Chapter Text
They hauled Merlin in by accident.
At least, he desperately hoped it was an accident. Crushed as he was under what felt like a steel bulkhead, Merlin pushed outward with his Spark and prayed to every God he could think of that no one realized he was still alive. Blood dripped into his eyes as the panicked computers— the ones that were still functional, at least-- sent out a symphony of beeps and trills, pointless warnings that drilled into his already throbbing head. Warning, loss of pressure on all decks. Oh, no shit? Well, that’s what tends to happen when someone blasts your ship to hell, isn’t it? Code Red, all hands to battle stations, for all the good that had done. Alert, gravilock system non-functional. All crew, engage restraints immediately. Merlin felt the small, mangled body of the Ambrose shudder as the cool vice of the enemy’s tractor beam locked on and engaged. Slowly, the beeping carcass began to drift towards the victor.
The crew. His crew. Well, technically, Geladon’s crew, though Geladon was probably dead like everyone else. Merlin hadn’t known the crew of the Ambrose well, but three weeks in space was enough time to start to bond, even with anti-social Goblin smugglers.
As the computer had promised, little bits of metal and wire began to float around him as the artificial gravity failed. Merlin felt the odd lurch as his body struggled to adjust to the sudden weightlessness, and the tiny bubble of atmosphere he’d trapped with his Spark immediately started to drift; atoms were much harder to trap without gravity. Merlin exhaled through his teeth and threw everything he could at hardening his shield until even atoms could not pass his barrier. The void of space was a great sucking force that pulled at his Spark, relentless and empty. His vision began to go gray at the edges, and he felt the corresponding panic clench in his stomach— if he passed out, his Spark would cool involuntarily and he’d be dead.
Merlin turned, straining his neck to try and see any form of identification on the enemy ship— the wreckage of the Ambrose was a crumpled mess around him, but the bulkhead had torn a goodly section of the Ambrose’s hull when it had fallen and pinned him, allowing Merlin to see beyond the wreckage. The opening only revealed far-off, winking stars; they blinked at him coldly, but offered no answers. He was starting to feel cold all over, something small and hard and desperate coiled in his gut until his body felt weightless except for that small core of dread.
Then, abruptly, everything spun as the trapped ship was positioned for intake. The relief was like a drug; he almost laughed out loud. Guess they don’t have all day, either, Merlin thought, more than a little delirious.
Then, through the gaping hole above his head, Merlin saw the huge scarlet emblem painted on the massive sidewall of the enemy vessel swing into view, and his blood ran cold again: The Pendragon.
Fuck.
Perhaps it was best that the Ambrose’s crew was dead. Merlin seriously considered letting his Spark cool and surrendering himself to the rapidly failing life support system. At least there wouldn’t be any questioning that way.
They’d still have your body, a disapproving voice whispered in the back of his mind, sounding a lot like Gaius. They’d still know.
Fuck.
Would they be able to track Gaius from just Merlin’s corpse? He didn’t have a clue— for as little as he understood how Spark worked, what Gaius did was even more a mystery, and there hadn’t been time before he’d left to learn. If he died now, he may well be giving up the man who’d saved his life right into the hands of the enemy— or at least leading them straight to him.
The left side of his body was numb with pain— when the hot sweep of the Pendragon’s sensors washed over him without warning, it made his skin prickle like a thousand needles were stabbing the over-sensitive nerves. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek to muffle the groan that scraped out of him, just in case they were bothering to use sound sensors.
Above him, the great maw of the Pendragon’s cargo bay opened, the faint, blue-green flicker of the barrier that kept the void at bay just visible against the velvet blackness of space. Looking at the endlessness beyond the ship’s hull made Merlin’s head spin and his stomach turn, so he shut his eyes.
What was a ship from the royal fleet even doing out this far? The unfairness was a bitter pill, like poison on a blade that had already slid deep between one’s ribs; insult to injury. The old familiar fear was hard on its heels— did they know he was going to be there? Could they have tracked the Ambrose? If so, what else did they know? Could they be after Gaius as he was lying there, trapped?
Could they already know about Freya?
It felt like the next second the wreckage of the Ambrose was coming to rest with a thump on the floor of the Pendragon’s cargo bay, but Merlin was fairly certain he’d passed out for a minute or so. The sudden reassertion of false gravity made his head spin again, and he tried to dry heave as quietly as possible.
If they knew how to find Freya, there’d be no need to go after him, Merlin told himself, wanting it to be true.
Around him, there were no human voices, only the whirr of mechanics and, suddenly, the scream of metal being torn apart. Merlin felt his heart clench, then begin to race. Shit— if they assumed the crew was dead and planned on simply scrapping the Ambrose, he really would be dead, very soon.
Opening his eyes, Merlin squinted against the too-bright cargo bay lights and tried to consider his options. The metal he was pinned under and the flat wall at his back combined to put pressure on his chest, making it hard to breathe, and his pulse was pounding in his temples, brewing into a massive headache. He had been in the engineering bay poking through some star charts when the short battle had started, and thus was on the bottom of the wreckage— at least he thought so; the jagged opening he’d been using to see outside the twisted metal he was trapped in now faced a featureless gray wall, nothing to indicate his orientation.
Suddenly, a pair of metal boots stomped into view, and Merlin blinked. Was someone walking on the ceiling?
There was an almighty screech and the metal behind Merlin fell away— and he was treated to the sudden realization that he was, in fact, upside down. His head spun, and the gray swamped his vision again, flickering like a screen with low power. This time, he couldn’t stop the groan. Thankfully, the sound wasn’t particularly human— hopefully any workers around to hear would assume it was some part of the ship collapsing. He held his breath and waited.
Time passed-- lots of time? Maybe not. He wasn't sure. Maybe he'd passed out again... or just slept? Sleeping was better, and he was so tired. It couldn't be good, could it? Passing out was probably bad, so, better if he were sleeping.
It was silent.
Actually, it had been silent for… how long? The whirring of the mechs had stopped at some point, and the boots had gone— had there ever been boots? Had Merlin hallucinated them? He didn’t think he was capable of hallucinating, but he’d been surprised before. For a while, he just lay still and let his head spin.
Gradually, Merlin realized he hadn’t felt a sensor in quite some time. Also, the cargo bay probably had atmosphere.
His Spark guttered. Low battery, Merlin thought with a grim smile.
Another waver, this time with an accompanying pain in his chest. Oh, yeah— that was his battery. His battery being low was bad. It took concerted effort to let his Spark cool, which was unusual, and he felt it when the tiny bubble of atmosphere he’d been holding onto escaped, the atoms gleefully free to mingle with their siblings in the bay. The thought made Merlin smile again. At least someone was happy. Lots of someones— how many atoms had he been able to hold on to?
A niggling thought in the back of his mind wanted to know more about that— how much oxygen had he been able to keep hold of? How long had he kept it trapped? How many breaths had he taken inside his little bubble? But Merlin couldn’t think why it mattered. The voice reminded him of Gaius again, and that made him sad, so he told it to hush and carefully pushed it away.
For another long while, Merlin lay still and breathed as quietly as he could, in case the boots hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. Slowly, slowly, his vision improved, expanding until it no longer appeared that he was looking at the world through a dim gray tunnel, and he realized he could feel his hands and feet again. They hurt, so maybe it had been better before, but Merlin couldn’t figure out how to turn them off again.
More time passed, and the lights in the cargo bay switched to dim, cool blue. For a second, Merlin thought it was his eyes again, but eventually he realized the bay must be in standby mode.
Which should mean he was alone.
It was now or never.
Carefully, not trusting his limbs or his balance, Merlin placed both hands down and pushed himself up… or, rather, flopped sideways in an undignified tumble when his left arm totally failed to hold up its end of the bargain and collapsed before he’d even really put weight on it. He was obliged to lie still and breathe evenly for a few more minutes as his head spun again, now on his back with some part of the poor, dead Ambrose poking uncomfortably into his shoulder. Ok, new plan.
The hole in the side of the ship he’d been using as a make-shift viewport was still right in front of him. Using his right arm and leg, Merlin painfully shifted his body until he was lying on his stomach and surveyed his options.
The metal body of the small ship was mostly crumpled, the walls and floor having been designed not to become shrapnel in the case of impact. The same couldn’t be said for computers or engine parts, which came in all manner of shapes and materials. Merlin eyed a sheared-off section of piping that stuck out from a ruined wall— he thought it was a wall— with jagged edges gleaming in the cool light.
He tried to call his Spark again, to form a smooth barrier for him to crawl over, but all he found was a sudden, wrenching pain that stole his breath.
When his vision cleared again, Merlin exhaled shakily. Hard way it is.
-
Arthur was in a foul mood. They were supposed to be on a simple resupply mission, but nothing had gone well since they’d set out. His ship seemed to be falling to pieces around him; everything from minor to major systems was malfunctioning at random, each one requiring a full write-up and repair. While they’d been stalled, no less than three privateering operations had come through the outer bands in as many days— all of which had been aggressive, necessitating an altercation, which required a report. Then, he’d had a total lack of communication from the main node despite repeated attempts to contact them and turn in his endless damned reports… which required to him to make a record of each failure to connect. Arthur’s desk was a teetering pile of report discs, and his patience was even more precarious. It didn’t help that now his damn navigation screen wouldn’t stop flickering. He was going to find whoever was supposed to have repaired it this morning and string him up by his—
“Sir,” Leon said, at Arthur’s shoulder. The First Lieutenant didn’t flinch when Arthur turned and snarled at him, “The remains of the most recent unregistered vessel have been taken on board, per your orders. There are no life signs. We have removed the box, but it is unlikely that there is much else to salvage. There had been multiple hull breaches, and much of the ship’s contents were lost.”
Arthur sighed, rubbing at the throbbing in his forehead. “Did you already let her at it?”
Leon’s smile was wry, “I did. She has some words for Lance regarding excessive force.”
Arthur would like to have exerted some excessive force of his own, but he took a deep breath instead, “I’m sure she does— tell her we need any information she can give us on the ship, crew, mission, destination… anything at all. There’s got to be a reason everyone is suddenly so damn interested in this backwater.”
Leon nodded, no longer smiling. They’d seen the Wars through together, and neither man was comfortable with strange coincidences— especially not ones that came when their ship was malfunctioning. “It’s evenwatch right now.” Leon said, “I’ll tell Percival to double-check the wreck when he’s back on and report any findings to her. Maybe there’s something on one of the computers she can salvage.”
Arthur sighed, nodded. He wanted to slump back in his chair so badly— the impulse to weakness made him sit straighter than he had before, the ache in his lower back giving him a vindictive kind of joy— take that. “It’s time to head back to Command. I don’t like this— we need to make sure someone knows what’s going on.”
“Ah…My Lord?” Elyan’s voice was always quiet, but the note of confusion made it downright tremulous. Arthur felt the vicious need to swear, but held it back. “Don’t tell me. The navigation system is down again.”
“No, it’s— it’s operational,” Elyan said, hesitantly. He leaned over his pilot's controls to tap something on his screen and frowned at the result. “But— I think the sensors are malfunctioning. It says here we’re going at more than thirty clicks per… that’s totally impossible on sublight engines.”
Arthur leaned over and pressed the comm on his chair. “Engineering, come in.”
“Aye, Capitan,” Gawine’s voice came immediately, his slight accent purring over the static, “how can I help you this fine day?”
“Confirm engine status,” Arthur ordered. Gwaine’s sigh was audible over the line, as was his grumbling about the wasting of a chief engineer’s valuable time. Arthur ignored it, with effort. “Ah— well, as your status report should already show, SLE one and two are on and functioning, normal operations, finally got that damnable control board fixed. We’re— let me check— we’re currently clipping along at a nice steady two point seven five clicks per second. SLE three and four are on standby. The big boys are sleeping; LEs one, two, three, and four all operational but inactive. Should we start spooling, your esteemed Captainness?
“No,” Arthur said. Elyan looked down at his navigation panel with a pained look on his face, then back up at Arthur, and shrugged helplessly. Arthur sighed as his headache pounded gleefully. “Be advised, Engineering, we seem to have an issue with navigation comps. We will keep you informed on progress.”
“Aye aye,” Gwaine said cheerfully. “Let us know if you feel the need for the speed and the fastness.” Arthur disconnected the comm line.
“I wouldn’t advise jumping with malfunctioning navs, sir,” Elyan said, awkwardly, and Leon made a noise of agreement at Arthur’s back. “Unless… unless it’s necessary, of course. It could go very wrong, and we wouldn’t even realize it until we dumped out in enemy territory or… some other galaxy or something.” Arthur felt his headache grow stronger.
“Can you get a visual on the nearest star?”
“I can.” Elyan nodded, toggling the main viewscreen until it showed a small red dot of light. “I believe it’s LGH203198. If we head for it, we will be moving towards the inner bands, in the direction of Goalin territory.” Arthur glanced at Leon, and the other man nodded once. They shared some memories of being on the Moons, and they both knew better than to be entirely relieved by the prospect of being in Goalin territory again. Not great, not terrible. Better than nothing. It was certainly better than where they were, in the lawless outer bands, and Arthur didn't have a lot of other options at the moment. Not until the Pendragon was working properly again.
“Do it, sublight only,” Arthur ordered and stood. “Leon, take the chair. I’m going to my study, no disturbances unless it’s urgent.”
“My Lord,” Leon said, moving out of the way so Arthur could step down, “I believe there is a communication from your father waiting for you.”
The captain sighed. “Understood.”
-
He did have a communication from his father. Or rather, his father’s secretary— one of them, Arthur was sure, though he didn’t recognize the name. It was predictably short and to the point;
His Majesty requests a status report immediately.
Arthur leaned back in his leather-bound desk chair and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “Of course you do,” he said out loud to no one at all— no one was fool enough to hang around the captain’s personal chambers unless specifically invited, and not even Leon had an invitation. “I’m sure you’d love to know what the hell is going on. We have that in common, your tight-assed bastard. We're both out of luck, aren't we?"
The message glowed on his screen, impassive.
With a sigh, Arthur sent yet another command for Bedivere to contact the closest node and attempt to send across a full accounting of their last six days. As soon as the message was acknowledged, he began to generate yet another contact log, which would no doubt be stamped failed in a few minutes' time. At least his father couldn’t chew his ass too badly if he came back with a pile of attempted communications.
Not that trying meant much to Uther when failure was the result.
He had to force himself to finish the entire contact report before surrendering to the restless energy that thrashed within him. Arthur pushed back from his chair with both hands, barely resisting the urge to keep pushing until the huge metal desk toppled, sending his endless discs crashing across the floor. His head was buzzing like a live wire, his back and legs ached from sitting, and his hands itched to do anything other than push buttons and swipe across screens. He longed to do something real, for once, touch something that had a texture other than slick, metallic nothingness. He wanted to exert himself, feel his body strain and his muscles pull. He wanted to run until his legs gave out, and then, throwing himself into space, to fly.
No. Cold restraint washed over him, a torrent of self-loathing. No. Such impulses were impossible, unnatural, childish. Arthur was a man, a soldier who’d seen war, seen firsthand what happened when adults, those who should have been responsible, those who were charged with leadership, gave in to wild, selfish impulses. He would not contribute to the madness and disorder of the universe.
Being in space, thus much closer to the universe's pure, unfiltered Spark, was a burden Arthur refused to resent. It must be done, and so he did it. It was difficult, and so he did it every time he had the opportunity, and hated the small shred of longing that tugged at him.The call of the Spark had ruined thousands of lives and ended a hundred times as many more, at least. Arthur looked on those who threw themselves into its embrace with well-deserved loathing. Every time he went on a mission, even a simple run for supplies, it was another reminder that he was in charge. He was bigger than his base impulses.
He’d been pacing without realizing it. Snarling to himself, he spun on his heel and headed for the small exercise facility in the cargo bay. He’d deal with his urges productively, like an adult, and then he’d get back to work.
He had a ship in need of attention.