Disclaimer: One Piece does not belong to me. It belongs to Eichiro Oda and Toei Animation.

The Seventh Voyage

Arc 1: Recruitment Arc

Chapter 1: Desperate Measures

There wasn't much to do. Law drummed his fingers listlessly against the windowsill, gazing sightlessly through the glass. Beyond the blurred distortions his fingerprint smudges made, he could vaguely make out nondescript shapes of drifting meteors, as well as a few twinkling stars. Normally, it would be a soothing image- the serene backdrop of the vast expanse of space, the meteors that floated past serving as an effective replacement for counting sheep. It usually lulled him to sleep, but he was currently drenched in the unfortunate combination of restless frustration and interminable boredom. He sighed, flopping down onto the bed, the springs creaking in response. Hazily, he made a mental note to get Bepo to grease down the springs later; it would do him no good to worsen his already severe sleep deprivation by sleeping on a bed that squealed with every shift in position. He knuckled his eyes, bright orbs twirling around in his vision. The dark bags beneath his eyes were more prominent than ever, practically a shade of black rather than a darker pigmentation of his skin tone. Although he spent several sleepless months working on the same problem, he still wasn't any closer to reaching a feasible solution.

And it was starting to take a toll on him. He felt groggy and disoriented, eyes burning hot with the desire to sleep. His wit deteriorated, and his vast arsenal of knowledge became hugely diminished, struggling with memorizing things for even the shortest periods of time. Currently, he was taking a 'productive distancing' from the problem at hand in order to refresh his mind so he could approach it from a different angle, but it did no good since even now, when he was meant to relax, his thoughts still circulated around the problem. He tried hacking off the blunter edge of his boredom by leafing through some of his favorite books, but perusing through the same texts over and over became inordinately tedious, even though he enjoyed them. He tried simply lounging, but then he found that his mind would always wander back to the portion of his conscious that was still latched onto the predicament. And he couldn't exactly chat with his crewmates considering that they still had their jobs to do, and pestering them would help nothing in the long run. All in all, the main trouble of being a captain was that, besides in cases of crisis, there simply wasn't that much to do.

So there really was nothing for him to accomplish but to continue sketching up plans. But even that option was denied to him- at least, if he wanted to actually make any meaningful progress, since in his current mindset he could only come up with either redundant or repetitive solutions, especially with his lack of knowledge. And creating a plan based on assumptions was like building a house with wisps of straw- weak, and without the sturdy, cement-like support of fact, it would inevitably collapse in on itself. And he refused to lead his crew on any plan that was less than sound.

He got up, stretching his limbs. There was a satisfying pop as his joints cracked back into place and he yawned, wiping away at the traces of sleep in his eyes with his sleeves. He might as well check to see if breakfast was ready yet. It seemed like the best option at this point.

He slipped on his shoes, smoothing the crinkles out of his clothing as he shuffled out the door. After the relative darkness of his room, the sudden light came as a shock. He squinted as his vision adjusted, trudging towards a room whose directions were long since ingrained into Law's feet. The dining room was a simple affair, with a long table stretching down the center and a tasteful chandelier dangling from the ceiling. With its plain floors and walls, there wasn't much regality, but the atmosphere was generally warm and snug, more a place for laughter than cold debate. He plopped himself into a plush seat at the head of the table, widening the distance between his legs, back slouching. It wasn't a particularly attractive pose, but it was comfortable, and that was all Law was concerned with at the moment. A scent from the kitchen wafted into the room, carrying itself to Law's nose. He took a deep whiff, a small smile forming in contentment. Just like all of Shachi's dishes, breakfast smelled hearty and delicious, and he could feel himself salivating at the mere smell. Heavy footsteps approached, and he lifted his head just in time to see Jean Bart seating himself across from him. "Good morning," he smiled, tipping his head in greeting.

Jean Bart grunted, and Law could smell a faint hint of sweat beneath the sharp scent of soap. He must've just come out of the gym's shower, since the one communal bathroom that the ship had was empty when he passed by it, the door gaping open and the lights switched off. "It's a bit late to call this morning, don't you think?"

"I suppose," Law chuckled, a low glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "But in all honesty, in space, there should really be no concept as morning. Because here, the sun always shines, regardless of the time."

"I guess," Jean Bart shrugged airily, and he leaned back, his head squishing against the cushion of the seat. "I'm never one to combat over specifics."

"And yet you were not the least bit hesitant to call me out on saying that it was morning, were you?" Law couldn't help but snipe back, his perpetually cryptic smile playing at his lips. "A bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"I was simply making conversation," Jean Bart countered, arms crossing resolutely. "This has been an entirely slow week for us, so I believed that you could use the entertainment."

"Excuses, excuses," Law chided, but there was a playful lilt to his voice. "I can't help but believe that your days as a captain are rearing their head. You're becoming awfully argumentative."

Jean Bart barked out a laugh. "I'll concede to that, captain." His eyes hooded over as images, faded from a time long past, flickered in his mind. "Old habits die hard, I suppose," he mused.

Law made a sound of agreement. "I can only imagine." And he really only could. Jean Bart's face softened with a wistful sort of nostalgia, fond memories- not better than the experiences he was having now, just different- filtering through his head. Law decided to say nothing, aware that the man was reminiscing over a time not shared between them, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, both of them absorbed in their own thoughts. From the kitchen, the telltale sizzle of frying food and clanging pans punctuated the silence that stretched between them. It was only around a full minute later that Jean Bart stood up, heading towards the kitchen. Law's gaze trailed after him as the door swung shut. There was the sound of a short, amiable conversation being exchanged before Jean Bart entered the dining room again, hefting a cloth sack over his shoulder while he carried a mug of milk in his other hand. He tossed the sack onto the table, where it landed with a thud. Law's eyes flitted over to the bag, and he couldn't help but tut in mild disapproval. "Do we necessarily have to buy whey protein?" he asked, a note of exasperation in his voice. "Or were there any cheaper brands, at least? This just seems a bit pricey…"

Jean Bart settled into his seat, pursing his lips. "Of this kind, no."

Law jutted out his lower lip in a semi-pout. "Can't you buy a different type then?" He couldn't help but be wary; they already spent a huge sum of money on groceries, buying actual vegetables, fruits, and animal products instead of the much more widespread and cheaper nutrient packets that people inhaled instead of meals. It was their universal preference for actual food that led to this choice in groceries, but none of them could deny the fact that it cost them much more than if they just bought the packets instead.

Jean Bart gave a clipped scoff. "Not if you want me to remain your main muscle, no. Look, that was the only place in the entire goddamn Grand Line that sells whey protein, which is-"

"The most soluble protein and the one that's the easiest for the body to digest, I know," Law interrupted, waving away any residual protests hanging on his crewmate's tongue. "Please don't lecture me in a subject that I'm well-versed in. It's patronizing."

"Never took you much for a nutritionist," Jean Bart grunted, lifting an eyebrow inquisitively.

There were traces of something that could be interpreted as sly peeking out from Law's ambiguous slip of a smile. "Well, I'm just full of surprises. I've dabbled in a little bit of everything. But seriously, couldn't you even attempt to buy something that wouldn't put such a dent in our budgets?" But inwardly, he did own up to the fact that it was nice having Jean Bart in his crew, especially as the role of the main muscle. The man, formerly a captain, knew his way around a ship and had plenty of experience, and Law quickly realized that it was highly advantageous to have him around on expeditions. Their business spots tended to be sleazy areas where it was just as likely to step into a pool of blood as a puddle, and their general clientele typically were affluent men who gained their fortunes through less than savory means. While Jean Bart wasn't the best fighter aboard the ship- that honor was reserved for Law and Law alone- he did have more of a visual impact, and Law learned that most people didn't normally want to have a scuffle with a man who looked like he could displace a continent if he so much as flexed a bicep. And they especially didn't want to mess with Law, since they figured, correctly, that they probably shouldn't bother the guy who had huge, imposing men like Jean Bart pledging loyalty to him. So, all in all, Jean Bart's presence was greatly appreciated, and Law would gladly let him buy whatever protein he wanted if it would ensure that he maintained his current level of effectiveness. It didn't mean that he wouldn't go down without a fight, though.

"Like you have much room to talk Captain!" Jean Bart retorted. "Considering the fact that you buy pounds and pounds of that ridiculously expensive coffee."

Law's eyes narrowed at the jab at his choice in coffee, and he hugged the bag of java eternally at the center of the table to his chest protectively. "Hey now, that's unfair," Law protested, "I need this coffee."

"Ultra-Super-Premium bean coffee blend?" he grumbled skeptically. "I doubt you really need that particular brand." And there was definitely a vindictive edge in his tone, still a bit bitter over his choices in protein being discouraged.

"That depends on whether or not you want a happy captain or a vengeful captain," Law muttered, eyeing the three empty spots at the table. "And on another note, where are the others? I know that Shachi's cooking breakfast, but what about Penguin and Bepo? It's disheartening to have a meal without the sight of them stuffing their faces."

Jean Bart shrugged. "Penguin's probably working on those maps of his, and the last time I saw Bepo, he was tinkering around in the boiler room."

Law's brows knitted together. "The boiling room…?" His voice trailed off, face muscles tightening as threads of agitation wove through them. Bepo had been spending an alarmingly increasing amount of time in there, and the weighty implications that that held were unsettling to say the least. "Why? Is there something wrong there?"

Jean Bart caught the subtle undertone in Law's voice, and his face darkened, huge frame tensing. "I honestly don't know," he admitted, his gaze fixing itself to a nondescript area in the wall. "Bepo wouldn't tell me any details, insisting that nothing was wrong."

Law frowned. "Well, that's no good. The next time you see him, tell him to come to me. I don't like not knowing what's going on in the ship. You know as well as I do how important it is for the captain to know the affairs of his ship."

Jean Bart nodded, and they both raised their heads simultaneously when they heard footsteps approaching. Penguin smiled at them from the entrance, his face and hands smeared with dark streaks of ink. "Hey guys," he chirped, beaming at them brightly. "What's going on?"

"Not much," Law replied, fingernails clicking as they tapped against the table in a gesture of impatience. "Just waiting for breakfast to be ready."

"Ah," Penguin said, and he dropped himself into a seat next to Law. "I just thought I'd ask since you two seemed so grim when I came in."

"Ah, about that, we wanted to talk to you about-" Law stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. "What are you doing?" He demanded, nose crinkling in disgust.

"Huh?" Penguin blinked, startled at the sudden outburst.

"Ugh, you're filthy!" Law made a face, waving him away with a shooing motion. "Go, just- just go and clean up before you sit at the table, ok?"

"Hey!" Penguin frowned sharply, bristling at the edges. "That's not fair! You eat at the table when you're soaked with blood! This is just ink!" He rolled back a sleeve, revealing another splotch of ink decorating his inner wrist. "Ink!"

Law slammed a hand against the table. "Well, I have an excuse," he argued, "I'm the captain, and the properties of blood does wonders for my complexion! Ink, on the other hand, does nothing for the skin."

"Come on," Penguin rolled his eyes in exasperation, "that's not fair no matter how you look at it. You're just using your role as captain to your advantage. So blood is okay but ink isn't? You really are just being hypocritical now, Captain." He lifted his eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the inevitable rebuttal.

A sudden, crafty smile stretched across Law's lips. "Quit your griping," he ordered, voice even and well modulated. "I'm only telling you this for your own sake, since ladies like men that are clean." Penguin fell completely silent at that, jaw frozen in an aborted attempt to voice a protest. Law took this as a sign of encouragement and continued, a seductive dip in his voice. "So, if we ever bring a woman onto the ship, I'm just giving you advice to increase your chances of climbing into her heart." He coughed, using his hand to obscure the stealthy quirk of his lips. "As well as other areas."

Penguin stilled, the soul of a complaint dying in his throat. There was a moment of silence as he stared down at the floor, shivering. Then he squealed in excitement, pumping at the air with his fists. "Captain!" he exclaimed, "I'll follow you wherever!"

Jean Bart observed Penguin blankly. "That's a complete one-eighty," he commented drily. He paused, realizing something. He whipped his head towards Law. "And what you said was completely irrelevant!"

There was a conspiratorial gleam in Law's eye. "Of course it was relevant. After all," he glimpsed at Penguin, who was still gushing praises, from his peripheral vision, "I would never use an impromptu speech to exploit easily swayed individuals now, would I?"

Jean Bart simply stared at him. "You're devious," he breathed, although his voice was awed. "You're honest-to-god devious."

Law waved away the comments dismissively, although he seemed to be pleased from the words. "Such harsh words to describe my concern."

Jean Bart snorted. "I didn't use any euphemisms. I tell it how it is." He shot a glance at Penguin, who was currently mucking around in a sea of his own imagination, a euphoric expression plastered on his face as a stream of saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth. "But it's worrying how easily he's manipulated."

Something pensive crept over Law's face, and he rubbed his chin absently in thought. "That is a good point," he muttered, analyzing Penguin's vacant face. "While I do not doubt their loyalty, there is the worrying notion of just how easily their thought processes become diverted at the mere mention of women-"

"Did you say women?" a voice called out, and they turned their heads just in time to see Shachi kick open the door, the hinges squealing in response. He beamed, trays stacked with steaming plates of food balanced precariously on his arms.

Penguin opened his mouth to answer, but Jean Bart beat him to it, clapping a thick hand over his crewmate's mouth. "No, you misheard," he replied, trying to surreptitiously angle the crevices of his fingers away from the spittle flying from Penguin's muffled voice. "We were talking about something else."

Shachi's lips quirked downward. "Too bad," he moaned, and it seemed like every feature on his face was yanked down with a string. "I really would like to see a pretty lady. We haven't encountered one in so long…"

Law couldn't help the smile fanning out across his lips. "Oh, just set the table, you dope. We're all hungry."

Shachi sighed with the weariness of a martyr. "Nobody appreciates me," he moaned, shaking his head. "But I'll do what you say anyway, just because I'm so loyal to you." He sauntered over, tossing the plates onto the cloth placemats much like how a person would throw a Frisbee, the bottoms of them barely skimming the surface of the wood before landing safely onto their proper positions. He sent them a lopsided grin, quirking his eyebrows expectantly. "Well? What are you guys waiting for? Dig in!"

Without a further moment of hesitation, Penguin hurled himself into a seat beside Law, and Shachi pulled out a seat to the left of him. Jean Bart had the sense of mind to pause, a spoon suspended halfway between his plate and mouth. "What about Bepo..,?" he asked, uncertain. He didn't want to prolong the amount of time until they all ate, but something about the fact that one of their crewmates wasn't there gnawed at his core. Shachi and Penguin also paused as the revelation trickled through their brains, a niggling worm of guilt writhing in their guts.

Law smiled in detached amusement. "It's fine," he reassured them, procuring a teacup seemingly out of thin air. "If Bepo decided to come to breakfast late, I see no point in torturing ourselves over his misbehavior. Go ahead and eat. He can just heat up his breakfast and have it later."

They all nodded, secretly relieved that they didn't have to wait. All of them, save for Law, began shoveling in blindly, sighing in contentment. Due to the overabundance of time that they had, Shachi decided to spend more time sprucing up the meals than he usually did, adding additional dashes of flavor and spritzing up their appearances. Little colorful umbrellas cruised through fruity smoothies, and Law's daily coffee sported a swirly design of Shachi winking at him, composed by stirring the frothy foam that had accumulated at the top. Sprigs of parsley were sprinkled liberally over glistening eggs, accompanied by the golden hash brown that edged the curve of their plates and bacon that still sizzled. They all tore into their food ravenously, smiling in contentment as the various flavors meshed together in their mouths. Penguin and Shachi crammed as much food as they could in their faces, to the point that they sputtered crumbs whenever they shoved another forkful into their mouths. Jean Bart sipped from his mug of milk, already heavily infused with whey. The only person not eating was Law, who was scrutinizing an extremely offensive sight that somehow had hidden itself among the heaping stacks of food.

"Bread?" Law made a face, poking at a loaf warily with the tines of his fork. "Shachi, what is this abomination doing here?"

Shachi's face turned stormy, and he chucked his fork at the table, where it landed with a clatter. "Honestly, Captain?" he whined, and he resisted the urge to tug his hair out by the roots. "You are way too picky with your food! If you don't want to eat it, just don't eat it!"

"It's still unpleasant to look at it," Law muttered, eyeing the basket of bread in distaste, as if its contents would leap out and somehow give them all cholera. "It is my personal belief that it isn't a coincidence that in the ancient French language they referred to bread as 'pain.'"

Penguin groaned, driving the heel of his palm into his forehead. "There he goes again," he rolled his eyes, "spouting off some sort of intellectual linguistic crap that none of us can understand." All the others bit their lips to restrain their laughter, although it was extremely obvious what they were thinking by the huge grins on their faces.

Law braced himself for a lengthy debate. "French is not that hard of a concept to understand," he spoke calmly, in a measured tone. "A romance language, along with others such as Spanish and Italian, its origins can be traced back to Latin-"

"The hell is Latin?" Shachi asked, screwing up his face exaggeratedly. "Look, captain, whatever medical stuff they taught you, it's weird, all right? As far as basically all of us are concerned, we only know the language of the Capital- you know, the one that the universe has been using for thousands of years."

"I suppose that it has slipped past Law's mind, is all," Jean Bart chimed in, seizing the opportunity for revenge as it presented itself. "Considering that he lets the important things float through his mind while dwelling on more… inane matters."

Law's eyes narrowed. That sneaky little… "Well," Law began, raising his head and sending them all imperious stares. "I personally believe that knowledge is power. It is a fundamental concept that all of us should both understand and acknowledge. Wars aren't decided by brute force alone, but more by tactics and the quality of their information. That's exactly the reason why we need to know things- like who are enemies are and what their weaknesses might be, no matter how unexpected."

Shachi snorted. "So we're going to defeat our enemy using Latin?"

Law gave him a sidelong glance. "The chances of that happening are greater than zero," he said simply, expression unchanging. Everyone else gave him dubious glances, disbelief etched across their faces.

"Sure, alright," Penguin decided to indulge Law, just this once, since he obviously wasn't in his right mind. "How does this French thing work anyway?" he asked, evaluating ways to switch the topic to something less confusing and abstract as ancient linguistics.

Law paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It's been a while since I've read up on the more intrinsic aspects of French, but I do recall some things about it." He closed his eyes, trying to replay the images of long nights spent flipping pages through his mind. "You don't pronounce the last consonants," he began tentatively, "in most cases, its declarative word order is subject-verb-object, and it has two grammatical genders."

"Two grammatical genders?" Jean Bart inquired, intrigued despite himself. He tended to focus more on the solid portions of reality, but sometimes his mind strayed to the more amorphous end of things.

"Yes, meaning that all nouns, including objects, are either feminine or masculine," Law explained, clasping his hands gingerly beneath his head. "And that includes objects."

Shachi's eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath the brim of his hat. "You expect me to believe that objects can be sexed?" he chuckled skeptically. "Like, what? Are you asking me to believe that- that something like this table can have a gender?" He asked, indicated the table with an unnecessary motion.

Law nodded. "Precisely. In fact, I believe that in French, they refer to tables as 'la table', which reveals to us that it is a feminine noun."

Penguin chuffed out a snort, shooting Law a disbelieving look. "Look, maybe you don't completely get the concept. I mean, how can a table be a girl? It's an inanimate object. It's not like it has ovaries or can give birth or anything."

"But they were originally trees, and they carried seeds, which could be considered their offspring-or fetuses, depending on how you wish to translate their circumstances into something that we're more familiar with," Law sighed, pondering how to skip past the technicalities. "It's just that we more or less brutally mutilated the mother and dealt her a miscarriage by embedding her seeds within the wood, basically depriving her children of the chance to ever grow up and find happiness."

Nobody said anything for a good, long moment. "Shit, man," Shachi breathed, "That's dark."

"…Are you trying to say that we're some sort of misogynistic tree-haters, or something?" Penguin asked, scratching his head. This was such a weird conversation topic.

"I suppose it depends on how you look at things," Jean Bart mused. "After the Grand Line division of the universe was formed, some of the civilizations that cropped up believed that every single thing- living or not- had a soul, and so taking more than what was necessary from the planet was considered absolutely reprehensible."

Penguin leaned on his forearms. "So this is more of a cultural thing, then?" he asked, mind rerunning the information. Shachi was listening to the conversation with interest now, raising his hat a couple of centimeters so that his ears wouldn't be obstructed. "Hey, Captain, were the French those soul people, then?"

Law opened his mouth, but they never got to hear the answer. Whatever he was about to say got interrupted by a thunderous explosion, one that shook the foundations of the ship and made the very air quake around them. Plates fell to the floor, shattering, and Penguin yelped, toppling out of his chair while one of the vibrations hurled Shachi across the room to smack into the wall. "What's happening!?" Jean Bart shouted, clutching at the table firmly to maintain his balance while it skidded across the room. Law scowled, the soles of his shoes scraping across the floor while he struggled to gain purchase and to not careen headfirst into the floor. The shaking settled down what seemed like an eternity later, leaving the dining room in a state of complete disarray. Several chairs were upturned, clods of dust swirling through the air. Their meals were suctioned to the ceilings, having been tossed up there during some of the more violent tremors. Shachi groaned, laying slumped against the wall while Penguin lay scrambled in a mixture of tangled limbs, twisted like a pretzel. Jean Bart and Law scowled, picking themselves off the ground, brushing off the crumbled bits of debris from their jeans.

"Is everybody okay?" Shachi wheezed, gripping the leg of a chair as an anchor as he lifted himself up, his free hand stroking the bruise on his stomach comfortingly. There was a chorus of pained grunts as their answer, and Shachi grumbled, "Well, I'm assuming by your eloquent answers that you're all okay."

"Oh, stuff it, Shachi," Penguin ground out, beginning the laborious process of easing his leg out from between the crook of his intertwined arm and neck. "Do any of us know what the hell just happened? I have absolutely no clue, but I sure as hell know that-" He cut himself short, eyes widening in horror. Seconds later, the rest of the crew understood what he meant, and the blood in their veins immediately turned to ice. While the effects of the explosion were devastating in the room, it was still merely nothing but a shockwave. Distantly, throughout the entire ordeal, they were subconsciously aware of the fact that the shockwaves arrived from the east of the ship, which meant that… Shachi let out a garbled noise of pure terror, his stomach leaping into his throat. The epicenter of the explosion came from the boiler room.

"BEPO!" They screamed, staggering to their feet. By that point, Law already vaulted over the table, making a mad dash for the boiler room. He was halfway to the door before it burst open, and Bepo stumbled into the room, coughing wildly.

"Bepo!" Law raced towards him, face ashy with concern. He slung a supporting arm around his shoulders, steering him towards a wall before easing him down gently. "Are you alright? What happened?" The others dropped to their knees as soon as they reached them, faces pale with worry as they gripped him tightly. Law swatted those hands away. "Give the man space!" he barked, shooing them away. They seemed hesitant, hands poised indecisively, before Law skewered them with a definitive glare that sent them backing away. They watched the proceedings silently, the color drained from their faces as their hearts constricted in anxiety. Bepo continued hacking, expelling dark clouds of ash from his lungs in little puffs. Law swore, beckoning Jean Bart to keep hold of Bepo, keeping him parallel to the floor. He smacked Bepo's back, and he gurgled up gobs of murky saliva. He continued the process for a bit, until he heaved out a final heaping of murky air from his lungs, and they rolled him over as he gasped for air, sucking in deep, greedy gulps.

The others approached instinctively, and this time, Law let them, stepping off to the side to allow them to pester Bepo to their heart's content. "What happened?" Jean Bart demanded, grasping Bepo's shoulders in a grip that was just short of bruising.

"We were so worried," Shachi whispered, voice reedy and thin from repressed emotion. He wrapped his arms around Bepo in an awkward, but firm hug. "We thought that you might've been blown up along with the boiler room!"

Bepo held up a hand, signaling them to stop. A silence stretched by in agitated silence, waiting impatiently as Bepo regained his voice. "I'm okay," he croaked, voice cracking with a grating rasp. "I wasn't in the boiler room when the explosion happened. I was actually just heading off here to have breakfast, and then everything went wrong from there." He coughed again, a gagging fit that made most of them wince in sympathy.

Law slid in beside him, gripping his face and turning it so that he would face Law. "You're not off the hook yet," he warned, but his tone was soft and it quavered. "I still have to make sure that we got the worst of the contaminants from your system."

Bepo chuckled hoarsely. "Aye aye, captain! Leave it all to me!" And despite themselves, they couldn't help but chuckle fondly at his blind enthusiasm. Even though their ceiling was crumbling and the air was thick with dust, and even though Bepo was so completely caked in dirt and soot that his naturally albino features were totally concealed, they couldn't help but find a glimmer of reassurance from the familiarity of it.

"What about the boiler room?" Penguin asked, and the nearly buoyant sense of optimism that began to swell in the room evaporated entirely.

Bepo's shoulders slumped, and his eyes turned downcast. "I…I honestly don't know," he admitted, and his entire frame sagged with each consecutive word of his confession. "By the time the explosion happened, the only thing on my mind was to get to safety, so I didn't get the idea to check on the engines until now… I'm sorry."

Penguin patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry about it, man. We're just glad you're here." All the others provided affirming nods, and it brightened up Bepo's disposition significantly, a touched smile gracing his face.

Law's expression remained serious, grooves of thought carving his forehead. "While we're all glad that you're safe, we still have to know the state of our engines. Would you be able to check in on them now?"

Bepo frowned. "No. I don't think so. The last time I checked, the hallways were flooded with smoke."

Shachi interjected, voice pleading. "Look, guys, don't worry! Seriously! I can just dash inside, take a few photos on the telecommunicator, and then come back. If I go now, I can-"

"Absolutely not," Law cut in, voice hard. "We have no idea what the explosions might've been loaded with. For all we know, the air could be filled with all sorts of carcinogens."

"Seriously, Shachi," Penguin frowned, "Don't say such stupid things."

"Then at least let me get rid of the bad air! I'll put on the depressurization suit and open up the hatch. We should still have enough oxygen in our tanks that it won't completely deplete our supplies."

Law thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. Just make sure that your depressurization suit is sealed completely, and make sure to put the rest of the rooms on lockdown."

"Aye aye, Captain!" Shachi saluted him, before speeding off to the adjoining room to get the suit.

He turned to the rest of them. "Penguin, as soon as the purge is completed, get the maps and find the planets that are closest to us. If our circumstances become not so fortuitous, it'd be good to have a place that we can crash." Penguin nodded solemnly, and the key to the map room jangled in his pocket. "Jean Bart, get to the helm. Run a scan to detect any remaining bombs, and be ready to fly us out of here if it turns out that we don't have much time. And you, Bepo, check the state of our engines and relay their conditions back to me."

They nodded, and it was then that the defensive system of the ship kicked in, a metal shield dropping down from the bottom of the doors to cover the opening slot. They glanced at each other, shielding their ears in a practice that had long since become instinctual as there was a great, loud whooshing sound, like air being sucked through a straw. It was so loud and strong that it felt like their organs were being sucked through their ears. It finally ended, leaving behind a roaring silence. The metal rose back to their previous positions, and they all rushed off to do their respective jobs.

Law stayed behind, gazing at the lot of them as they disappeared behind a corner. He pulled out a chair that hadn't been completely obliterated and he sank into it, waves of weariness washing over him. He didn't want to mention this to the others, not yet, but he had an inkling of a plan formulating in the dregs of his mind. It was certainly not… optimal, though. Not at all. He thumbed the hem of his shirt apprehensively, rubbing the fabric so many times that he felt it wearing down beneath his fingers. Hopefully, they wouldn't have to resort to that, but still… he lifted his head, and there was a sort of heavy tension infused with the air, weighing down every molecule. If it came down to it, if it was the only way to salvage the situation, he'd do it. He absolutely would.

When they returned, they could only deliver dire news. Bepo started, legs shuffling nervously. "It seems whoever did this laid the bombs so that they would go off in a chain reaction, so they managed to severely damage lots of our main machinery."

"Is any of it repairable?" Jean Bart asked, voice crackling over the intercom. He was currently seated at the helm, fiddling around with several knobs and buttons on the main interface. He already ran the screen several times, confirming that there were no other bombs in the area.

Bepo chewed his lip to a bloody pulp. "No. I'd say that the engines have about two more weeks in them, if we're lucky, before they blow."

Shachi punched the wall. "Damn it," he hissed. "Damn whoever did this to us to hell!"

"Calm down, Shachi," Law ordered smoothly, hands absentmindedly tracing the grooves on the arm of his chair. "We'll find a way to get past this. Penguin, how far are the nearest planets?"

Everyone gave him a fleeting look of anticipation, hope mounting in their hearts. Penguin felt something wither in his heart, gulping. "I... I'm sorry. The nearest planet is four months away. There's no way we'd be able to reach it, even if we used hyperdrive." And just like that, all wisps of optimism were shredded away.

The room became gravely silent, quiet except for the eerie crackling of the intercom. "Shachi… how much food do we have left?" Law asked, twirling a loose thread from the upholstery.

"Why?" Shachi asked, eyes glazed. "No matter how you look at it, if there are no planets nearby, what's the point? Even if we conserve the food, at some point the oxygen tanks will run out, and then we'll die of suffocation." He laughed hysterically, a discordant, jangled noise that frayed their nerves. "So it's either starvation or suffocation, huh? I guess we'll just have to pick and choose! But I guess I'm fine with either as long as I get to go out with you guys!"

"Oh, quit it with your melodrama!" Law snapped, the thread of control he had within him pulling taut. "I have a plan."

Everyone's head shot up. "Really!" they demanded, the light returning to their eyes. "Why the hell didn't you-"

"I'll tell you all if you be quiet," Law growled, and they fell silent. He took a deep breath, exhaustion flooding every corner of his mind. "First of all, I would like to apologize." Before they could protest, he speared them with a look that suggested that they should stay silent. They stilled at the unspoken command, instead clenching their fists. "After a while of thinking about it, I realized that the only people who could've done this without us noticing are the Libra Pirates. Back on Venerius, it was either when we were doing negotiations or when we left to do the job they paid us to do, it was then that, for whatever reason, those treacherous fuckers must've planted the bombs on our ship. We probably let it slip that we were searching for him, so they knew that we were going to be spending a lot more time in space than usual, so they decided to take that chance to betray us. I should've never allowed those bastards to be our clients."

"Idiot!" Jean Bart's distorted voice ran over the intercom. "We aren't the richest people, you know! And with funds so low, it would've been suicide if you hadn't taken them in as clients! How in the world could've you known?"

"Yeah!" Penguin added, crossing his arms and glowering. "Don't hold yourself in such high esteem! Do you really think that you're the only one with any reasoning skills? If anything, we should've noticed too!" Shachi and Bepo nodded vigorously, chastising their captain with silent glares.

Law stopped momentarily, his movements halting. Then, he lowered his hat over his eyes, a smile stretching over his lips. "You're all idiots," he murmured fondly. "My entire crew is just a huge bundle of idiots."

"Whether we're idiots or geniuses, it doesn't matter," Shachi shrugged. "Because we're going to survive. You said you had a plan, right?" Law nodded, and they all leaned in expectantly. He gazed at them, and for the first time in a long while, a true ripple of unease quivered through his veins. He internally debated for good, long seconds, and he could sense his crewmate's growing worry. He sighed, deciding it'd be the best to come out with it. "We're going to dock at the nearest planet."

"But how!" Penguin protested, leaping forward. "I just told you, all of the nearest planets are way too far for us to reach! We'd be dead long before the Mendota even manages to stray past their orbit!"

"There is one," Law locked gazes with all of them, allowing them to read his intentions fully, "that isn't on the maps. However, everyone in the Grand Line, even the biggest of fools, knows where it is."

All their eyes bugged out of their skulls, and Penguin collapsed with a gurgling sound, feeling like someone was stirring the contents of his heart with a shard of glass. "You-You can't mean-!" he gasped. Everyone else stared at Law in utter disbelief.

"Be quiet, you fools!" Jean Bart spoke harshly, even though his heart seized with dread. "I'm absolutely sure that Law would never even have considered this unless it was an absolute last resort. But are you sure that you want to do this? Is there really no other option?" The others stared at Law, and the hammering of their hearts would've been audible to even deaf ears.

Law lifted his head, and found all his crewmates gazing at him. "I understand that all of you are wary. But do any of you oppose the plan?" he asked simply.

There was a long pause as his crewmates tried to gather as much air as possible into their lungs, and despite himself, Law could feel his palms growing clammy with each consecutive second. Finally, after a long silence, Shachi spoke. "If you give the order for us to go there, we'll follow it, Captain," Shachi's voice quivered, and he took a deep breath to regain a semblance of control. "It doesn't matter how we feel. It's just like what we promised when we joined the crew. We'll follow you wherever." They all nodded, gazing at him with burgeoning resolve. Although they feared what could happen, they believed they would pull through this. Now that their captain had a plan, he'd undoubtedly lead them to safety.

"Very well. Then prepare for departure. We're setting sail tomorrow." He strode off, already constructing the plans for tomorrow in his head. It seemed like their current objective had to be postponed. Oh well. He paused for a moment, calling over his shoulder before they scurried off to get to work. "And by the way, make sure to get a full night's sleep. I want you to be fully prepared for anything tomorrow." He turned around, a devilish smile beginning to pull at his lips at the prospect of adventure. Despite themselves, the excitement was contagious, and his crewmates began to feel their yearning for adventure overcome their fear, beaming all the while. "We are, after all, heading to Imago, the demon planet of the Grand Line!"

Author's Notes: Well, here's the start of it all! I've always wanted to write a really long, adventure sci-fi fic, so this makes me very happy! Hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently, with summer coming along and all. And yes, I took some liberties with continuity, considering that Jean Bart is already here. But I simply wanted to include him in the group somehow, because whenever we see him he tends to play an integral part of the Heart Pirates. In any case, please tell me what you think! Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Read and review.