Chapter Text
Byakuya was barely keeping his temper in check.
His summons back to Isharamae were understandable, but the timing for it had never been so unwelcome; he twiddled with his thumbs for far too long in his attempts to capture the ever-elusive quarry responsible for stealing information valuable to the Empire. Information that, in the hands of the Sedition and its insurgent ilk, would be cataclysmic.
It was a chase he couldn’t simply stop acting on, even if the command were his father’s own directives.
The very idea of a seditionist making it that deep into the Empire’s affairs was very unpleasant to entertain. Isharamae’s politics were an environment he was too particular about, and simply far too familiar with for someone so trivial like that harridan somehow making it beyond his notice.
If he had to compare the past weeks to anything—the operations centered around that spying scoundrel would be like tracking a mosquito with half-lidded eyes.
Even the Empire’s own agents were fooled. One moment they were within Isharamae’s foundries and then the next they were effectively truant, and with them, every single piece of information regarding their militant detail were likely jeopardized.
The Gale, first to tenth company, their elite battalion of soldiers trained in adept tactics and warfare, responsible for leading the charge against the Empire’s adversaries. The Welkin, the militant diktat of Isharamae that worked in philanthropy, medicine, and aiding the destitute. And the Library, the order who served in the shadows of the throne, labouring at the helm of their intelligence as they scouted, evaluated and destabilized their enemies’ prospects in secret.
It’s only a little ironic how they were the ones being effectively destabilized.
Byakuya was presently the Gale’s Rear Admiral, with only the Emperor outranking him as the Prime Admiral, as is the standard for most who have sat on the throne. If not for the meddling rat within their ranks compromising their operations, they would have finally launched another decisive attack against the Sedition. One that could have outscaled their victory at Androsia-IV.
It was a breach of their ramparts that couldn’t be ignored anymore, moreso now that the Polaris finished docking at the wide berth of the Regulus’ hangar, and he had nothing to show for his efforts other than the overwhelming damages involved in their grand chase.
Notably, the utter humiliation he suffered at ICS-099 and the busted shield generators of his personal starship.
An oversight that I let happen because I made a mistake by not accounting for such an unorthodox tactic, Byakuya glowers. But how could I have, truly? Any pilot of any level would never commit to such a backwards and suicidal maneuver unless they were awfully confident in themselves, or just outright demented.
Perhaps it was a bit of both.
No. Stop making excuses. The fault lies within me and me alone.
He wrinkles his nose contemptuously at the memory, watching the gates of his ship open with a hiss, ramp connecting to the docks.
With the bustle of his crewmen vacating to the barracks occupying the background, Byakuya fixes his collar, folding his hands behind his back and starts down. By the time his boots make contact with the gleaming pristine floors of the Regulus’ primary spacedock, a set of footsteps join alongside his own.
“Brother.”
Byakuya grimaces but doesn’t regard the taller woman walking beside him, pushing onward at a steady pace. “Shinobu.”
“Not a good homecoming, I assume?” Shinobu infers kindly, the only sound to accompany the echo of their offbeat footfalls and the ever-present, sleepless hustle of the Regulus around them.
“My hunt of that miscreant spy would have been concluded further into the month without any interruptions, so this is a difficult time for summons in general,” he explains impatiently. “I need updates. What has come from this recall?”
His sister smiles, small and wry. “The prince has been far from home for quite a touch, and many wish for an audience,” she says succinctly. “However, if you’re keen on keeping to the important things, Aloysius requests for a correspondence at the estate, but he insists that if you have more pressing matters to attend to, his can wait. On the other, the Lord Emperor has been informed of your arrival and at your earliest convenience, seeks your presence at the throne.”
“I would rather get my personal affairs in order before facing Father. To Aloysius first.” he decides. “Do you know the reason for the summons?”
Shinobu stays silent for a moment, clearly testing words on her tongue before she speaks. “The Lord Emperor has never been unreserved about his thoughts or feelings on your operations. I do not have the slightest idea.”
Byakuya scoffs. “That is the least truthful you’ve ever been to me, and I’ve barely been in your company for five minutes.”
“…well, I would hardly call this summon back home to be one of concern,” she allows with a humored snort, voice dryer than the deserts of Sol. “Nevertheless, I wouldn’t be privy to information of that sort. You succeed the lordship, and meanwhile it is only my service to the crown that has kept me from being a stain to the legacy. I am not saying you have to understand the sentiment behind it, but you should at least respect it.”
He huffs, adjusting his hands behind his back. “I will, but you ought to consider that Father is a complicated man,” Byakuya reasons with utmost patience, chin tipping upward. “My assessment of you hasn’t led us astray, and you have worked tirelessly for your place alongside my own. When it is time for me to lead the Empire to prosperity, he will acknowledge your efforts.”
“You’d think the corpses piled on his doorstep would be enough for acknowledgement,” Shinobu murmurs darkly. “We’ve committed indignity after indignity against our own for the altar of the throne, all from the very cradle. I apologize, brother, but the Lord Emperor is my father only by blood, and nothing more."
He frowns. "Shinobu."
His sister shakes her head. "Don't deny it, brother. He holds no love for the consolation prizes, no matter how much you’ve pleaded my case.”
“These 'indignities' you speak of have been necessary to the success of our operations,” he says. “Are you admitting defeat so… easily? His refusal to see your merits have made you bitter.”
Shinobu purses her lips, placing a hand on his shoulder as they stop in front of the orbital lifts. “No,” she says softly, squeezing before letting him go. “My patience for his cruelty has finally exhausted, and for your sake, I wish the very same. You hold far more potential than to don the same shoes of an apathetic arbiter… I would know. You’re better than that.”
Byakuya’s lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. “Another of your needless sycophancy,” he dismisses. “Father’s judgement is sound and driven by our best interests. He has made us, whether we perceive it as cruelty is subjective.”
The rest of Shinobu’s body stiffens, but she pointedly ignores the retort, fully turning away. “If that is what you wish to believe, then I have no right to contest,” she concedes, letting the moment linger before she speaks once more, this time with a sigh. “While I would love to accompany you to the estate, I have my own responsibilities to attend to with the Library. If you have it in your heart, you can pass my regards to Aloysius at the estate. Word it however you like.”
He halts, giving Shinobu a genuinely surprised glance. “Is the Library the reason you’re back here so early?”
His sister still doesn’t turn around. “All active agents have been recalled due to the recent risks posed by the rebels against the Empire’s intelligence,” she says, voice carefully level. “Things are… uncertain now, brother. With all the latest incidents, tensions among our people across the galaxy have reached an all-time high. Any further and these hostilities will spiral beyond our control.”
How curious. “Hasn’t it always been that way?”
“Not… to this extent,” Shinobu discloses tentatively. “As I speak, a majority of the Library’s personnel have begun pooling all of their available power and resources into planning a decisive countermeasure against all seditionist activity. We’ve gotten to the point that the Chief Intelligencer has deemed it appropriate to prematurely recall Agent Truthbearer back to the crown.”
Byakuya blinks in disbelief before scowling. “I never quite liked that woman, but it must be truly dire if even she is being sworn back in.”
“I’m glad you understand now,” she says simply, turning so slightly, giving him a patient glance. “Though I apologize, because I must take my leave. Good day, brother, and best of luck to your future endeavors. We have a hard few weeks ahead.”
He only stares, brows furrowing. “Indeed we do.”
Shinobu nods, giving him a hollow smile before finally turning away. “Please think about what I said regarding the Emperor,” she says stiffly, “Things are not what they seem, but I know yet again you will turn a deaf ear to my pleas.”
Byakuya narrows his eyes and says, “And the same to you,” but doesn’t stop Shinobu from leaving him in her wake.
When his sister finally trots out of sight, he lets out a heavy breath. As much as he denied her claims, she had been, for all intents and purposes, painfully accurate in her assessment of Father’s perspective regarding her place within the legacy. Compared to him, at least.
The Togami Family, the premiere House leading the Empire’s enterprise across the stars, yet underneath all that glorious veneer, it was broken and shattered.
He had no doubts of dying by the yoke of their last name, just like the countless scions that have clawed their way into heir-apparent before him, but there was no denying that outside of the unshakeable faith his half-sister had in him, there was little love to spare and even less warmth to find in the cold spires of the Togami Estate.
He would be a hypocrite to pretend otherwise.
The power of hardship landed him with interesting bedfellows, he supposes, but that is the price to pay for victory. Byakuya had his own concessions with the Emperor and his Council’s vision of progress – this is the small remittance he can afford on behalf of Shinobu and her loyalty – but with his eventual succession, something better could be installed in light of their incompetence. Something better to surpass the Lord Emperor’s… indifference to the blood they shed.
Something more powerful. Something that could be truly called a pedigree of his own. A legacy beyond them all.
But never mind that. First, he will have to talk to Father.
Isharamae was as bright as he left it, and the Togami Estate was no less unchanging.
That didn’t surprise Byakuya in the slightest. The lofty, brass-lined spires of the Togami Estate hardly went through any major renovations since the dawn of the Empire’s rule. Even before the fetters of their heritage, this same span of stone and mineral stood firmly against the daunting titan of time and won, forever absolute.
He gathers his kitbags into one hand as he steps out of the private ship he’d taken and piloted from the spacedocks of the Regulus. The individuals waiting for his descent at the gates were servants responsible for the maintenance of the house; these were faces he knew and memorized since he had been a boy, though while his knowledge of their duties were certainly updated, he couldn’t say the same about his attachment to their existence.
Shinobu had been the more empathetic sibling between them—and aside from this small fondness for her that he won’t ever admit to, her penchant for peacekeeping and good rapport with their stewards had been one of the reasons he petitioned for her life during the executions from their family’s bloodsoaked battle for heir-apparent.
Relations built on pathos were hardly his concern (or expertise) in his quest for excellence, but with the right people, there was promise in maintaining them.
“Lord Togami,” one of the servants greet warmly. “It is good to see you back home.”
Byakuya breathes in deep as he takes in the grand expanse of the Togami Estate and its marbled, chiselled towers. It was familiar, but the sight of the estate’s silver spires were a tad more daunting than he remembered from his last visit. He had no care for the sentimentalism involved, but the estate’s construction deserved some vocal gravitas from the people who dwelled within, so he says, “And it is good to see home is as impressive as I have left it.”
The afternoon was strikingly pleasant today; the sky had been a pure blue, and the breeze running across Isharamae’s vast fields and mountains were a certainly missed accompaniment to these spectacles. As much as he found a sense of accomplishment in the sights of the galaxy with its endless sum of peculiarities, Byakuya was fond of nature, and there were barely any of such verdures within the deep breadth of space he has drifted from.
“Where is Aloysius?” he asks.
“He is attending to the garden at the eastern balcony, my lord.”
“Good. You are all dismissed. Go back to your duties.”
Thankfully, most of the servants understood his distaste for small talk and shallow pleasantries, so most of his focus had been directed to navigating the halls of their household’s ancestral spires, following the route that would lead him to the east parlor where Aloysius was likely waiting for him.
Shinobu would have been at his heels if she were available like he initially assumed, and likely spirited about a stopover for their mutual favorite servant, but considering their exchange earlier, the issues she had with Father hanging over both of their heads would have been, quite frankly, a glaring mood-killer.
He pauses his pace and lingers underneath an ornate arch, tapping the back of his hand against the pillars. His knuckles make a solid sound against the stretch of stone, before he finally steps in. The afternoon sun shines along the mezzanine and over the various flowerets decorating the veranda, and there was his ever-faithful butler, hard at work, trimming at the excess with a pair of dainty scissors.
“Aloysius,” he greets.
“Young Master, you look well.” Aloysius was a fair and dignified man. Handsome and dedicated he had been during Byakuya’s youth, and truthfully, even now in his sixties, he remained unerring. Truly the most devoted of companions.
It was one of the numerous qualities he appreciated about Aloysius Pennyworth. His ward had aged throughout the years without losing his poise and adroit manner of self, which was not merely respectable, but admirable.
Byakuya moves to his butler’s side, and the moment they settle right at the edge of the terrace, Aloysius turns to him and says, “This house has longed to see its esteemed son for quite some time now, but I assume this isn’t an extended visit.”
“Father has pulled me away from my current quandaries, I’m afraid,” Byakuya clarifies, clicking his tongue in marble discontent. “Where I extend my objectives are normally to my whims and that of the Council’s if they deem it relevant to interfere, but my responsibilities to the throne take precedence.”
“Better a model, industrious prince than a powerless figurehead wasting away in vacuity, Young Master.” Aloysius replies, amused. “Everyone is well aware you would rather be out and about than anything else. Goodness knows your father would’ve disowned you should you have chosen such a path.”
Byakuya frowns deeply, lips curling in disgust. “True enough. The prospects he picked for that whole occasion barely caught my attention, but I’m grateful he has understood what my true calling is. There is reason that out of all those candidates, only I alone have lived to see another day.”
Aloysius looks at him with a knowing glint in his gaze. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment. But isn’t it a shame, especially when one of your prospective spouses was Councilwoman Nevermind, Young Master?”
“Please,” Byakuya replies aridly, rolling his eyes. “Although she may be one of the only envoys in the Council with a brain, we both know her preferences lie elsewhere.”
That was a memory that never failed to amuse him. There was a time, just right after he was crowned Prince of the Empire and successor to all its ruling bodies, that Lord Emperor Kijo Togami thought it was apropos to engage him with one of the traditions unique to their heritage. He could hardly blame Father for the move; he was the ideal Isharamite, and he was at an age where most young adults were typically wed. To Father, Byakuya was finally the perfect son: powerful, intelligent, resourceful but unwilling to compromise, and possessed a brutality reserved for attaining victory.
Often people gossiped about his prospective commitments, and even more often people wondered if he was set to follow the Togami Family’s customs and partake in concubinary.
One of those potential concubinages happened to be Sonia Nevermind, a cornerstone of Isharamae’s ruling Council and the last vestige of the planet Novoselic’s illustrious queendom before they forsook their power to the Empire. She was an honorable noblewoman who somehow surpassed Father’s standards, her upbringing almost mirroring Byakuya’s own (a thought of which had him furrowing his brows in distant commiseration), thus making her a worthy fiancée and Princess Consort.
So on the morrow of his twenty-third birthday, there were talks between Father and him of a possible arrangement with the Novoselian envoy that had Byakuya constantly stopping himself from bursting into hysterics for an entire afternoon. There was indeed a discerning nous within the agreeable façade of Councilwoman Nevermind, her witticism a rarity amongst the mindless aristocrat prattle – but she had a rather curious and suspiciously close relationship with her personal guard, Owari, who hardly left her side beyond the council meetings.
Needless to say, anyone with a functioning brain could put two and two together if enough time was spent in their proximity; in fact, Nevermind had never been subtle about it. It’s only too bad that most nobility were, to his disappointment, not that perceptive.
That was two years ago, wasn't it? The thought of arrangements and marriages were hardly any concern now. Good.
“As much as it is relieving to see you, my person is required elsewhere,” Byakuya says, pressing his lips to a thin line. “I was permitted a couple months in tracking down our scheming insider from those insurgent planktons, and I was close to concluding that chapter in my career, yet my father has impeded that duty for reasons he has yet to reveal. As much as it pains me, I cannot dally here.”
“I know, Young Master,” Aloysius bows his head, deferential and understanding as Byakuya steps away. “It’s apparent you do not know what this recall entails, but I wish you a good day regardless of what happens. It still warms my heart to see you grow up to be the man you are today.”
Byakuya grins sardonically, trying not to show how affected he actually was by the amount of zeal on display. “Quite,” he allows. “Sister would have loved to see you.”
“Oh, is she around as well?”
When he walks out into the halls, Byakuya looks back, pausing thoughtfully, before, “No,” he says stiltedly. “She has her own responsibilities that unfortunately take priority over accompanying me in seeing you, but she sends her regards and well wishes.”
“Duly noted,” his butler remarks with a kind smile on his face, but it grows clouded, turning chary and contemplative. “But I hope you know that her inability to visit speaks volumes. Ever since you’ve emerged victorious from the coronation, she has always made time for the estate’s inhabitants regardless of the scale of her duties, so not seeing her with you is rather worrying.”
He furrows his brows at the ominous observation. “Truly?”
“Truly. Times are changing, Young Master, and it may come to a point where you won’t be able to rely on me anymore. Take care of yourselves… and each other.”
Byakuya stops, swallowing to himself, before walking away quietly. As he does, he tried not to acknowledge the rueful curl on his lips, listening to the soft snip-snips coming from the balcony he just left behind growing quieter and quieter.
Times are changing? Interesting.
Evening falls on Isharamae by the time Byakuya strolls into the foundations of the city’s main castle, the impregnable Tōajō, leaving his private ship along the nearby hangars reserved for only the most important personnel within its walls.
He had left behind the overcoat of his uniform, and was now adorned only in a no-less formal undershirt, tassels of his accolades and current rank still hanging along the fabrics. The people of the Empire lived and died by their merits, and even if he’d been donning these Isharamite linens for the past forty-eight hours, Byakuya found no reason to contend against its will.
He never stopped hearing what the commoner rabble had to say to such an ideology. The Empire did what it did for the sake of its people, but they never recognized that and continued to protest. But at least the average citizen curbed their doubts for Isharamae’s governances to allow the Empire to work for their present quality of life.
Effort for merit, merit for recognition, and recognition for a better life. It was a rule within the Togami Legacy that became more widely spread with the founding of their family's dynastic rule over the Empire, and Father would acknowledge the sacrifices their people had made when that sole rule was followed, often commending those select subjects for their undying dedication in spite of circumstance.
It was a perfectly reasonable arrangement up to its very roots. What could have truly caused the Sedition’s inception when there could hardly be any reason for their prevalence? He was set on finding out.
“Power without merit is a testament to one’s inner strength, but merit without power is the motto of fools,” he says to himself firmly, beginning his journey on the steps to the stronghold. All around him was stone and brass, and at the very foot of Isharamae’s main spire, the grandiose view of the castle was certainly something to think about.
Byakuya makes his way, counting each step even as exhaustion weighed on his shoulders. For his every twenty-fifth footfall, the stair would be inscribed with words of molten gold, formed into phrases that made up the Ten Tenets of Excellence that any militant Isharamite knew by heart. Byakuya learned them in his youth under his Father’s intense and watchful tutelage – and early on his imperfections had been cauterized by the Lord Emperor’s blistering disappointment.
For every blunder, he was reprimanded, given only the appropriate amount of food and water to survive as his penance. These punishments instilled into a young Byakuya’s head that a single error was all it took for every comfort he’d earned to be taken away from his grasp. Endlessly he toiled within the gruelling creed of his legacy’s expectations to become the quintessential progeny, living under the sufferance of the Lord Emperor’s harsh vigilance and never spared from even the smallest of his mistakes, just for the simple luxury of breakfast.
The last time he’d been deprived of such was when he was ten years old. With that day came newfound resolve, and Byakuya had never been found wanting since then.
This was the one-hundredth and seventy-fifth step. He was now over the seventh tenet. “Power to the strong and the wise and the victor, for in this image we are made and undone,” he whispers. “And to this end will merit be appointed to the powerful, for they will lead the Empire to everlasting victory.”
He climbs the rest of the overstated staircase in silence after that, crossing the length of the brass-lined bridge and into the castle doors once he made it past the stairway’s apex, finally arriving into the Tōajō’s pristine gilded halls.
Byakuya stops, looking upwards. Before him were statues of all past kings and queens that watched over the Empire and preserved its interests, chiselled in beautifully golden orichalcs as they cast their polished splendor onto those who trudged under their likeness. The second tenet mentioned that ambling amidst the statues will grant the most faithful to the Empire’s cause the divinity they deserved to ascend the throne, but despite having done the practice since he was a child, Byakuya certainly never felt such a thing.
Will he share the same fate as the men and women these statues were carved after, overlooking his future successors with unfeeling golden eyes? As much as he hated to admit it, Byakuya didn’t dare answer.
He passes room upon room in his trek of the castle before, at last, facing the massive double doors of the throne room. The heavily-armored guards flanking its wings stop him, and he briefly straightens his posture, tipping his chin upward and folding his hands behind his back.
“Hold. State your purpose.”
“Byakuya Togami, Crown Prince and Rear Admiral of the Gale recently summoned to the throne,” he introduces coolly, keeping his bored expression. “Recalled personally by the Lord Emperor, I am to convene with His Majesty for undisclosed reasons, and tangentially, to debrief the Council of Isharamae on the results of the Polaris’ latest excursions.”
The guards share a look with each other and nod, instantly pushing the door outward to admit him inside. He waits for a few seconds as the drag of the doors make a gravelly and imposing rumble, the sound echoing throughout the castle’s halls of gleaming metal and stone.
Byakuya rolls his shoulders as he saunters into the throne room’s impressive swathe, walking along lines and lines of bronze effigies or branching banners. The sight of the Emperor’s royal chamber was only ever reserved to those who ranked the highest in Isharamae’s court; and in this case, only those of the Council and the castle’s personal vanguard of soldiers saw the king and his crown in their lifetime.
Therefore, it was unsurprising to Byakuya that it wasn’t just Father waiting for him at the pulpits of the throne, standing banefully in his resplendent robes and gleaming cybernetics, but the full circle of the Council as well. However, only Councilwoman Nevermind had the courtesy of giving him a friendly and gracious smile, while the rest regarded the Crown Prince with nothing so much as a passing glance.
“Byakuya,” Father greets, expression solemn, beholding his son with searching eyes. “I understand that you aren’t particularly overjoyed about the summons.”
“Father,” Byakuya say imperiously as he cuts a low bow, looking up afterwards and standing to attention. “My quarry was close to capture, and the threats to our intelligence would have finally been vanquished.”
The corner of Kijo Togami’s mouth curls into the closest equation of a smile, but even then, nothing about it suggested joy. “That, you are,” he says. “In this case, you’re presented with the perfect opportunity. Before we get to the reason of your summons, I would like you to outline your report to the Council right here for the sake of brevity.”
Byakuya nods, giving Father another respectful bow and raising his chin at the Council’s members. He studies each and every member, ultimately focusing on the man standing at the center pulpit.
“Rear Admiral Togami,” one of them begins. “Your rigor in continuing your operations are to be commended, but it is prudent you share all the details beyond your latest report due to the nature of your recall.”
“Indeed, my efforts had been cut right at the cusp of its conclusion, so the very least I could do is make haste and redeploy my forces after my affairs with the Lord Emperor are settled.”
Another member of the Council, a graying man in robes far too big, speaks in reply. “You have always been our most promising. That is a merit you undoubtedly deserve. Regarding the spy, what were their last coordinates? Have you truly ascertained that our quarry is a woman?”
Byakuya forces back a scowl at the thought of the seditionist recreant. “My last altercation with the suspect were at the Goethe Clusters before they made their escape into hyperspace, and I have made numerous contacts with the spy throughout my operations to know for sure that with certainty, we are tracking down a woman.”
“It is lamentable that this criminal element has never ceased escaping your grasp. Now, the Empire may potentially pay for its ignorance.”
He pays the jab no heed. “Unfortunately, our quarry wields unregistered paraphernalia and technology that outclass our facial recognition systems. Aside from her gender, we have nothing to add to her profile. My united efforts with the Library bore no fruit due to the lack of information.”
“How troubling,” another member says, this time a woman. “Are you able to confirm the consensus from the Library that the spy has access to our national resources?”
“Yes. I have corroborated with Agent Blue Ink and the Chief Intelligencer that our files had been tampered with, and was indeed used in acquisition according to the histories of a Priscilla Song, a Joshua Lindberg, and an Eri Wan. Their identities either do not exist in our database, or are deceased. In addition, all of their backgrounds do not match the details within their files, but somehow, they have managed to overwrite and utilize government data to a worrying depth.”
“This is preposterous! What is the Library doing? These seditionist scoundrels have caught us in our undergarments multiple times and yet they continue to dawdle!” the last member intones, slamming his hands onto the pulpit with an enraged thud.
One of the members at his side speaks up. "There is due process to consider, councilor."
“Which now lacks substance. We cannot afford to waste any more seconds on measly protocols. It’s time our troops double down and begin our investigations into illicit activities within the capital!”
“And sow discord amongst ourselves? That’s a window of opportunity the Sedition will capitalize. We must never underestimate our foes, they’ve proven multiple times that the caution we exert is necessary.” Councilwoman Nevermind interjects sharply, before looking at Byakuya with a nod. “This quarry covered her tracks well, was able to employ our resources undetected, and evaded capture even with the might of the Crown Prince at her heels. This is a level of skill unseen from our opponents, and a sign that we should be improving our counterintelligence.”
“Perhaps it is the Library and the Crown Prince’s command of his forces in the Gale that should be questioned of their unrealized incompetence. One spy shouldn’t be this problematic.” The first councilman suggests with an aloof expression, but not without his eyes darting to the Emperor, overlooking their meeting without a word. “That rat has likely made its way back to those mongrel seditionists and giving them information they shouldn’t have in the first place.”
Byakuya scoffs, standing straighter. “Need I remind you that I was recalled, councilman? Before my summons, the suspect had been on the verge of capture. Your suggestions have hardly helped in the recent debriefings. Learn to parse through your words before speaking your mind lest you flood our discussions with more of your useless drivel.”
Before an argument could break out, Councilwoman Nevermind thankfully steers the debriefing back into a modicum of productivity. “Speaking of the Library, what of Agent Truthbearer?” she asks, her cutting voice silencing the commotion. “Have you made contact with her and get an in-depth read on the target’s place in the organization?”
“I can’t,” he answers curtly. “According to our last contact, Agent Truthbearer’s position within the Sedition’s ranks is precarious. One single suspicion of her being a turncoat for the Empire and we will lose our only successful in. As we’ve discussed with the Library at our last joint debriefing, we cannot risk our only link to the rebels. In my personal opinion, it’s best to leave her to her own devices and let her make the appropriate judgement over her situation.”
“How worrying…”
“Is it wise to hinge our operations on the fate of a single agent?” The other councilwoman inquires with a raised eyebrow. “Getting more of our people into the ranks of their haphazard rabble shouldn’t be difficult.”
“Have you absorbed a single word of what Councilwoman Nevermind said?” he nearly drawls, patience thinning. “It never bodes well for us to underestimate the scale of the Sedition’s influence nor their bureaucratic rigor. Most of our attempts to plant agents within their ranks have done terribly because we assumed they didn’t have their own form of reconnaissance.”
A beat and some later, and a chorus of enraged voices echo across the five pulpits. Byakuya feels his father’s eyes on him, but hardly registers its weight when combined with the frustration boiling in his chest at the current meeting.
Fortunately for him, Councilwoman Nevermind raises a hand sharply for silence, and despite her air of aloof neutrality, most of the Council conceded to the unspoken command.
Byakuya almost smirks. A relic of a distinguished queendom, indeed. He ought to be more amicable to her company in the next few soirees.
“The Rear Admiral is correct,” Nevermind says as she gives Byakuya a knowing look, inclining her head. “The Sedition took advantage of our neglect, and it is due to this lack of presience that we’ve allowed Atria to fall to their influence and withdraw from our leadership.”
“Yes, this hubris is self-imposed,” Byakuya adds. “I’m afraid the longer we disrespect the capabilities of the Empire’s foes, the more there will be factions that fancy the idea of a secession from our authority.”
The female councilmember makes a disapproving noise. “Which is why we should be taking necessary risks by destabilizing their ranks and not sitting on our behinds doing nothing, Rear Admiral. Though I can forgive you for this oversight due to the fact that this is the Library’s jurisdiction and not yours.”
Byakuya’s scowl runs deeper, readying himself for a devastating comeback as he begins to open his mouth.
“If I may,” Councilwoman Nevermind interrupts softly, running peacekeeper again. “All these talks of compromising our agents and soldiers, and not a single one of us have suggested that perhaps we should be looking… inward.”
“Insolence!” One of the members shout.
“You dare suggest betrayal within our own at this level?”
“But it has been the most reasonable observation made thus far,” Byakuya agrees, immediately latching onto the only comment spoken with thought in this debriefing. “We may be looking at a potential breach of our loyalties. Though as much as we would like to speculate about it, these are matters to be discussed with our allies at the Library and not here.”
Councilwoman Nevermind nods. “Certainly true.”
Byakuya sighs tiredly. “While I begin to redeploy, I have heard word from my contacts in the Library that Agent Truthbearer will be sworn in back to the throne. Is this true?”
Everyone standing on the pulpits look to each other at the question, before Councilwoman Nevermind dips her head in confirmation, seemingly the only one who comprehended Byakuya’s intent behind the innocuous inquiry. “Without doubt. Her withdrawal has been personally forwarded by the Chief Intelligencer due to the gravity of the situation.”
“I see,” he crosses his arms. “We are all well-aware of Agent Truthbearer’s unpunctual turnouts, so it may be wise that the patrols of the Polaris are within at least four systems to the Regulus’ proximity so that I can sync her arrival with mine once she is within our contact. The Gale will continue on its usual flight paths across the stars, but I will personally be in the company of those flying on Isharamite routes from this day forth.”
“Understandable,” the member in thick robes nods, understanding dawning on his features. “I assume you need time to prepare for her return so you can operate your search with her findings in tandem.”
“Yes, councilman,” he says with increasing disinterest, having accomplished everything he could have wanted in this debriefing.
“Likely the most efficient move you can make at the moment, and that is to your due credit. Your suggestions will be considered.” Councilwoman Nevermind smiles, sharing a look with the rest of the Council as the report seemed to at last come to a close. “Is there anything else you wish to add?”
“Not at the moment,” Byakuya says somberly, shaking his head with dignified import. “For the meantime, aside from my suggestions, the Gale shall accede to the Council’s whims in distributing our forces to mend this untimely violation of our ramparts. The Emperor and I do still have some… liaisons to settle.”
“Of course.”
One by one, the members of the Council left, with Councilwoman Nevermind punctuating her acquittal by the grim echoes of the double doors, reverberating across the chamber.
When Byakuya turns around, his father slowly stood from the throne, considering his son with austere features. “It looked as though you nearly had a row with them once again,” he clicks his tongue. “But your unease is understandable. Both the Welkin and the Library speak of conflict within our foundries. Already our forces have begun to stagger from the weight of treachery, and the seditionists continue to grow in power due to our folly.”
Byakuya quirks an eyebrow. “As we are always vigilant of,” he tests. “With all due respect, Father, that is known information. I cannot see my reason for being recalled here. I doubt you’ve summoned me for a preaching.”
“Indeed,” Kijo says, unfurling a smirk full of bemusement. “You are aware that I have been growing old with age, and with the notion of our forces being unbeatable fading in light of your quarry’s escape and the seizing of Atria, the Sedition will not bother to curb their incessant calls for ‘justice’. It is past my time to commandeer the Gale, and your experiences across the cosmos and beyond have enlightened me on your leadership.”
“You intend to promote me to Prime Admiral?” Byakuya intones faintly.
“It is the birthright you have earned,” Kijo replies. “You have been tested from the day you were born, and it fills me with pride to watch you become an exemplar of the Empire to the highest standard imaginable. Truly, you are worthy of the throne.”
Byakuya gapes, stunned into silence. “Thank you, Father.”
“I merely state what is due,” Kijo shakes his head, voice still cold.
“This is rather… sudden, however,” Byakuya reasons, hiding his nervous swallow with a subdued cough. “You are aware that opinion on me is divided? My contributions to the Empire remain my only harbor from the censure of the common folk. I doubt this mantle-passing will be taken kindly.”
“And so was mine,” Kijo steps down from the throne, his steps ringing dramatically across the span of the royal chamber. “Our people will forever be short-sighted and concerned with their own, whereas we are concerned with the bigger picture and the preservation of our rule. Our name. Our Empire. I will not have our rebelling elements find us as men too blinded by weakness to remember the hardships of battle.”
“I wholly doubt such efforts will be seen along with everything else you’ve done,” Byakuya says with a frown, but he regrets them immediately, the words tasting like acid as they leave his lips.
Kijo laughs scornfully. “With the Sedition’s existence? It is clear that the people of this time are soft. The known universe believes in the idea that war is an impossible occurrence, but it is not a remnant of the past, and has never been.”
For a long moment, they bask in the silence after, and Byakuya only feels something in his stomach sink when he realizes the disagreement sitting on his tongue. A touch of… regret? Fear? Father was surely getting older, but it was in his likeness that Byakuya was made, and in the end, be undone. He can’t defy Kijo Togami even if he wanted to.
Could he? There was no reason for him to waver. This was his destiny.
And yet it feels… dishonest. Am I not ready for this burden, or are Shinobu’s words getting to me?
“What’s your answer, my son?” Kijo eyes him expectantly, folding his hands behind his back. “Will you take up this onus and lead our rule to victory, as you were chosen to do?”
Surprising even himself, Byakuya hesitates, silently squaring his shoulders as he thought of a suitable answer. “Give me time,” he goes with. “This is a decision that I cannot make lightly. With such a role, my view of the universe needs to expand considerably. I feel it’s necessary to discuss this with the Council and my allies at the Gale.”
His father nods, stern and unyielding. “And time you will be given,” he says, placing a hand on Byakuya’s shoulder. “Yet I know all the same you will take to your calling. By the end of this, I swear on the crown, that every single soul across the stars will know the Empire’s enemies are forever destined to fall.”
He swallows, a pit of something dropping in his stomach when the hand on his shoulder grips him firmly, before letting go completely. Byakuya furrows his brows together at the oddly uncomfortable sensation, but the reasons for feeling as such are escaping him at the moment. “How… will we do that, Father?”
An uncomfortable stillness follows.
“It’s quite simple, in retrospect. We should have done it a long time ago.” His father finally says, walking in front of Byakuya and turning around. He looks pensive when they make eye contact, but the resolve in his father’s glacial stare was undeniable. “If one of your limbs are diseased and threaten to bring harm to the rest of your body should it spread, then you simply cut it off.”
Meanwhile, on the other side of the universe…
“Are we sure we should be going there? What if it’s a trap or something?”
"Hina, I assure you, it's not."
"But what if it is?"
Hina only looks slightly unsure as she leans over the comms, as if inspecting the device will give her the answers.
“It’s not, I promise you that,” Makoto insists sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I know it looks super fishy. I get it, really. We receive a distress signal from a place where distress signals shouldn’t be emitting in the first place, we hear the voice of the supposedly insurrectionist popstar who’s now worth several luxury starships on Isharamae’s bounty board as of yesterday, and then I suddenly claim to know her. I’m perfectly aware this is suspicious.”
“Makoto,” Hina deadpans. “We are in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and you’re telling me that the escapee idol who the Empire has been looking for in the last few weeks up to the hairs of their very backside is like five hours away from our location, and you somehow know her personally.”
“Yes?” he answers weakly.
“Okay—fine, let’s say what you’re saying is true,” Hina relents, arms crossed as she draws away from the cockpit’s dashboard, going back to navigator panel, where a semi-transparent screen with several maps were on display, glowing in the cabin. “This is still super fishy.”
Makoto sighs, deflating. She had a point. “It does look like it, doesn’t it?” he suggests, rubbing his arm in trepidation. “But… you heard her voice. That couldn’t have been anyone else.”
She winces. “I did hear her, but… I’m just being practical, like the dick who answered your transmission first, 'ya get me? Trust isn’t just something we give away out here.”
“Yeah, it's just… you have to understand. I know—I knew Sayaka. She was a friend I had back home. I can’t not check it out, you know? These past few weeks have been seriously weighing on me. I know you’ve been taking all these transport jobs to distract me from it, and I’m grateful, but it’s… hard.”
Her blue eyes soften in a familiar, cloying sympathy. Hina was a lot of things, but her strongest trait has always been her compassion, and it was one of the things why Makoto found it so easy to get along with her. “I know, Makoto,” she says kindly. “That’s how we got Sakura with us. I don’t think there’s anyone else on this ship who would understand you even more than me.”
“Then you know we have to—”
“You guys still haven’t brought up the most important thing ‘bout all this,” another voice points out, chagrined but patient, and the two turn to find Hiro hovering in the doorway, “Heya kids, still here, hello!” He grins meekly, resting against the frame with his legs crossed, the epitome of carefree and laid-back despite the gravity of the situation; a pair of goggles rest over his forehead where a pair of reading glasses would normally be, an orange flight jacket hanging over his shoulders. “Are we turning her in?”
“No!” Makoto denies instantly. “We’re not doing that!”
Hina snorts, crossing her legs over her chair, the red jumpsuit tied around her waist flaring around her as she swivels on the seat in a circle. “Everyone on this ship has an outstanding warrant anyway,” she shakes her head with an ironic grin. “Walking into a precinct would just be suicide. They’ll probably just cram all of us into the same cell or whatever.”
Way too true, but Makoto had priorities. “So we are still going, right?”
Hina looks up in thought at first, making a humming sound as she places a hand on her chin. After a few moments, she gives him a blinding smile, and Makoto’s entire body eases at the approval. “I’m not opposed to making a new friend!” she says excitedly, giving him a thumbs up. “If you know her then she must be nice!”
“Wait, for real?” Hiro stands up straight, blinking owlishly as he steps into the cabin. “We’re seriously not turning her in?”
“I’m not turning in my friend for money!”
“Makoto, my compadre, my man,” Hiro places his hands on Makoto’s shoulders, shaking him with a desperate expression. “She’s literally worth a bajillion credits. We’d be set for a lifetime and a half.”
“Like I said, this isn't about the money! Speak for yourself—”
The sound of the autodoors opening again has the three of them turning all at once, this time coming to the sight of a disgruntled Toko who looked as if she rolled over and woke up on the wrong side of the bed. For a brief few seconds, their technician seems to comprehend what she just walked into and freezes up at the sudden attention, fidgeting in place.
“…w-what’s going on?” she asks dubiously.
“We are, according to our good ol’ cap’n here, going to a shipwreck and do no plundering,” Hiro nods sagely, hand on his chin. “Which totally makes sense. Surely.”
“Yeah! Because we’re going to rescue Makoto’s friend!” Hina raises her arms eagerly, bouncing on her seat.
Toko quirks an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes when she turns to Makoto. “Really,” she says boredly, ruffling her hair. From what Makoto understood, it was somewhat of a nervous tick. “Where’s your bleeding heart taking us to this time?”
Makoto perks up, seeing the chance to make a case to probably one of the only people in this ship who could understand his pleas, running to the navigator’s panel. “We’re going here,” he points excitedly, darting around the dashboard. “It’s only a few degrees off of our current flight path, and we can still make our haul on time even if we make the stop!”
“B-but we’ll be wasting a bit of fuel and our resources…” Toko mutters to herself, still looking unconvinced as she walks beside him. “Who received your transmission, exactly? And just… w-why? Why would they even plot a course through this place? No one goes here because there’s no stops anywhere to refuel.”
“Told ya, middle of fuck-all nowhere!” Hina sing-songs.
Makoto halts, pursing his lips. “One of them is someone I know,” he looks down, tone shifting from lighthearted to serious. “Have you heard of the singer who was supposed to do the closing act for the Nightingale Festival?
“The one who’s on the run?”
“Yeah, her,” Makoto shyly scratches his left cheek. “That’s one of the people we’re going to—um,” he gestures randomly, all without meaning, “you get it?”
Toko’s eyes bug out comically. “A-are you saying you know the popstar who’s worth seven million credits?” she stammers, her entire body pivoting to his direction so quickly that her glasses end up crooked on her nose when she’s turned fully. “Actually, w-what the fuck? That’s who were going to rescue? You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” Makoto says softly. “Sayaka is—was a lot of things, but she was good to me in the brief time I knew her. So… come on. We don’t leave anyone to die, right? Ever.”
A silence settles over the cabin, heavy with the weight of guilt and responsibility. He sets his gaze to Hina, to Hiro, and finally to Toko, who looks thoughtful despite her muted expression. Here’s the thing about their crew: even with their differences and the unconventional career path they were running on, no one was left behind. This was how this topsy-turvy banter of misfits found each other, and how regardless of their circumstances, Makoto knew they would always choose to stick together rather than be apart.
Part of him thought it was fitting that their ship reflected their characters way too well. The Hopeful Crest was a merchant’s vessel with way too many modifications to ever really look or appeal to the typical manner merchant ships looked like; it’s as if somebody had taken the concept of a spaceship and decided to scrawl all over the blueprints with a collection of colored markers. Everything about their skiff screamed, with all of its extra weapons and contraptions along with the frankly absurd paint job, weirdo central.
Nevertheless, the fact never really stopped tickling Makoto over the years whenever it came to mind. The crew of the Hopeful Crest were truly his people, and with them around, their jobs all over the cosmos never stopped feeling so rewarding and… well. Lively. Hopeful. Makoto wouldn’t trade them for anything.
Hina, their trusted pilot and navigator, made of whipcord muscle and an unusual aptitude for acrobatics. She had an instinct for finding her way around both known and uncharted space like it was all at the back of her hand.
Hiro and his miraculously facile tongue, who, despite his antics, could barter people out of their own house if he was given the chance. Even with this whole… thing about him being wanted in several star systems for fraud, he was the kind of person that you wouldn’t mind losing your time to.
Toko and all the plethora of surprises that came with her – there was a peculiar genius to her, along with her other quirks – but Makoto had enough humility to admit that the street smarts borne from her untold past saved them from more dilemmas than they can count.
Their newest members, too. Leon, the rowdy firebrand always in his corner, who possessed a sharpshooter’s eye and a predilection for music. Sakura, the wandering rover with a heart of gold, abandoning her lifetime pursuit of strength to instead find meaning in the way of healing and medicine.
They were all here because of a helping hand, one way or another. So obviously he wasn’t going to take this distress signal lying down.
“This is the kind of cry for help we take at all costs, right?” Makoto starts with a resolute smile, measuring his tone carefully as he faces everyone in the cabin and gives them a heavy, pleading look. “Saving others. Bringing hope. An extraction-and-rescue is exactly part of our job description.”
The funny thing about all this was that he didn’t even have to say anything. It was in their faces. Everyone was likely already on board, whether they wanted to admit to it or not.
“Yeah,” Hina breathes out quietly, her smile softening in resignation. “It is.”
Hiro sighs, loud and dramatic, but Makoto knows he was simply being a good sport. “Welp, you do got a point,” he gives Makoto a wink as he puts his hands on his hips. “I know when I’m fighting a losing battle. I’m totes on board then.”
With the two-on-one approval, Makoto decides it was the perfect moment to double down, giving Toko an uneasy but encouraging jerk of his head. “You’re our mechanic,” he points out. “We may not bring it up or acknowledge it a lot of the time, you’re the one who keeps this ship running. Your opinion has always been important, and I don’t decide where we go if the decisions made aren’t unanimous.”
Even with the increased number of eyes making her visibly jittery, Toko seems hardly affected by the optimism, only retorting with a scoff. “I-I didn’t say I’m against the idea,” she grumbles, folding her arms and averting her gaze by looking to the side. “Just a valid concern. It might be an ambush. Y-you do know that.”
“And it might be not,” he argues, his face shifting again.
Turning, Toko narrows her eyes as they make eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time. “That look isn’t going to work on me all the time—” her eyes began to twitch, “and y-you’re not going make me—” she narrows her eyes even more, looking towards Hina and Hiro’s knowing expressions and then back to Makoto’s own. “No,” she grits out, before sighing in surrender, shoulders sinking downward. “Oh my gods, okay, fine. We can go fetch your stupid wanted popstar friend or whatever.”
“Yes!” Makoto pumps his fists. “You guys won’t regret this. I promise!”
“I sure hope I don’t,” Toko grouches under her breath, raising a hand to her temple.
“’Koto,” Hiro calls out, ducking back through the autodoors, looking back at him before he left through the door entirely. “Hey man, I know this is your friend we’re fetching, but we still have to be careful. Keep that in mind, ‘kay? I’ll head out to check on the spare rooms in case our guest of honor needs it.”
“I-I’ll come with! I need to check up on the engines anyway!” Toko catches up, attention now divided between looking at where she was going, and the console tablet glowing dimly in her grasp.
Makoto blinks with pleasant surprise, laughing to himself at the sanguine concern and nodding. “I know,” he whispers as he turns back to the dashboard. He places his hand onto the ship intercoms, touching the buttons that activated the speakers for the hangar and the medbay respectively. “Leon? Sakura? You guys there?”
“Yo, Mako!”
“Naegi?”
“Head on up,” he says determinedly, looking forward and into the vast reaches of space in front of them. “I know you two are on downtime right now, but there’s something coming our way.”
A Collision Path Detected, Change Pathing warning flickers ominously along the dashboards hovering in front of Makoto’s spot in the pilot’s cabin, covering almost his entire field of vision and the small set of coordinates that the occupants of the Damsel had sent four hours ago, blending nearly into the expanse of stars beyond it.
The desolate sight of Planet X90137 stretches out across the viewport, with curious chunks of broken spaceship floating in its orbit – a trail of other parts follow the odd remnants, but beyond it, there were no signs of life in the planet’s near vicinity.
Makoto and the rest of them knew better, however. Whatever these parts were, it was a sign that they had to tread carefully. No one frequented this stretch of space unless you were a criminal (which they weren’t, mind you) or mercenaries looking for either a shortcut or valuable scrap, similar to their own mission—except in this case, valuable ‘scrap’ can instead be reworded to valuable person.
Admittedly, they’ve been hovering within the planet's orbit for a while. Everyone right now was itching to get a move on and start the rescue, but as it stands, Makoto can’t help but be a perpetual worrywart. Toko's words held some measure of merit now that they had a clearer view of the situation, and the floating pieces of spaceship were rather alarming.
“Well if that isn’t a sign that we need to fuck off from this place, then I don’t know what is,” Leon’s voice comes clear through the comms. “How’re things on your end, Mako?”
“There’s remains of decaying gas and energy from a hyperspace jump, but it’s likely from a few days ago,” he answers back, similarly wary. “I don’t think it’s from Sayaka if she said she’s been stuck here for much longer.”
“That’s mega weird,” Hina says, sitting cross-legged on her own chair, staring at the updates on her own station in the cockpit. “So if anything passed through here, then it’s either the thing landed on the planet, or just… disappeared completely. But the trajectory's all wrong for it. How the heck does that happen?”
“No,” Makoto says in a whisper, staring out in front of them, relying on his own conclusions. “Think. The gas trail. The weird trajectory. These chunks of metal everywhere - too many for a disposal. They didn't cloak. I think somebody…” he swallows thickly, “…crashed.”
Hina purses her lips, and Leon is notably quiet on the comms, a flood of static answering in his place. Hulks of burnt metal and debris shift haphazardly along the Hopeful Crest’s course, expertly avoided by Hina’s cautious navigation as they slowly enter the planet’s airspace; Makoto knew he was right, to the rest of their dismay - the magnitude of whatever must’ve occurred along Planet X90137's orbit is much bigger than they’ve judged or anticipated from their initial scans.
“She didn’t say anything,” Makoto mutters worriedly, leaning over the dashboard and gazing across the glass. Unease lingers underneath his bravado, giving it a slight shakiness. “Did somebody crash after jumping, or did they just cloak themselves…?”
“Nah,” Leon rebuts, voice sharp and edged. “Definitely a crash,” he says. “Look at the way those parts are burnt up. That trail. Whoever jumped here was running away from something. Hiro and I just finished up the gas readings and it looks like they got gunned down by pulse lasers.”
Makoto frowns. “From the Empire,” he concludes, paling slightly. “Did they get shot before the jump?”
“It doesn’t matter when,” Hina points out, nervous. “It’s no question that the ship who jumped here was attacked. I can barely think of a reason anyone would go through here. It’s either you have illegal cargo or you’re trying to lose the fuzz.”
“We can just ask though.” Leon pipes up. “Go and question the superstar if she's seen anyone or—” he falters, “well, anything. We can't chance it.”
“No, keep going in for a landing. I’ll talk to her.” Makoto sighs, taking initiative, getting to his feet as he approaches the comms; there’s a green blip lighting on the screen—the sign of an available connection from Sayaka’s end—which was the perfect opportunity. He flicks the switch up and hovers over the mic. “Hey, Sayaka?” he starts. “There’s - there’s somethings – floating all across the orbit. And we have visual on a… crater. Do you know anything about it?”
Everything is quiet apart from the winds of their entry into the atmosphere for about close to an hour, and they can feel the gradual, subtle shift of gravity as Hina steers carefully, following the coordinates. Gravity shifts were hardly a pleasant experience, even for weathered spacefarers, but Hina’s piloting made things effortless and barely a bother, as if she was simply navigating an obstacle course from one of those tests they all had to pass for baseline certifications.
“What even is that?” Makoto points to what was definitely the closest approximate of a something within the crater of ash and debris, and both he and Hina squint, leaning closer—
Was that the remains of a ship?!
“Makoto?” Sayaka’s voice echoes from the panel, disrupting their surprise. The clarity of her tone across the transmission is much more intelligible now that their signals were in better range of each other. Makoto tries not to buckle under the rush of memories from hearing her voice again, absent of white noise and static, but to no avail. “Sorry, I just received your message. We can see you, and… about your question. It’s a little hard to explain, but you don’t need to worry about it.”
He blinks away from the nostalgia-induced stupor. “What do you mean?”
How can he not worry about that? Especially since Sayaka was wanted by the Isharamite Government and whatever crashed had the Empire’s symbols plastered on some of the scattered rubble. Everything about the scenario was ringing the warning bells in his head!
Though as it turns out, Sayaka did have an explanation, starting it off with an exhausted sigh. “About four days—oh,” a pause, “huh, you’re right, I guess it’s better to use hours here, isn’t it?” There’s a laugh, and an incomprehensible set of sounds that must’ve been another person’s voice. “Sorry, that was just—anyway. About one-hundred three hours ago, I rescued someone who crashed here. But by all the luck in the universe, I managed to get her out of that whole thing alive so… like I said. You don’t need to worry about the very big and obvious crater in the middle of nowhere, as weird as that sounds.”
“Oh!” he exclaims, comprehension dawning on him as his entire body sags in relief. “Was this the other person who first answered the transmission in your place?”
“Yeah. I can see you guys are closing in and… wow. That is. A really big ship.” Sayaka trails off, audibly dumbfounded, but there’s an endeared chuckle after. “What the hell have you been up to in the last few years?”
He laughs nervously, tension ebbing at the ease of the conversation. “You have no idea,” he says, peering at the viewports. “I can tell you all about it later when you tell me what you have been up to, but more importantly, we have visual on your ship! We’re landing now.”
"Alright then! It's time for me to cut off and start prepping for your visit anyway. We'll be waiting for you!"
Makoto nods as he ends the transmission, looking up to gaze at the viewport.
It’s unmistakable once he’s able to pinpoint its shape: rectangular and bulky by body, with several thrusters and haunches arranged at the bottom – it was a corvette whose descent into the planet seemed to have went nearly awry, ambling by a cliff. The mere sight of it springs everyone in the Hopeful Crest into action: Makoto was now running from the cabin and getting ready to prep their hangar to open, his last sight of Hina was her already pressing down on the yoke and maneuvering their ship to a decent landing spot, and when he passes by the general antehall, Sakura was bringing out an array of medical supplies in preparation. Hiro and Leon were coordinating on a console at the hangar proper – readying weapons, rations, and waving at Makoto as he sees them ambling in the bay.
“Damn, she actually landed it upright this time,” Hiro observes with a whistle, looking around.
Leon sideeyes him. “Don’t jinx it dude,” he says, ruffling his hair as he visibly suppresses a shiver. “I’m still traumatized from last time.”
The cargo bay doors open slowly, and the three of them watch as the ramp is lowered carefully down, arms extending back up and straightening, stabilizing its formation, and a sigh of relief comes from Hina over Makoto’s earpiece.
“How are you?” Makoto asks with an easy laugh, fiddling with the small radiobox hooked on the lapels of his green jumpsuit.
“Well, we landed in a straight line for the first time in a year, so you tell me,” Hina replies playfully. “And we somehow got ourselves a planet of certified, First Earth-level clean air. I say we milk this hour for all its worth, because I don’t think we’re ever getting anything like it anytime soon.”
“True,” Makoto says absently, sliding down the brig connecting to Planet X90137’s terrain. “Alright. I’m coming down to fetch our marks, and hopefully get a really sweet reunion out of it. Wish me luck!”
“Heh,” Hina snickers. “Wish you luck? Please, you don’t need it.”
As it turns out, Hina was right about taking the opportunity to appreciate their surroundings. The earthy, fresh smell of the Lethe’s sole planet was revitalizing, and it made Makoto appreciate the abundance of nature as he makes good time onward to the Damsel’s location.
He managed to piece together bits and pieces of Sayaka’s circumstances upon landing here. She had a lot of very interesting words to say about the bounty on her head a few hours ago when he was still on the ship—delivered by a passionate rant full of Androsian expletives that Makoto didn’t even want to repeat in private—but in the end, she seemed extremely reluctant to share just exactly why she was now a wanted felon across the known universe.
She said she would share it in her own time.
Eventually.
And… well. There was something in her tone that made him a little more mindful. Makoto decided not to be a bother, since he wouldn’t want to tread on any bad memories.
Now, though, he was on his way, and as extra insurance, he made sure the rest of the crew on the ship knew about the emergency transponder looped into his radio. It’s not like he needed it, really, as from the few details he managed to garner about Sayaka’s companion, they were simply… initially untrusting. Which was understandable.
But still. If things went the way Makoto was thinking they were, the Hopeful Crest would have a new crewmate!
Even better, if whoever was with Sayaka was nice enough, then there could be two of them! He had to consciously stop himself from making a happy wiggle at the thought.
The corvette was in sight now with its own hangar open, and Makoto unceremoniously walks past the empty bay and into the brig, swishing his head around curiously as he takes in his surroundings. He sees an open door with light spilling from the frame, and as he peers in, he finds the center of a bedroom containing a decent cot, a small desk, a vanity next to a bunk, and someone entering from a connected hall—
Makoto immediately perks up. “Sayaka!” he exclaims excitedly, but immediately ducks out of sight from sheer embarrassment when he realizes that whoever just emerged from that hallway was definitely not Sayaka. “Or not. Um,” his voice dwindles cloddishly as he winces, still refusing to look into the room. “…hi?”
“Who you’re looking for is in the next room over,” comes a reply in a bored, unwelcoming voice.
“Oh, come on. Really?” a different voice – one more friendly and familiar – says commandingly. It’s as bright as he remembered it. “I wanted to surprise him a bit! You’re being a killjoy.”
“If you want me to cooperative then I’d rather we make our way.”
“And like I've said in the last thirty minutes, we can't go on this ship. We can just go with them!"
“This ship is perfectly fine.”
That same sugared voice he remembers fondly scoffs. “Please, you just don’t want to admit I’m right." There was the sound of something like a mocking exhale of breath. "The Empire knows this is the ship I left in, so it’s much safer if we ditch this and hitch a ride with my friend instead. I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” the first voice corrects harshly. “But we’re hardly in a place to ask for service. I’m heading towards an entirely different location and I’d rather not be delayed due to pressing matters. I can’t afford any more of that, so if you don’t fancy the idea of using this ship then you’re free to go with them. I have my own agendas.”
Sayaka’s voice softens. “…We made a deal, didn't we?” she says, and when it devolves into a hiss it makes Makoto flinch violently, even as the sentence continues uninterrupted, “—and you can’t just leave me after all I went through to make sure you lived through that shitshow! How are you going to pay me what you owe?”
“You will have to wait for the right time. What are even the chances that this friend of yours will be heading for Atria?”
“Uh,” Makoto interrupts, awkwardly peeking into the room, taking inventory.
There’s Sayaka, in a tattered idol dress that looked as if it had seen better days, its glitters and decorations merely radiating a dull, lusterless sheen in the light. She appears more mature than when he's seen her last in the sumps of Androsia-II, with fuller cheekbones and a more limber physique, but those vivid blue eyes remain the same. Beside her was a tall woman in purple who seemed to be her polar opposite, casting him a cursory, neutral glance as she crosses her arms. The stranger exuded an air of depthless mystery about her that made her a touch suspicious.
Makoto regards the woman with a dubious look, clearing his throat as he fully emerges from the corner. “Atria is actually along our flight path.”
“You look taller than I’ve seen you last,” Sayaka observes humorously by way of greeting, turning to him with raised eyebrows. “I’m actually surprised.”
“No, wait,” the woman repeats, stepping forward. And despite being in familiar company, Makoto can’t help but tense up, sensing the danger around her, that air of mystery turning from intriguing to intimidating. “What’s this about Atria?”
He freezes up for a moment at the attention and the odd question, blinking rapidly. “Atria is in our current flight path…?” he provides woodenly, pressing his pointer fingers towards each other. “We—we actually plan to make a stop there, so… yeah.”
Sayaka shoots the stranger a sly glance, getting a frown in reply. “See?” she goads. “Now, Kyoko, what did I say? Now it’s getting even more interesting.”
“What are even the chances…?” Kyoko, apparently, mutters to herself in disbelief.
“I told you we’d be heading there,” Sayaka says to her with a guileful and withering smile, before shifting her gaze to Makoto entirely with a friendlier look, brightening. “It’s good to see you again, really, but apparently this woman has priorities so our little tearjerking get-together will have to wait. Do you think you can make a case for two freeloaders looking to hitch a ride with you guys?”
A disbelieving, racouous laugh bubbles out of Makoto before he's even aware of it. Somehow, this is the kind of randomness he’d expected from a reunion with Sayaka, as strange as that sounds. “Just—just as easy as that?” he asks dryly. “What, I didn’t even have to convince you? I had this whole speech about how we aren't a bunch of space pirates looking to get your bounty and that we can totally be trusted and everything.”
She grins sweetly, giggling. “Just as easy as that,” a pause, and then an outstretched hand. “I do have to warn you that harboring me will increase your chances of getting vaporized by the Empire because they don’t particularly like me right now, so… you know. Risk-weighing and all that. Do we still get the deal?”
Makoto chuckles. "For a friend?" he takes Sayaka's hand, punctuating their accord with a firm shake. "I’ll take my chances and run with it.”