Chapter Text
Somewhere in the dead space between star systems, drifting in the infinite blackness, occasionally silhouetted against the brilliance of a white dwarf, a hulking battle cruiser crawled through space at a ridiculously slow pace.
If another ship were to pass by, they would think this vessel had suffered some sort of damage that took out their hyperspeed engine, and that the inhabitants were in grave danger. They would, perhaps, slow their own thrusters to see if they could offer any help. They would then see the symbol painted across the hull and instantly be deterred.
Of course, the cruiser was in actuality completely functional. The reason for its stupid, frustrating, subhyper velocity was because the person in charge was a complete and total asshole.
William sprawled across his bunk in a near catatonic state, staring at the same dull durasteel ceiling he had become all too familiar with over the past three months. Conway had cited “fuel shortages”, claiming they couldn’t afford hyperspeed, but William knew bullshit when he heard it. No, the dickhead was extending their journey back to the LS base on purpose. He wanted to make William more pliable and easy to manipulate, and was therefore letting him stew in his emotions.
Well, jokes on him. William repressed his emotions, as was strategically beneficial, and had been doing so since he was eleven. A measly three months wasn’t going to put so much as a dent in that. It couldn’t be much longer now. They had to be getting close.
Heaving a sigh, he kicked out boredly, drumming his feet against the wall. Jackson, who was unfortunate enough to live next door, hissed loudly enough to be heard. He kicked harder out of spite.
William would argue that technically, by definition, he had been kidnapped. Blackmailed, at the very least. According to most holofilms, those were usually exciting, action-packed, peppered with explosions and badass fistfights. This was not that. This was mind-numbingly, heart-stoppingly boring. Leave it to Mallard Conway to take the fun out of a kidnapping.
The cruiser was a model XVI star destroyer, equipped with a hefty pair of photon cannons as well as fourteen gunner turrets, eight subhyper thrusters, shields strong enough to withstand a small meteorite and the latest cloaking technology. Not to mention a state-of-the-art hyperspeed engine that William would kill to see in action right now.
All in all, it was a ship made for long-term flights, with the capacity to house up to two thousand people. It was only carrying about a fifth of that number, and only a hundred and fifty of them were actually LS. The rest were strays – refugees or displaced, running into the Soldiers’ open arms because they had nowhere else to go. Most would shuffle off onto relocation transports as soon as they reached their destination, to scrape a living somewhere in the Outer Ring. However, some – with dark eyes like gaping pits and barely concealed fury simmering under their skin – some would stay and lose themselves to the flame.
That was one reason William was here, holed up on his bunk instead of at least stretching his legs. It was almost physically painful to see them, frigid emptiness in their faces, himself reflected in their eyes. A reminder.
The other reason was, predictably, Mallard “Bitch” Conway, who seemed to have nothing better to do with his time than lurk ominously in dark corners waiting for William to walk past. He’d already been accosted multiple times on previous attempts to get out of his room, and he did not want a repeat of those conversations.
I’m not going to hurt you, echoed in his mind even now, I only ever wanted to help you, William. Despite your…absence, I still care for you greatly.
Care for me my ass, William thought viciously, but the memory played out in his mind’s eye anyway.
I don’t know where I went wrong. Why did you leave? Will you not at least tell me how I have hurt you, so I may apologise for it? Can we not be civilised and logical about this, William?
William gritted his teeth, screwing his eyes shut. Fucking bastard.
I’m aware that I’m…imperfect, flawed, yes, but don’t you understand that is why I needed you? You were always willing to challenge me, like no other. I made a mistake, yes, I’m only human, like you…will you not help me change?
William rolled onto his side, pulling the pillow over his head. Stop.
I am sorry. For whatever it was I did to drive you away, I am sorry. Can you forgive me? I will wait, however long you need. You know I will always be here for you, William. You’re home.
With a bitten-out snarl of frustration, William sat up and hurled the pillow across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a pathetic thump, sliding to a stop a foot away from him. He glared at it.
So. Conway was trying to get in his head again, and he was currently confined in a durasteel can floating through the vacuum of space.
I’ve gotten out of worse, he told himself, and was met with derision.
How ridiculous, sneered the new voice, the one that had gradually replaced Mallard Conway’s in the role of voicing William’s self-deprecating thoughts. Most days it sounded like Winters or Tide. On bad days it sounded like Vyncent or Ashe. On the worst days it sounded like Dakota. Look around you, William. Lie to yourself all you want, but there’s no getting out of this one. You’re trapped, like you’ve always been.
William sank down onto the bunk and dropped his head into his arms to try and muffle it out. Beyond the durasteel walls, the void of space was endlessly empty and cold.
Surely it wouldn’t be long now.
***
When Vyncent dragged himself back to their room, muscles shrieking in protest, Strider was lounging on his bunk.
“Oh, fuck off,” he groaned, waving an arm to try and disperse him.
The visual hallucinations were a…new development. They only occurred when he was in the deep end of exhaustion – increasingly common nowadays, with the rate Dakota had them going at.
Strider raised an eyebrow, dagger twirling between deft fingers. “You look like shit, Virion.”
“Vyn-cent,” he corrected, drawing out the syllables. “And I’ll thank you kindly to fucking leave now.”
“Why?” The rogue sat up, stretching languidly. “Scared your friends are gonna come in and see you talking to yourself? Realise you’re going crazy?”
Vyncent perched on the far end of the bunk and began aggressively unlacing his boots, unwilling to dignify him with an answer.
“What are you even doing here?” Strider was suddenly too close to him, dagger twirling an inch from his cheek. Vyncent flinched. “You’re useless to this cause, a liability if anything.”
Vyncent reached up with a trembling hand and slowly closed his fingers around the blade of the dagger. He swore he could almost feel the bite of steel. Strider grinned and leaned back, hands now empty.
“Little prince,” he laughed, “traipsing ‘round the galaxy, hopelessly hooked on a promise of justice made by a liar. Oh, what was his name?”
“Don’t.”
“Of course…” Strider’s grin split his face ear to ear. “...William.”
Vyncent whirled, dagger-point aimed perfectly for the space between ribs. The blade passed through thin air, leaving him stumbling with the force of his swing. Behind him, the door slid open.
“Vyncent?”
The dagger was back up his sleeve in an instant. “Hey.”
Ashe stepped into the room with an expression that implied Vyncent might not have been fast enough. “...You okay?”
He grimaced. “Just tired. Think Dakota’ll give us a couple hours layover at the very least before he drags us out again?”
Ashe let out a soft laugh. “He might collapse if he doesn’t.”
They fell into awkward silence for a moment before Ashe cleared his throat. “Um, I’m heading to the canteen. I don’t really know where Dakota’s gone, so. Um. Did you maybe wanna come with?”
It should have been easy to say yes. Ashe was his friend. He hadn’t done anything to hurt him. He wasn’t the one obsessively taking mission after mission as if determined to run himself into an early grave. He wasn’t the one who betrayed them.
In his periphery, something flashed, like the rhythmic glint of light off a twirling dagger.
“...Nah. I’m probably just gonna crash.”
Ashe nodded, expression shuttering, and slipped soundlessly out of the room. Vyncent stared after him, guilt battling with the rising wash of apathy within him.
It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy Ashe’s company. It was just that most things felt redundant since William left.
Ohh, that’s adorable, Min crooned, thankfully incorporeal but annoying anyway. Gonna cry over your little crush?
Vyncent strode over to the bunk, determinedly ignoring her. She continued to tease as he stripped off his jacket.
His feelings towards William, whatever they had been, were irrelevant. It was more that the crew fell apart a little more each day without him, that William was the whole reason he’d joined the Resistance in the first place. He still remembered the day they met, standing on the landing pad amidst a sea of servants, feeling so vulnerable without his regalia to give him weight. Keen blue eyes that picked him out in the crowd, recognised him as someone even without the circlet and jewels, even as the Greats and the court and the Empire seemed determined to reduce him to no-one. An exiled prince, soon to be prince-no-longer, just another relic of the archaic times before the Unity Fleet swooped in.
What do you say, Virion? A lifetime of warnings drilled into his head, years of scrutinising every twitch in someone’s expression terrified of hidden meanings, and yet nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Join our crew and get your revenge on the Empire?
Did you know? Vyncent screamed silently, did you know then? That your promises were as false as your loyalties? That it would all be for nothing? That you would leave me?
For once, his mind stayed painfully silent. Of course, there was no reply.
Us, he amended after a long moment, that you would leave us. His feelings were irrelevant.
Vyncent almost wished the Greats would speak up and antagonise him. At least then he’d be forced to defend himself.
His doubts hounded him far longer than any of their voices ever did as he sank into sleep.
***
The canteen was brimming with people as Ashe walked in, which was proof that the universe hated him.
Sighing, he grabbed a sandwich and a can of cold coffee and made his way to their usual table, tucked into a corner of the room. He remembered when this used to be one of his favourite places in the whole base. Ashe considered it a representation of his crew’s perfect cooperation. Secluded enough to accommodate William’s antisocial tendencies and save Dakota from the noise of the wider room, but with a clear beeline to the central tables where friends could be called over or conversations could be yelled. Now Ashe curled into the furthermost seat and wished the ground would swallow him whole.
Stars, this part of his life was supposed to be over.
Before he’d joined Red Seven, Ashe’s existence had been confined to the sterile plastisteel corridors of the Resistance base. He would lie in bed until noon for no other reason than the fact that he didn’t have anything to get up for. Hours whiled away at the range, perfecting his aim until he’d cycled through every single one of the four hundred training simulations dozens of times. Staying up well into the night waiting for his mother to come home. Crying himself to sleep when she didn’t.
Things got a little better when William and Dakota joined up, and he at least had someone to talk to. But they were away often, zipping between star systems on missions, helping the cause. And Ashe had remained behind, haunted by that gnawing feeling that settled in his gut and wouldn’t budge.
It had finally begun to fade, that feeling. Lost somewhere in the hyperspace lanes, amongst the sights and sounds of new planets and people. Chased off by laughter and loud music and expanding horizons. And now it was back. Despite it all, despite all the efforts he’d put into getting his feet off the ground, to finally do something worthwhile, he was right back at square one.
And Ashe was so fucking lonely.
A flash of red had him leaping to his feet, tripping over chairs in his scramble to call, “Dakota!”
The pilot froze, already halfway out the door, bag of chips clutched to his chest. He somehow looked even worse than he had when they’d landed an hour ago. Raspberry hair hung limply over dull gold eyes, underlined with massive dark bags. He’d developed a bad habit of scratching at the scars on his arms, scoring irritated lines across his skin. Ashe took a desperate step towards him.
“Come sit,” he pleaded, trying to make his voice convey everything he couldn’t put into words. Please look at me. Please don’t leave me here. Please just for once stay.
If anything, Dakota turned further away from him, shoulders tensed up to his ears. “Maybe later,” he mumbled, “gonna go get some sleep before the next mission.”
“You need a proper break, dude,” Ashe tried, “why don’t we take a day off or something?”
Dakota’s posture somehow stiffened even more. “No time.”
And then he darted off, leaving Ashe alone.
***
Vyncent was coiled into a tight ball on his bunk when Dakota walked in, the room dark save for the white light of his handheld. They stared at each other in silence for a second before going back to their own business.
Dakota slumped onto his bunk and started undoing his boots, trying to ignore the shakes in his hands. He needed sleep badly, had been for a few hours now, but the mission had to be completed. It was another stupid green-class, the only ones they could take since – New Haven, except for the rare times the new recruit got assigned to them as a temporary replacement, Arthur, his name was, a defector like him, and honestly that kid was too much of a nervous wreck to be worth much, but still. It was important. For the cause.
Kicking off his boots and jacket, he flopped back onto his pillow. Across the room, Vyncent shifted. His screen illuminated the dark circles under his eyes. Dakota knew for a fact he was exhausted, had complained about it half the flight home, but the Andonian always had trouble sleeping.
Dakota didn’t. His eyelids were already lead-heavy, but he fought to stay awake a little while longer.
He really didn’t want to have to deal with the dreams.
Of course they came anyway, and Dakota spent yet another night sprinting across neon skylines, screaming after a figure in a Resistance jacket who fell, again and again, out of his reach, leaving him lunging into the abyss to catch them. Leap after leap, feet touching down all too soon on yet another rooftop, the edges melting away into inky blackness. A sillhouette walking away from him, back turned.
He jerked awake thrashing, arms outstretched, a scream still on his lips. A faint dawn light filtered in through the blinds. Dakota could just about make out the shapes of Vyncent and Ashe in their bunks.
He hadn’t gotten enough sleep. That much was clear enough, from the way his eyes stung and static filled his brain. But he knew himself well enough to know that if he stayed here, it would take him at least another hour to fall back asleep. That was an hour alone, in the silence, staring at the ceiling and fighting off his thoughts.
He didn’t want to think. Thinking meant remembering, and remembering meant William.
Gingerly, Dakota hauled himself out of bed, trying to stay quiet as he slipped out the door. May as well get a headstart on finding their next mission.
***
“Right this way, Bluey, we’ve got your room all set up for you.” Ona purred, claws digging into his arm as she led him down the winding corridors.
William clenched his jaw and said nothing, hating himself for the way his mind recalled every step of these hallways, the fact he still knew them like the back of his hand. The relief of finally reaching the Soldiers’ HQ was quickly overshadowed with the sudden onset of reality. Suspended in space, William could trick himself into ignoring his destination, into finding comfort in the mundanity; now he could think of nothing else except the cold truth.
He was right back where he started. The one place he’d never wanted to see again.
Ona handed him his keycard, grin only spreading wider when he shook her hand off. The familiar door swept open, and suddenly William couldn’t breathe.
It was exactly as he’d left it.
His departure from the Soldiers had been panicked, rushed, throwing essentials into a duffel bag and vanishing before he could change his mind. It looked like besides some basic cleaning, nothing else in his room had been touched. His desk was still strewn with various mechanical components, parts of flash-bangs and smoke bombs he’d never finished reassembling. There was a small potted plant on his bedside table, something he’d snagged after his first successful job in the middle ring, admired it for its ability to grow in complete darkness. A single photo of his family sat next to it, and of course, on the opposite wall, the map. Spanning from ceiling to floor, the entire galaxy sprawled across it, webbed with red string and peppered with pins and notes William had collected over the years – Imperial bases, their security details, their weaknesses. Too many of them were marked over with bright blue crosses. William swallowed as his eyes landed on the biggest one, smack bang in the centre of it all. There was a caption, too, handwriting messy with triumph – NH shipyard. Made those fuckers burn. Some part of him vaguely wondered if he should add another for the supermax.
“Remember this, Bluey?” Ona grinned, leaning against the doorframe.
William fought the urge to snarl at her. Of course he did. He remembered everything. His mind was reacquainting itself with this room far too quickly, settling back in as if it had never left.
Like coming home, he thought, and then mentally kicked himself.
Ona straightened up and yawned. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Mal left you some stuff.” She vanished in a sweep of pink hair.
After a few moments of paralysis, William made his way over to the bunk. Laid out before him, in a neat line that just screamed Conway, was a blaster, an armband, the rising sun outlined in blue instead of red, and a familiar matchbox. He felt his shoulders begin to shake as he stared at the cerulean etchings in the sleek black cover.
He could refuse. Throw these right back in Conway’s smug face and prove he wasn’t a Soldier anymore. Sleep in the hallway as a form of protest, maybe.
But some part of him, something small and tired, whispered that it wouldn’t make any difference. Conway wouldn’t give in, always got what he wanted, and he’d be forced to relent eventually. For the first time in a long time, he was well and truly trapped.
Slowly, William reached out with trembling hands and picked up the blaster.
***
“Dakota, we don’t have time for this,” William stressed, fingers tapping along his thigh to distract from the countdown timer in his head.
Dakota laughed, grip firm around his wrist as he led them down another narrow alleway, ducking beneath the coloured banners strung between buildings. “Dude, we literally have, like, so much time, relax! I can’t believe you’ve never been on this planet before!”
“I’ve been to Kijal,” William scoffed, it was literally half a parsec away from Becarro how could he have NOT been, “I just didn’t stick around to go sightseeing.”
“Fifty minutes until they realise the shipment’s been intercepted,” Ashe broke in nervously, the update well-meaning but unnecessary because William was tracking the seconds and Dakota didn’t care, “Are you sure it’s safe to be here?”
“I’m with him,” Vyncent snapped, ears pressed back and eyes darting around like he was expecting an ambush. It was only their third mission together, and the prince hadn’t yet gotten over his paranoia. “This is stupid.”
“Guys, trust me,” Dakota insisted, “the Harvest Festival here is one of the coolest things ever. You can’t just come to Kijal during the festival and not at least check it out.”
“We need to go,” Vyncent began, but trailed off as they rounded a corner.
The four of them had entered a main street, today blocked off for pedestrians only. Red and gold streamers spanned between the lampposts, every square inch of pavement taken up with various stalls. It was swarming with hundreds of people, chattering Kijali swelling through the market. The air was thick with the cloying scent of spices and various flowers, as well as something delicious cooking. William couldn’t help but crane his neck to look for the source.
“See?” Dakota grinned. “Look, I’ll be super fast, okay? But there’s a bunch of Kijali foods I’ve been craving for, like, ever.”
He vanished into the press of people, calling “come on!” over his shoulder. William glanced at the others. Ashe was wide-eyed in amazement, but Vyncent still looked put out, eyes slitted in annoyance.
“We’ve got time,” William said hesitantly, “we’ll just be quick, okay, Vynce?”
The Andonian looked at him for a long moment, and then slowly broke into a begrudging smile.
They wove through the sea of people, following the mop of raspberry hair. Dakota dragged them over to every food stall he saw, stuffing their faces with meat skewers dipped in dark sauce, flaky pastries packed with stir-fried mushrooms, sweet dates glazed in caramel. Even Vyncent handed over a few dozen credits for boxes of sticky pink-and-white rice cakes dusted in powdered sugar. William kept an eye on Ashe, who looked almost overwhelmed with awe, but ended up indulging Dakota and staying for longer than was probably wise.
Later, with piles of snacks careening around the cargo hold as they flew through another round of plasmafire, William glanced at his crew, worried they were angry with each other. Instead, Dakota was howling with laughter, a grin splitting his face which Ashe eagerly returned. Vyncent, too, rolled his eyes and acquiesed, one hand in a box of rice cakes as he opened fire.
“See, Will?” Dakota threw them into hyperspace, still cackling like a maniac, “Totally worth it, right?”
William looked around at his friends, screaming along to the song playing over the ship’s speakers. The last pursuing ship dropped off his radar.
“Yeah,” he agreed, returning the smile. “Worth it.”
***
Figures the first thing you’d do is destroy, whispered the stupid inner voice.
William ignored it, fingers checking the powercell of his blaster one last time. Ahead of him, the panels on the wall shifted open, blinking lights displaying the words LEVEL 10.
Set wrist grip tight sights level, and stars, this was not a productive use of his time but at least it was under his control.
Five droids, crudely spray-painted gold and blue, leapt from the wall and William moved.
The hiss of plasmafire filled the air, scorching acrid smell drowning out everything else as he threw himself out of the way of the return fire. Two steps pivot stay level there FIRE three four check your grip move MOVE out of charges re-prime faster faster there go go gO GO –
The last droid dropped with a stuttering whirr. William took a step back, straightening, blaster still warm in his hands. The first two he’d brought down were messy, stray shots charring their sides before he’d hit them properly. The last three, however, were pristine, save for the smoking craters straight through their foreheads.
And suddenly William couldn’t breathe again.
What are you doing what have you done, the Unity blue-gold swam before his eyes, suddenly taking the shape of real uniforms, real people, burnt and disfigured beyond recognition. New Haven, Kijal, Becarro – blue crosses on a map, made those fuckers burn. Faces just visible beneath the ash, flesh and blood and RED HAIR AND GOLD EYES and William stumbled, sucking in air through his teeth to stop himself from keeling over.
He didn’t kill Dakota. He wouldn’t.
The black band burned cold on his right arm.
The recycled air was refreshingly cool as he exited the range, tucking the blaster back in his holster with shaky hands. The corridors were dim and silent, the rotations of the nearest star system putting them somewhere near midnight. William wandered, purposely taking longer routes back to his room. Part of him just wanted to test if his memory of the base’s layout was still accurate (it was). The other part scanned for a way out.
He’d made a deal with Conway, sure, but nothing legally binding, the LS couldn’t afford those kinds of formalities. They really must be desperate if Conway hadn’t anticipated William would cut and run.
Liberty’s Soldiers HQ was essentially one large artifical satellite, built to blend in with the other moons of the frigid planet they orbited, skirting the edge of one of the least populated systems in the Middle Ring. Every few months, the entire thing would make a jump to hyperspeed and move to another system, all the better to avoid detection. The outer shell was completely sleek durasteel, a glowing silver sphere encircled by two interlocking rings used as docking bays, transparisteel tunnels spanning the distance between them and the main body. Every so often a maglev car roared down these tunnels, carrying cargo, passengers and pilots who’d landed in the rings.
It was huge, much bigger than the Resistance could ever hope to be. Just the sight of it made William’s heart sink.
Last time he escaped, he’d simply strolled into one of the hangars and picked a ship. The pilot let him go without a word, even flight control stayed silent. He’d been peak Blue back then, bane of the Unity Empire’s existence, Mallard Conway’s prize Soldier. No one questioned a quick joyride. This time around, it would be a lot harder.
“How perceptive of you,” intoned a cool voice, and William stiffened.
Fucking stars above, of course I ended up here, he thought furiously, inching away from the open door at the end of the hall. Even from this distance, Conway’s office looked the same as it always had, warm yellow light spilling into the dark corridor. Tall mahogany bookshelves arched over a large ornate desk, giving it an almost cosy atmosphere. William gritted his teeth.
Conway, fortunately, hadn’t noticed him, gaze focused on the holoprojector before him. The person on the other end of the call had their back to William, who vaguely made out the shape of a well-tailored jacket. They murmured something he couldn’t hear, and Conway’s eyes slitted.
“Well,” he drawled, voice sour with vitriol, “I suppose you have me cornered, then, don’t you?”
William froze, curiosity piqued. Mallard Conway, cornered? This he couldn’t miss. He edged a step closer, squinting at the projection.
Conway was nodding slowly along to whatever they were saying, and to William’s horror, a slow smile spread over his face. “I see. That is true. How heroic.”
Something had changed. Conway was grinning now, a shark’s gleam in his eyes. William shuddered.
“It seems our goals have aligned, then. I should be most willing to discuss a transaction.”