Author's Note: You know I had to get the rest of my characters in here somehow. ;-)
I'm going to attempt to update this story once a month. It's been difficult with a new baby (born 9/17/16), a full-time career, a dad who's had a heart transplant, multiple pieces of original fiction in the works, and a freezer with no Cîroc in it. (BOO!) But I'm going to try.
Title Song: "Diamonds (in the Sky)" by Rihanna
Jonathan James Hawkins drew a deep breath in the elevator. It felt good to be back on solid ground—and in real gravity—again. He'd been on the Stellar Ship Explorer for sixteen months straight, and it was nice to have a break for a change. As the elevator in the historic building on Fifth Avenue chugged upward towards the twelfth floor, he thought about his last handshake with Commander Moriarty.
"Sir, I'd like to let you know that it has been a pleasure working with you. I wish you well in your retirement."
Moriarty laughed, both pleased and amused. "Jon, you are an extremely bright young man. I wish you nothing but success in all of your endeavors. I leave this ship knowing that it's in good hands...Commander Hawkins."
The elevator came to a stop, and as Jon stepped out, he stood in front of the grand main entrance, replete with its mahogany scrollwork and intricate detailing. Even though he was thirty-one years old, he still felt like the four-year-old child he had been when he first came to live with his uncle. The loss of his parents had been the price he paid for his upbringing in luxury, and he never, ever forgot that. He pulled the lone key out from his pocket and unlocked the door.
He never knew what to expect when he entered the triplex. His uncle was a rather eccentric man, and even more so now at the age of fifty-eight, so Jon never knew whether or not he would find him in the throes of passion with yet another anonymous woman. And if it wasn't that—and it wouldn't be; his uncle had been seeing the artist Annabelle Lee exclusively for almost two years, which was like some sort of world record—then he would be in the throes of passion with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Either way, the man lived his life passionately.
He quietly closed the door behind him. "Hello?" he called out.
There was no response, so he moved to the intercom system. "Hello? Uncle Jacob? Are you in here somewhere?"
The intercom beeped. "My boy! I'm on the terrace. Come on up."
Jon smiled to himself as he climbed his way up the two sets of stairs to the top floor of the triplex. The terrace could only be accessed through the master bedroom, though the term master living quarters might have been more applicable. As he sauntered through the seating area on the third floor, drinking in the settings and savoring the feel of being home, he pushed open the terrace door to join his uncle.
Jacob Christopher Hawkins sat in the midst of his own personal garden, one which overlooked New York City's Central Park. His appearance—the full head of mostly-dark hair, the chiseled jawline, the fit physique—belied his age. If he looked even half as good at his uncle's age, Jon would consider himself lucky. "Uncle Jacob, have you got Annabelle or Mr. Walker keeping you company over there?"
"Mr. Walker." Jacob never saw the point in lying to his nephew; Jon was far too intelligent for that. "Sit down, Boy. Come join us."
Jon laughed as he sat down on the terrace. "I'm hardly a boy anymore, you know. When you're in your thirties and you get promoted to commander of a stellar ship—your stellar ship, I might add—I think you sort of lose the title of Boy."
"Indeed. I'm very proud that my own nephew will be at the helm of the greatest ship my company has ever built." Jacob then seemed to reconsider the statement, amused. "But you're still my boy, and there's nothing you can do or say that will make me feel otherwise. I'm not even convinced by your uniform." He refilled his lead crystal tumbler with a more-than-generous serving of the high-end scotch. "Did you happen to grab yourself a glass while you were in the house?"
Jon shook his head. "I did not." Then, with a mischievous grin spreading over his face, he added, "Because Rich and I were thinking about going out tonight before we take charge of the Explorer. One last hurrah, as he so eloquently put it."
Jacob burst into laughter. "Richard Newley. I always said that that boy was the best friend you'll ever have, Jon. He knows better than you do that the new women you'll meet on the Explorer will all be too young for you." His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Unless you plan on settling down with a woman who's ten years or so younger than you are...?"
Jon grimaced. "I don't think so. A woman that age would be far too young and immature for me." He shrugged. "Besides, I don't see myself ever settling down with one woman."
"Hmph. Never say never. I thought the same thing myself when I was your age, and now look at me—Annabelle's got me by the cojones." Jacob laughed to himself before changing the subject. "Now, where do you boys plan on going tonight? I'll get you in wherever you like...name a spot and I'll take care of it."
Of course. He should have known that his uncle would want a hand in their last night out. One did not accumulate as much influence and wealth as Jacob Hawkins possessed without choosing to exploit either. "Um...I think Rich had something else in mind besides dinner."
"Say no more." Jacob looked pleased. "Tell me, should you pick up a woman tonight, will you bring her back here?"
Jon felt himself turning crimson. "No! Of course not. I would never do that."
"Ah. At her place, then. That way, you can make a fuss-free escape the following morning, easily defying any romantic expectations." He nodded in agreement. "My boy, I'm proud of you. I have taught you well."
The future commander buried his face in his hands. Then he decided that he shouldn't be embarrassed. He should enjoy the night. Because once morning set in, he and Rich would be promoted to Commander and Captain of the Stellar Ship Explorer, making them privy to an entire new world of responsibilities.
Better to enjoy one last night of freedom while they still could.
Cole lifted up his bottle of Guinness Extra Stout to toast his old classmates. "Here's to all you losers," he cheered. "Well, except for you, Gatehouse. You're not going on the Explorer with 'em."
"Shut up, Harmonn," Jamie retorted, clinking his own bottle against Modoch's.
They had all been friends since their first year at the Space Academy—Modoch Chukker, Wolo Kreuz, Shannon Izumo, Jamie Gatehouse, David Rackens, and Cole Harmonn—but now their tight-knit group was about to be split apart. Modoch, Wolo, and Shannon had been chosen to serve on the S.S. Explorer as part of the elite Voltron Vehicle Force. In addition, Cole was defecting from the Garrison entirely and had accepted a job with NASA. In less than one week, he would be leaving New York for Houston, Texas. It would be only David and Jamie holding down the fort in Manhattan.
"It's not like I'm going with them, either," David quietly threw into the conversation, the tone of his British-accented voice glum. His friends knew that Anastasia, his girlfriend of seven years, had recently dumped him, and he was hugely bummed about it. She'd had the same hang-up that most girls had—she was getting tired of waiting for her boyfriend to produce an engagement ring, so she got rid of him. "And God knows I wish I was."
"Dude. You are so much better off without her," Cole reminded him. "And I never liked your ex, anyway. She was a real bi-"
"Be nice, Harmonn," Wolo cut him off in a reprimand.
"He's right, you know." David sighed, then lifted his own bottle of Guinness to his lips. "Though I hate to say it, it's kind of a relief. With Stacey gone, I can focus on myself and getting through grad school, not worrying about what I have to do to keep her happy and risk flunking out."
"Amen to that," Shannon cheered, a slight edge of drunkenness in his Irish-accented voice. "Women! Who needs 'em? I mean, they're too sensitive and emotional, anyway." He made a face.
"Hey, I happen to like them," Jamie countered. "I just don't meet many of 'em at my job." He took a swig of his own beer. The pale blond had been David's shooting partner at the Academy, but unlike David, he wasn't doing anything to further his education, so he was stuck in a rut at his security position with the Garrison. "Come on, Rackens. Why don't you tell the guys about some of the chicks in your grad classes? Like the one who wants to teach navigation?"
Wolo made a face. "Ugh. Who'd want to teach navigation?"
"Yeah, and don't girls suck at math?" Cole egged him on obnoxiously.
David rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Harmonn—if you met her, you'd know that this girl can run circles around all of us in math. And she's quite possibly the most amazing navigator in the Garrison. Seven hells."
Modoch cracked up. "God, I wish you were going with us, Rackens. I mean, who's gonna say seven hells on the Explorer?" He finished his beer and reached for another bottle. "Nobody, that's who."
"So we'll just have to say it for him, then," Shannon chimed in. "Seven hells." He laughed as he listened to his own voice as he said the words. "It doesn't sound as good with an Irish brogue as it does with a British accent, though."
"No, it doesn't," Modoch agreed. "We've been telling you that for years."
Wolo placed his almost-full beer bottle down next to him. "Mo, where's your girlfriend tonight?" he asked, changing the subject. "You'd think you'd be spending your last night before taking post on the Explorer with her, not with us."
Modoch shrugged. "Hey, Kelly's got friends going on the Explorer, too," he answered. Then, with a grin, he swallowed another mouthful of dark beer. "Besides, I've asked her to move in with me. That way, I'll always have a place to come home to when the Explorer docks. Oh, and she'll be in my bed every night."
Cole, the self-proclaimed "king of the hook-ups," looked ill at his friend's statement. "Ugh. I don't understand why you'd want to settle down with one woman, Mo. You bloody wanker." He pilfered his Academy roommate's British vocabulary yet again. "I've been telling Rackens the same thing since the day he hooked up with his ex."
Shannon jumped to Modoch's defense. "Don't you ever say bloody wanker again, Harmonn. It's like saying seven hells—it doesn't sound right coming from any one of us without the British accent."
David buried his face in his hands. "I'm so glad I've provided the bloody lot of you with years and years of free entertainment."
Jamie snorted. "Heh heh. You said bloody lot."
Sullivan's Bar, according to Taye Benton, had the best buffalo wings on the lower East Side. Which was why he chose that spot to celebrate his friends' placements on the S.S. Explorer. Hutch Nagato, Marvin Izu, and Crik Keats were effectively leaving him behind come tomorrow.
Not that he was upset. Though he felt insulted by the fact that he had been overlooked for a position, he was thrilled for his friends. And the way he figured, there would be three fewer guys fighting for the attention of any girls who happened to come around.
"You have an obsession with buffalo wings, my friend," Crik informed him as he passed up the spicy chicken in favor of the accompanying celery and bleu cheese dressing. The soon-to-be captain of the Sea Team was a vegetarian. And not only that, he was the most new-age and "granola-y"—as Hutch would say—out of the lot of them; he practiced yoga, he swam obsessively, he didn't drink much, and he got weird premonitions that would almost always come true. "But at least the bleu cheese is good here."
"Man, I can't believe it's your last night in New York and you still won't touch the wings," Hutch whined as he ripped the chicken off the bone with his teeth. "You won't find wings half this good anywhere else in the galaxy, I guarantee it."
"Yeah, this is so sad. It's such a waste that you still won't eat 'em, Crik," Marvin chimed in.
"Hey, guys, leave the Miran alone," Taye jumped to his former roommate's defense. "I haven't seen him eat any meat in the six years I've known him. What, did you think he was gonna start now?"
With his mouth full of spicy chicken, Hutch replied, "Actually, yeah."
The two Academy roommates glanced over at each other skeptically. They'd known each other for a long time, and they could practically read each other's minds at this point. "Don't take it personally, Keats," Taye told him. "You already have confirmation that these two are idiots."
The Miran burst out laughing. "Fair enough, my friend. Fair enough."
"I can't believe you knew I was leaving, and you didn't stock your liquor cabinet with Bombay Sapphire!" Ginger Ellington screeched to Aidan Dalloway after she knocked back her off-label shot. "This stuff is terrible!"
"Dude, Blondie," Aidan retorted, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling as he teased her, "you're lucky I've got gin at all. I freakin' hate gin."
"Oh, quiet, you two." Lisa Kaga sat down on the couch next to her Academy roommate and across from the guy she still considered to be the best-looking guy from their floor at the dorm. Then she took a sip from the glass of chardonnay in her hand. "Nobody cares."
"Hey, Roommate, I care," Ginger whined.
Since such a large part of their family was leaving, Aidan had decided to host a going-away party at his new one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan's Meatpacking District. He'd invited everyone who was left—Ginger and Lisa, Jeff Aki, Cinda Kirigas, Morgan Feld, Kelly Asimov, Chip Stoker, Rocky Shinobu, and his best Mate, Clifford Jack—to give the new members of the Voltron Vehicle Force a proper send-off...as well as show off pictures of his graduation present, a trip to Italy.
Of course, he'd also invited Lenora, but she was too busy with her new job to make it.
They missed the rest of their family. Keith Kogane, Lance McClain, Hunk Garrett, Pidge Stoker, and Sven Holgersson had already been deployed. They'd left for Planet Arus three months ago—the day after graduating from the Space Academy, to be exact. It had been a sobering moment for all of them as they watched their friends board that tiny, slow space shuttle.
They were done. They had graduated. And they were now beginning their careers as space explorers. It was too bad that out of the fourteen of them on their floor at the Academy—the fourteen of them that they considered to be a family—four of them were still not going into outer space.
Maybe it was just as well. There were plenty of good reasons for Aidan, Morgan, Kelly and Lenora to stay grounded for now. They just couldn't think of any at the moment.
"Hey Mate," Cliff called out, holding up his empty tumbler, "I need a refill. Where's your bottle of Black Label?"
Cliff's closest female friend, Kelly, picked up the bottle of Johnnie Walker. "Here you go," she announced, pouring the glass full, stopping just below the brim. "Hey Cindy! You want any?"
The blue-skinned Miran girl shook her head. "No alcohol for me, thank you."
Kelly nodded, then poured herself an overly-full tumbler. "Well, I sure as heck need a glass...or five," she grumbled. "I feel like I'm being punished—my two best friends and my boyfriend are taking off on the Explorer. What am I gonna do by myself on Earth?"
"You won't be by yourself, silly," Morgan chided her. She'd had her arm wrapped around Jeff, her best friend and Amigo, all night. "I'm still gonna be here. And so are Aidan and Len. Remember?"
"Yeah, I know." She closed her eyes. "But that doesn't make it any easier. Ask Len what it's like to lose your loved one to a mission in outer space."
Morgan gulped, and a pained expression briefly washed over her face. She had loved Keith for all five years they were at the Academy—despite their rocky on-and-off romance—and it hurt her that he had left for Arus and moved beyond their relationship like she'd meant nothing to him at all. "Yeah. I'd have to ask Len. I wouldn't know what that's like." She buried her face in Jeff's shoulder.
Kelly knocked back a long swallow of her drink, then placed her hand on the navigator's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Morgan. I shouldn't have said that. I wasn't thinking."
As she tried to make amends, Aidan placed both of his hands square on Kelly's waist. For a moment, the Bajan blushed. "Girl," he informed her, whispering in her ear, "it's the four of us now. You, me, Morgan and Len. Let's not have the rest of our crew show us up just 'cuz we weren't chosen for Arus or the Explorer. We have to stick together."
He was right, and Kelly knew it. She swallowed another mouthful of her Johnnie Walker. She might not have her boyfriend or her two best friends, but she would have the three remaining members of her family with her. She'd just have to suck it up and deal with it as best she could.
"I love your uncle."
Rich and Jon had a prime spot at Cipriani, courtesy of Jacob. Jon's uncle knew the owner and had therefore secured them entry—as well as two of the best seats in the house—for their big night out. As they approached the bar, they noticed two tumblers full of Courvoisier waiting for them.
"I love him, too," Jon agreed, tipping back the cognac. "He's really something else."
"Amen to that." Rich knocked back the contents of his own tumbler as well. "Hmm. I'm not the biggest fan of cognac, but it seems appropriate for tonight, doesn't it?"
"It does." The soon-to-be commander ordered another round, at ease in his designer jeans, button-down sport shirt and black leather shoes. "We're not kids anymore, Rich. We shouldn't drink like kids." He graciously accepted the next round as the bartender placed the two drinks in front of them. "Cheers to us."
"Oh, man, this is going to cost a fortune." Rich sipped at his second tumbler as he made a cursory glance through the menu. "Do you think your uncle is picking up the tab, too? Because I don't think I've ever seen a steak this expensive."
Jon clapped his friend on the back. "I see you've never been to Per Se."
The bartender appeared in front of them. "Welcome. My name is Brendan, and I've been instructed to take care you both this evening," he informed them, sliding a dirty martini in front of each one of them. "Whatever you need, whatever you want, just call for me and I'll take care of it."
Rich eyed the drink. "What kind of alcohol did you put in there?"
"Vodka, Sir. Cîroc vodka."
The new captain raised his eyebrows. "I'm seriously considering marrying your uncle, Hawkins. If he picks up the tab for dinner tonight and finds us women...well, let's just say you'll be calling me Uncle Rich from now on."
Jon slugged back most of his dirty martini in one swallow. "That's not even funny, Newley. You're making me ill."
"Bite me." Placing the menu down on the bar, Rich flagged the bartender over. He ordered the best steak in the house, cooked medium-rare, and instructed for the martinis and the Courvoisier to keep flowing. Jon rolled his eyes but said nothing—he knew that his extraordinarily wealthy uncle wouldn't even blink at the exorbitant tab they were bound to ring up.
As he sipped at the remainder of his drink, his eyes wandered to the crowd. Jon loved to look at people—and, more importantly, he loved women. He had no desire to find a girlfriend or settle down, and much like his uncle in his younger days, he was never one to shy away from a casual fling or a one-night stand.
He'd long ago decided that he liked brunettes the best. There was something about a woman with long, luscious brown locks—mahogany, chestnut, sable—that he was attracted to. Sure, he liked blonds and redheads too, but there was something about brunettes that he was irresistibly drawn to. He scanned the room to see if he could find one who seemed unattached and caught his eye. If she had a friend with her, so much the better.
"Jon, what are you looking at?" Rich swirled around on his barstool and followed his friend's gaze. Both pairs of eyes landed on a table with four girls, each one clad in a strapless black dress and ridiculously high heels. One blond, three brunettes. "Never mind. Score!"
The new commander kept his eyes locked on the women as he swallowed the last of his martini. "Yes, that's exactly what I intend to do."
Brendan returned with two new martinis and two new tumblers of cognac. Grabbing his drinks, Jon left his spot at the bar and made his way through the crowd to the table in question. Positioning himself between the two better-looking brunettes, he glanced down and introduced himself, adding, "Could I buy you all a round?"
Rich smirked into his martini glass. Yes, his friend had just ensured that they would both leave Cipriani with a woman tonight. And he couldn't think of a better last hurrah.
He just hoped he could have the blond.
They had to be careful whenever they took a break. If Commander Steele or any member of the High Command ever caught them on the roof, all three of them would probably be fired. Not because of what they were doing—they were simply looking up at the stars—but because nobody was supposed to be on the roof.
But they couldn't help it. Their illicit perch on the domed roof of the Garrison HQ offered the best view of Garrison Island, New York City across the bay, and the night sky. Besides, they were what they called the "middle men," the lowest-ranked of the upper crust. They were never really necessary among the members High Command. They were just there.
"You know," Stensson observed, "if you look hard enough, the stars almost look like diamonds. Diamonds in the sky." From her position on her back, she rolled her head over her right shoulder to look at Brown. "What do you think?"
Brown was also on on his back, staring up at the night sky. "I wouldn't object to that. They do look pretty."
"You sound like a girl," Stebbins snorted.
"Shut up," the other two lieutenants shot out at him.
"Geez. Tell it like it is, and they gang up on you."
The three of them continued to lay on their backs and stare up at the shining stars in silence. Stebbins looked over his shoulder at Stensson. He couldn't help it; he had a soft spot for the girl. Even though he was married and not looking at her in a romantic light, he was a big softie for tough-luck cases, and hers was pretty darn tough. "Can you read anything in the stars?" he asked her, the tone in his voice softening. "Constellations? Flight paths? Anything?"
Without looking over at him, Stensson shook her head. "No. I'm not a navigator."
"Oh. Well, I just thought..."
She closed her eyes. "I learned very little about the stars during my stint at the Academy, despite the people I hung around with. Gods, you have no idea how much I wish I had." She opened her eyes again, searching out the sky for the one planet that she knew was out there but couldn't find—the planet her fiancé had headed for. She wasn't even sure if it was close enough to see with a telescope, that was how little she knew about the skies.
The three lieutenants laid there, unmoving. The silence was all around them as the diamonds in the sky glittered brightly overhead.
He cleared his throat, freeing it from the dirt he'd swallowed when they crashed. I think we made it...but did we? Are the Drules still on our tails? Squinting in the sun, he shaded his eyes to look for his remaining four crew members. Well, they were more important than crew members. They were family.
"All right, team. Sound off. I need to make sure you're all still alive."
Keith Akira Kogane often wondered, in the back of his mind, whether or not Space Marshall Graham had made the right call when he appointed him to the head of this exploration team. Sure, he had graduated first out of their class at the Space Academy, but still...was he really fit to lead? He couldn't be. If he were, they wouldn't be in this mess right now.
A cough. "Still alive." Lance Charles McClain, their head pilot and gunner.
A grumble. "Eh, it's gonna take a lot more than that to kill me off." Tsuyoshi "Hunk" Garrett, their mechanic and engineer.
A squeak. "Just dandy, Chief." Darrell "Pidge" Stoker, their systems analyst.
A snort. "Ja, min venn." Sven Holgersson, their navigator and his second-in-command.
"Good." Still shading his eyes, Keith scanned the horizon. Their downed slave ship, which they'd used to escape from Korrinoth, was nothing more than burning wreckage. There was no way to make it off this planet without a ship. They would have to find another way out. "Sven, come here, please."
Dusting himself off, the Norwegian joined his captain. "What is it?" he asked quietly, his slate-blue eyes reading more into the request than Keith would have liked. "What do you want to tell me that you don't want the others to hear?"
"How do you know these things?"
Sven smirked. "I just do."
"Apparently." Keith lowered his voice. "Sven, I need you to do me a favor. We are in deep over our heads on this mission, and I...I need you to keep an eye on Lance."
The Norwegian looked amused. "You want me to baby-sit?"
The captain sighed. "No. But you know Lance—he has a tendency to get riled up, and when he does, he gets everyone else riled up in the process. The last thing I need right now is for anybody to lose his cool. I've got Hunk and Pidge covered if you can take care of your old roommate."
The navigator tilted his head to the side.
"Come on, Sven. I need you to do this for me. No one here knows Lance better than you do. I just need you to keep a lid on his impulsiveness, at least while we're trying to figure things out. Can you do that?"
"Of course."
"Thank you." Keith looked at the horizon again. "Now, I know we saw something that looked like a castle when we were crashing. I think that's the best place to start. So come on, grab a weapon and let's get on our way."
The area where they had crash-landed was littered with remnants from the war. Keith didn't know why, but he decided not to question their luck. The team members each picked up something to defend themselves with from off the ground, and they followed their captain in what he hoped was the direction of that castle.
And if it wasn't, then they were all as good as dead.
