Author's Note: This was meant to be a cracky humor piece, but then I got to thinking about it too much and this happened. Whoops.
Later, when he tells the story, he will say that it began as innocently as widespread rebellion can begin. He is staring after Shiro, his leg bleeding all over the floors of the alien hallway, the guards are dragging him away, but he can't let them. He can't let Shiro do this, he can't let Shiro die for him, he has to get back there. Before he even realizes it, he's shouting for Shiro, fighting the guards with everything he has.
They aren't impressed, one of them clubs him on the back of the head with the butt of his gun and growls "Do not move."
Matt, caught in the throes of shock and horror, goes boneless. The guard grunts, satisfied and hauls him back into the dark hallway. He can hear the crowd screaming for Shiro's blood, but there is nothing he can do. He hangs limp and allows the alien to do what it will with him.
It drags him through a doorway and drops him on a table. "Physician," It barks, "This prisoner is too injured for arena combat. Assess him for work in another sector."
Then it walks away. Matt's brain is still whirring in useless circles, he needs to get back to Shiro, he needs to help him, he needs to find his father, he needs to find some way to get them all back to earth. There is another alien in the room, this one is a pale lavender with a white crest on its head. Part of Matt wonders if its a different species, or if perhaps this one is female, or maybe these aliens have biological castes.
The alien looks over him with clinical detachment, eyes catching on the wound on his leg and the blood spilling down his face from the guard's blow. "Prisoner." The new alien barks, "sit up."
He must have a concussion, because the only thing Matt can think to say is: "tol' me not to move."
This is the beginning.
He isn't sure how his reputation spreads, but it does, and it does quickly. Before the day is out, or whatever passes for a day here in space, among aliens, he is even more famous than Shiro. Sure, the new gladiator beat a longstanding champion, but there's a prisoner down in the cells that's a complete idiot.
The aliens are cruel, and bored, and Matt is an easy target. At first, he's confused when there are waves of aliens coming down to the cells to order him to do random actions, but he figures that antagonizing his captors is a bad move, so he obeys. He jumps up and down, he touches his toes, he tries to lick his elbow. He doesn't realize what a gift he's been given, until he's transferred.
His leg is too damaged to send him back into the arena, so they make him into slave labor. He is chained to a group of other aliens and they're all crammed into the cargo hold of a tiny ship and flown out into space.
When he gets off, he finds his reputation has arrived ahead of him. He is plucked out of line by a pair of guards. "Is this the one, then, the other one from the Champion's planet? Why isn't he in the arena? I'd love to see the Champion go up against one of his own kind." The first guard says.
"Nah," replies his companion. "This one's too dumb for the arena, some kind of brain damage during capture, they say, he's a complete idiot. Follow any order you give him, never talks back, never complains, but he hasn't got two brain cells to rub together."
A spiteful, childish part of Matt's mind taps him on the shoulder and says, 'we could work with that." And so he does.
He is the greatest idiot this side of the cosmos, the Galra—as he learns they are called—tell him to put ration packs in the storage bay? He moves exactly two and puts on his best wide-eyed innocent expression, the one that never worked on his mother, and says "Oh! I didn't know you wanted me to move all of the ration packs."
His overseer groans, "Why would I only want you to—nevermind."
His overseer orders him to move a crate, he moves it two inches.
"Put it over there! Prisoner 1277-8"
"Oh!" Matt says, his eyes wide and blank, then he moves the crate to the end of the overseer's finger.
"No! Put it in the corner!" His overseer groans.
"Oh! Okay!" Matt says cheerily, and gets to work.
What begins as petty revenge, soon becomes an advantage. The Galra Empire is full of arrogant people who feel their talents haven't been appreciated, and there is nothing a narcissist loves more than an idiot. The guards tell him of their victories, "I was on the front lines in the Barona system, the front lines, I tell you. If the emperor himself had been there he would have promoted me on the spot! But no, I get stuck out here on a mining planet."
Matt looks at them with wide eyes and says "You must be very brave!"
They smile and preen and tell him more. He asks questions, obvious, stupid questions that don't seem threatening. "Why did it take so long for the supplies to get there? What kind of supplies? What does your blaster shoot? How do you reload it?" And because he is an idiot, the Galra tell him. After all, he can't figure out which hole his head goes through on his uniform, what would he do with a blaster? He is endearing in the way all harmless idiots are, and the Galra eat it up. He gets a nickname, he is more pet than slave, and nothing is off limits to him.
It is his overseer that gives him the greatest piece of information yet. The brightest gem in Matt's crown.
"Getting a bunch of newbies, Sevens, gonna be a long day."
"New people?" Matt asks, smiling as though he is only thinking of gaining new friends.
"I don't want you talking to them, Sevens, they're rebels."
Matt feels his heart stop beating, then pick back up double time. "Rebels?" He asks, he hopes his overseer thinks the choke in his voice is surprise. "Who would want to rebel against Zarkon?"
His overseer pats him on the head, "I don't know, Sevens, but they're even bigger idiots than you."
Matt smiles that blank smile with his wide blank eyes and laughs with his overseer. Inside, his mind is spinning out idea after idea.
"Sevens, put this up on the notice board, would you?"
Matt takes the data pad and looks at it, then he looks to the screen displaying the notice board and puts the data pad on it.
His overseer sighs."Right. No, Sevens, you have to type it in here, see?"
He gestures Matt to the computer and Matt has to keep from crowing in victory. He makes his overseer show him how everything works and for once he doesn't have to hide his true emotions, he is nearly giddy to be touching real technology again.
"This is fun!" He says, his eyes wide, his smile bright.
His overseer laughs and says, "you like this stuff, huh? Well how about you sort through my files for me? You can do your little color thing with them huh?"
Matt's smile grows ever wider. "You'd let me sir?" He asks eagerly.
"Why not? Its a pretty efficient system." And then he lets Matt loose into the Galra mainframe, no file is restricted, no information off limits. After all, he's an idiot, a loyal idiot, what's he going to do?
His overseer leaves him to it and Matt resists the urge to throw his head back and cackle. Now, now his work can truly begin. His first step is to actually begin color coding the Galra mainframe, because, what are they, animals? He delves into every file, every scrap of information, every piece of code. That is where he finds them, the rebels, hidden in a primitive back door into the Galra system.
Hello. He says to them.
There must be all sorts of panic on the other side, because they try to close the door, try to kick him out of their system, but Matt was trained in coding by the Galra themselves, because the base technician liked to talk to himself while he worked.
I'm not Galra. Matt says. At first, the rebels don't trust him, he can accept that, but slowly, as he feeds them information and it pans out, they begin to appreciate their contact. This, too, is a beginning.
Matt is in contact with the rebels for months before anyone even notices. Then, his overseer gets nervous, he pets Matt's hair and says, "there's a traitor on the base, Sevens, have you heard anything?"
"Traitor?" Matt asks, his eyes wide, his smile bright, "who would want to betray Zarkon?"
"I'm not sure," his overseer replies, "just tell me if you hear anything, alright?"
"I will." Matt says, and he crosses his fingers. In a fit of humor, he'd told his overseer that it meant he would keep his promise no matter what. His overseer crosses his fingers back at Matt, and Matt laughs, bright and delighted.
I may be compromised. He tells the rebels that night.
Do you need an extraction?
Can you risk it?
You've done more than enough for us, we owe you.
He is wreathed in smoke and carrying a blaster when his overseer finds him. "Sevens!" he says, he actually sounds happy to see him, relieved, even. "You need to get back to your room, okay? We'll handle this, don't you worry."
Matt almost feel sorry for him. "Sorry, sir." He says, his eyes wide, his smile bright, "I'm afraid I can't do that."
"So you're Sevens, huh?" The rebel leader says, looking at him appreciatively. "I gotta say, its a real honor to meet you sir, you must be the smartest guy in the quadrant to get by the Galra for so long."
He doesn't ask why Matt laughs so hard.