RECORD, READY TO BE PRESENTED TO THE IMPERIAL ARMY WHEN WE GET BACK, PENDING ANY COURTBLOCK INVOLVEMENT.
KANAYA: Karkat Please They Havent Listened To You The Last Dozen Times Youve Tried To Bring Down Official Disciplinary Action On The Ensigns Head
KANAYA: His Melodious Grapples With The Troll Language That Can Only Be Accurately Defined As Raps Go Straight Over Their Collective Heads And Between Their Horns
DAVE: listen to the xo commander
DAVE: save yourself some time
KARKAT: OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.
KARKAT: LIEUTENANT, PLEASE, GET US THE FRAK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I'M DEMOTED TO OFFICE OF THE BRIG, HAVING CEREMONIOUSLY IMPALED STRIDER ON HIS OWN HORN
SOLLUX: ehehe ye2 siir whatever you 2ay 2iir
It's going to be a long day.
*
You name is Eridan Ampora, and you are one of the greatest scientific minds in the entirety of the universe. You're employed by the Empress herself, and for the last sweep, you've made startling progress in the defence mainframe that serves the whole of the Empire, both on Alternia and the surrounding colonies. With intergalactic conquest feeling like a thing of the past, there's no role more important than ensuring that the troll race is adequately protected, while you all live out a life of luxury, relishing in the spoils of worlds long since conquered.
You are absolutely, irrefutably, one hundred percent responsible for all of your undoubtedly well-earned success. The troll who sits before you, taking small sips of steaming coffee, certainly has nothing to do with your rise to fame. You've had the unquestionably frustrating pleasure of her company more or less ever since you became part of the defence cabinet, and even after all this time, you still know next to nothing about her. Oh, you know the important things, of course; you know how she takes her coffee (black), and you know that the colour of her blood is lavender enough to deem her worthy of sitting opposite you. You also know that she's got a head for algorithms and computer systems like no one you've ever met before, but you're sure that you would've stumbled across all of her little tweaks, the minute improvements and corrections of your own accord, without her constantly hanging over your shoulder while you work on your programming.
She reveals infuriatingly little about herself no matter how much she tells you, and perigees ago you came to the conclusion that she's simply shy. Either that, or she can't work out what quadrant she wants to fill with you. You're an understanding man. You don't begrudge her for lingering over an almost impossible choice to make. But surely, you think, surely this must be it. After graciously allowing her to snoop around the heart of defence mainframe, in order to fix up a few things on your behalf and get the inside information she needs for her company to win the contract to do, well, whatever the hell it is she does – she's painfully vague about that too – now she's finally going to stop playing hard to get and thrust all of this unspoken tension out in the open.
She sips on her coffee again, and you watch as her eyes flutter to a close for a brief second, lips meeting their own reflection. With her straight, towering horns, she'd make a lovely seadweller. The only fault you can find in her lies in the fact that she's not a fraction of a degree higher on the hemospectrum, but at the same time, it's reassuring to know that nobody's perfect.
In spite of what the magazines consistently say about you.
??????: I'll do you the favour of not being painfully aware of the current intensity of your gaze and move straight onto business.
ERIDAN: wwhoa come on noww do me a favvour
ERIDAN: wwe both knoww exactly wwhat it is youre doin so howw about wwe both savve all this time wwe could be talkin for more pressin matters
??????: Oh? I realise you've claimed that this apparent well of information springs in the twin oases of our think pans, but please, humour me. What are these issues that see fit to press upon us?
ERIDAN: dont go bee essing me wwith your extended metaphor bullshit
ERIDAN: youre here to tell me something
??????: Actually, I am.
You're fairly certain that your fins flex back so far that they end up pasted to the back of your skull. Did she really just say what you thought she said? After all this time, after all of your selfless generosity, you've finally been presented with the chance to reap the fruits of your labour. She smiles at you over the edge of her coffee, and your blood runs colder than the Empress'. Clearing your throat, you put your own iced tea down, carefully threading your fingers together. A few rings dig in uncomfortably at the sides, but you ignore all of that, and calmly ask her to continue.
??????: I'm a machine.
Whoa, wait, what? What kind of mind games is she playing with you this time?
ERIDAN: wwhoa wwait wwhat
ERIDAN: wwhat frakkin mind games are you playing wwith me this time you landhag
??????: It's not a game, Ampora. Certainly not one that you're likely to win, at any rate. I know you're a man capable of using his think pan roughly once in a twin blue moon, and I also know you're going to be nothing if not sceptical. I also don't particularly care.
??????: But after all the help you've charitably afforded me with absolutely no ulterior motive, I thought you deserved to know how you helped facilitate your own demise.
ERIDAN: all the help
ERIDAN: demise
ERIDAN: wwhat the frak are you on about you know this stopped bein funny like twwenty swweeps before you wwere evven a slurry of genetic filth
Pointedly ignoring your verbal flailing, she returns her attention to the coffee as if it's done more for her than you have, and continues indulging in it with a smile. A smile that doesn't fade, and is starting to make your gills twitch uncomfortably. You've always known she was weird, but you've always been able to overlook that for the sake of an impending future romance, the likes of which the galaxy has never seen before, but this is just making your downright uncomfortable. She's perfectly calm, expression unreadable. Her eyes give away nothing; they never do. You know that, if nothing else, she believes what she's saying.
??????: Think about it. You've always known there was something peculiar about me, haven't you? Your mind may not have made the immediate leap to "Cylon," but even now, you realise that I'm telling the truth. If only because it flatters your ego to think of me as a machine, one that hasn't been seen by trolls in well over fifty sweeps, who has chosen you to help set things into motion.
ERIDAN: frakkin wwhat
ERIDAN: wwait if youre a machine is that wwhy wwe nevver committed to any quadrants
ERIDAN: dont havve the necessary equipment huh
??????: ...
ERIDAN: wwhat dont givve me that icy look like it answwers anyfin
??????: Is this honestly how you want to spend your last moments? Making your failures vocally known to the inhabitants of this block?
ERIDAN: my last wwhat
She raises her eyebrows. As if on cue, a high-pitched noise bleeds over the horizon, a burst of light, and then there's nothing but silence. Eyes wide, you realise that you're clinging to the sides of the table, and with a hum of amusement, she puts her coffee down. The mug clinks as it meets the wooden surface, and like a single cry that's set off an avalanche, the world beyond your window is filled with the sound of the ground being torn apart.
??????: I'd recommend taking refuge under the table.
*
Your name is Vriska Serket, and you're the best there is.
You're Top Gun aboard the Battlestar Galactica, and you've absolutely no doubt that you'd be the best of the best on any of the Imperial Fleet's ships, whether inside the cockpit of a Viper, or sat at a table playing poker with a circle of chumps, painfully eager for you to take their money. Your vision eightfold has a lot of uses, but none so satisfying as getting a glimpse or two through the back of playing cards. Anyone else in your position would've got bored after eight consecutive wins, but not you. You're basking in the victories you pile upon yourself, having all of your fellow pilots exactly where you want them.
Placing your cards face-down against the table, you rock on the creaking back legs of your chair, cigar between two fingers, stein in one hand, and let the others take as much time as they need. Next to you, Jade Harley's scrunching up her nose as she draws her cards closer to her face, as if that'll give her any more hope of winning with such an appalling hand. You'd tell her to hurry the frak up, because you don't have all day and you're nearly all the way through this beer, but she's the only one who even comes close to your prowess in a Viper. You've an unspoken sort of respect for her, and rather than snap at her, you slap her across the back, scattering ash in her long hair. If nothing else, she always gives it her all, and once this game is over and done with, you might even let her have one of the cigars you won a few rounds back against the maintenance crew.
Mostly because it's funny to watch her consistently choke on the smoke each and every time. Still, she is a Viper pilot, and if you don't make the effort to roughen her up, who else will? You're doing her a service.
Whatever way you look at it, she's doing a whole lot better than John. He's got this funny little smile spilling out from the corner of his mouth, and it gives him away. He's so pleased to finally have a hand that could possibly salvage him from the crippling depths of defeat he's sunk to during this game that it's plastered all over his face. And that's the heartbreaking part, really. He could win, if this was another round entirely, and you weren't participating. At least Jade seems to have accepted the fact that she's doomed, whereas John is still neglecting alcohol in favour of optimism. God, you can't believe that your best friend in the whole damn universe is this bad at poker.
It's unbelievably embarrassing. You almost can't bear to crush him beneath your heel.
Almost.
As ever, Aradia's your only real competition. She takes a small, polite sip of her beer, and spares a single glance at the cards in her hand, wearing a perfect mask of her own face. You have absolutely no idea whether she's confident or not, whether she even cares about the outcome, and it's the most excitement that's been sparked off inside of you throughout the whole game. You don't even look through her cards. You just let the suspense linger in the air, knowing you've got your absurd quantities of good luck to fall back on.
You chug the last of your beer, and ask everyone if they're ready to get this show on the road. Just as you're about to commence humiliating them all, the loudspeaker sounds overhead.
DAVE: sup
DAVE: this is your communications officer speaking
DAVE: if you look out of your nearest window youll see endless black space
DAVE: same as every day
DAVE: same as every night
DAVE: only this is the last day well be on board the galactica so take the time
DAVE: to get all sentimental and ultimately nostalgic for a time in your life
DAVE: that was mostly just ok
DAVE: because were heading back home after this last lap
DAVE: off the record i recommend that you start thinkin about what youre gonna get up to back on the surface
DAVE: cause if you havent already got yourself another station
DAVE: well
DAVE: i hear they pay good money for reluctant young trolls to fill buckets in front of strangers
DAVE: its been an honour serving with you all
DAVE: over
There's a mixed reaction from the crowd of off-duty pilots around you. John snorts out a laugh like Dave's tired old bullshit is still the funniest thing he's ever heard, even though they've been friends for so long that you're beginning to suspect they hatched from the same egg, and Jade's expression droops, marking her as the first to show disappointment. Aradia smiles sadly, having already told the group over and over that all good things must come to an end, and that this will only be the start of something new for you all. From behind her, there's some whooping and cheering, drunken in nature, raised in agreement with Dave's last point.
Ugh, you still can't stand that guy. What kind of idiot covers up his real blood colour with bright red for the sake of irony, anyway? You're glad that the Commander's probably going to give him an earful for this. Vantas' piercing lectures are worse than a night spend in the brig, and you'd know. You've experienced both plenty of times.
Cigar between your lips, you pick your cards back up, sinking a little lower into your seat. Because that's how you get comfortable. It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that John, Jade and Aradia have already found themselves new Battlestars to move onto, while you're left in limbo. Like you've already said, you're the best of the best, and there's not one crewman aboard this vessel or any other who's stupid enough to deny that. Your superiors, however, feel that you can sometimes become too much of a handful, that you're reckless, out of control, and just don't know where to station you.
It doesn't matter to you where you end up, as long as you're somewhere. As long as you get to keep on flying until the day you truly spiral out of control, and end up compressed inside a tiny cube of metal that used to be a Viper.
Bluh. Time to win this game.
VRISKA: What's that? You want to know how many games I've won in a row? Pffffffff, you should 8e keeping count, 8ut I guess I can do you all a favour and verify your facts!
VRISKA: The answer is all the games. All of them.
JADE: oh nooooo
JADE: this happens every time!!
VRISKA: And yet you suckers keep on playing with me. Well, I'm not surprised! You've got to play against the 8est if you want to 8e the 8est yourself one day.
VRISKA: Not that there's much chance of that happening with any of you! Hahahahahahahaha.
ARADIA: did anyone tell you that youre such a gracious winner scorpio?
VRISKA: Can it, Aries.
JADE: please dont start fighting you two
JADE: it always ends badly when you start throwing callsigns around without even being that drunk
JOHN: don't worry, jade! no one's going to get into any arguments on our last day.
JOHN: vriska, i'm happy you won, but you don't need to brag so much. and you know we only play against you because there's not much else to do during our off-duty.
VRISKA: Whatever, Eg8ert. Don't act like you're not going to cry yourself to sleep tonight!
With a smug grin, you take a deep breath, watching as the oxygen burns away the last of your cigar. You pull it from beneath your lips, stub it out against the steel tabletop, and then lean over, dragging all of your winnings towards you. Jade slumps against the table, grumbling that she shouldn't have thrown away the last of her cash like that, and John pats her back, telling her that it's alright, everyone is silly enough to play against Vriska Serket, sometimes.
Just as you're about to say that's right, they all brought their misery on themselves, as if you didn't have a flawless winning streak going, the loudspeaker crackles to life above you again. You lean back in your seat, and groan out fraaaaaaaak at the prospect of having to listen to another one of Dave's tirades, loudly enough for half of the deck to turn and face you.
KANAYA: This Is
KANAYA: I
Okay, that's definitely not Dave. It catches your attention almost soberingly well, and you lean forward, ears straining to listen, even though nothing but static floods into the air. You've known Kanaya for a long, long time now, and while she drags out her sentences to breaking point and stretches the use of words beyond all reasonable limits to spend twenty minutes on a thirty second anecdote, she doesn't hesitate. It's been three words, and her voice is already thick with something.
KANAYA: This Is The XO Speaking
KANAYA: Within The Past Few Minutes We Have Received Reports That Our Home Worlds Have Fallen Under Attack From Enemy Forces
KANAYA: While We Do Not Know The Exact Number Of Casualties It Is Believed That The Figures Will Be Extensive
KANAYA: Further More
KANAYA: All Reports Indicate That The Assault Was Nuclear In Nature And
KANAYA: Perpetrated By Cylons
KANAYA: Therefore
KANAYA: Battle Stations
KANAYA: You Have Undergone The Necessary Training And You Are All Prepared
KANAYA: This Is Not A Drill
Alarms begin to blare, but you barely hear them at all. There's a silence weighing down heavily on the room, and you all look at one another with a shared sentiment of what the frak. You may have spent sweeps in the academy being prepared for an enemy nobody truly believed would come back, but none of you are ready for this in the least. In spite of that, you're on your feet before anyone else, and with a quick glance between Aradia, John and Jade, you're darting down the corridor, towards the hanger, thoughts a blurred between oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, and about goddamn time.
This is it. Your chance to prove yourself.
By the time you've got your uniform on, your Viper's prepped and ready for take off. Deck Chief Zahhak might be as weird as hell, but he runs a tight ship, and between him and Nepeta, you know your Viper's in good hands. You clamber up the side, sinking into the single seat like it's an extension of your own body, hands gripping the controls like you're hopped up on sopor pills. Before you're sealed inside, Aradia looks your way as she heads to her bulkier fighter, her Raptor, with John.
VRISKA: Those 8astards have hit Alternia. Let's give them hell.
ARADIA: dont worry
ARADIA: no ones going to let them off easily!
VRISKA: Damn right they're not. My lusus is down there.
ARADIA: ... you don't have to look so happy about that part
The deck clears and the hatch opens, ready for manual deploy, and as your engines roar to life, you know this is going to be unlike anything anyone has ever had to deal with before.
