Just found out I don't qualify for the job I really wanted – which means I'm back to basics. XP I'm going to take out my frustrations by typing up this chapter.

Okay. So, remember when Jack was talking to King Thomas in chapter 17, and he mentioned he spent twenty minutes in the same room with Gothel, and left with his head in knots? Well, I was talking to Eva Marvex about it, and the more we talked, the more I knew the scene had to be written. Originally Eva was going to write it for me, and she got some of it done. When I read the page or so she had, I realized I wanted to write the scene myself (ironic, I know), and then I decided to just do this whole flashback arc.

So, this chapter is dedicated to Eva. I also have to thank her, because I borrowed some of her phrasing and elements from the bit she wrote.

Among The Stars

Chapter 21

The Imperial palace, on Pallash I, rose above all the other buildings in the cityscape of the planet's capital cit. He'd heard it was an architectural marvel – but the only thing Jack noticed about it was the sheer size. It glinted in the evening sun like a gaudy jewel. The walkway up to the entrance was long, mostly flat, with several sets of long, shallow steps. Tall, intimidating statues lined the way, holding bronze spears at attention. There was probably some meaning behind the wraith like figures, but Jack didn't know it. He didn't really care, either. And he could guess the long walk was meant to be awe-inspiring – but he found the whole thing ridiculous.

Transparisteel doors slid open, black armored troopers flanking each side, blaster rifles in hand. A shiver ran down Jack's spine as he passed them, doing his best to keep his gaze straight ahead, though his instinct was to eye them warily. They didn't seem to like anyone looking at them the wrong way, though.

Still, it was a relief to step through the door, out of the unrelenting sun and into the air conditioned lobby of the palace. For some the cool air might have been too extreme. To Jack, it was the only comfort he had at the moment. It washed over him, sinking through the layers of his dress uniform to sooth his heated skin like a balm.

Sterile smelling air assaulted him from the moment he stepped through the doors, as he approached the front desk. The durasteel and grease of the hanger bay was infinitely preferable in his opinion.

The formal uniform was not helping at all. The black fabric was still, and itchy against his arms, which were bare beneath the sleeves of his jacket. If there was anything in the galaxy that could make formal clothing bearable, he had yet to find it.

Four stories above him was the angled ceiling, all corners and jutting angles. Flags bearing the Imperial Crest hung from horizontal angles, longer than Jack was tall.

The floor was marble, the walls a mix of marble and dark stained wood. Sounds bounced off the unyielding stone, tossed back and forth like a child's ball; everything from murmured conversations, footfalls, and the splash of the fountain in the center of the lobby.

There wasn't much time for him to dwell on any of the details, though. A man in the burgundy uniform of the royal guard intercepted him several yards from the front desk. "Cadet Frost?"

Jack nodded.

"This way." The guard gestured to the turbo lifts on one side of the lobby.

Jack followed wordlessly, ten thousand questions swirling in his mind. But even if he could have figured out how to word them, he knew the guard wouldn't answer them anyway. It wasn't worth the effort.

They rode the turbolift in silence, Jack's heard pounding a little harder with each level the indicator light ticked off. He kept his hands clasped loosely behind his back, fighting every muscle in his body that pleaded with him for some kind of movement.

Taking a deep breath, he looked out through the transparisteel walls of the lift, at the city fast falling away beneath them. His eyes followed lines of air traffic, speeders and shuttles of all makes and models crisscrossing in mid-air, , high above the skyscrapers, or coming in to land at various docking pads and hanger bays.

Finally, after what felt like hours to Jack, the turbolift came to a stop on the top floor, the doors sliding open. Jack followed the guard down the long black and burgundy hallway (why did the burgundy wall paper look like crushed velvet?), his boots silent on the short, dark grey carpet as they approached the only office on the level.

Jack swallowed as his fears for his destination for his destination were confirmed. Even his curiosity's repeated question of "why?" did nothing to eclipse his anxiety.

They reached the door and the guard tapped the door comm with his black gloved hand. "Your Majesty, Cadet Frost is here."

"Send him in." That voice had become too familiar in his year and a half on Pallash I.

His anxious heartbeat racketed up a notch. He couldn't think of any scenarios where this could be a good thing. Not that he could think of any reason why he was here in the first place.

The door slid open, allowing him in the office of Empress Gothel.

The woman herself was just rising from her seat behind the large wooden desk, her arms draped in yards of dark fabric, crimson painted lips pulled in a smile as she looked him over.

"You certainly took your time." Her tone was honey sweet, but there was a barb behind it. He suspected that honey was venomous, and decided he would rather stay as far from it as possible. "You must think the ruler of a galactic empire has all the time in the universe."

"Hardly, Your Majesty," he said, reminding himself to stand at attention and at least act as though he respected the woman in front of him. "I just returned from a flight exercise - my commanding officer insisted I change into my dress uniform."

Do you realize what you're saying? His mind asked. He was talking to a woman he had been raised to regard as an enemy, forcing himself to pretend he respected her, aware that he was required to sunmit to her orders. He had chosen that – as well as attending a military academy that forced him into uniforms that were varying degrees of uncomfortable. He hated uniforms of every kind. He also did not like commanding officers. He didn't like military ranking, and he didn't like people being in command over him.

He had left a life of hoodies, snowballs and fun times, where he had friends and a home, an ice palace that was his, a wolf pack that was required by spiritual law to listen to him, and the closest thing to a family that he would probably ever know – and he had left it of his own free will. Jack was coming to the conclusion that he was a complete idiot.

"Ah." She chuckled as she sashayed around the desk, fingers trailing along the edge of the red stained wood. Her green eyes looked him over carefully – and he tried not to imagine her gaze left a slimy residue. "Well, neither of you can be faulted for that."

Jack frowned, not understand what she meant. He watched warily as she walked over to the kitchenette, pulling down two glasses and what looked like fire flower wine. He guessed, at least, from the flower on the label, which he was fairly sure he had seen somewhere before, though he had little experience with alcohol of any kind.

"Would you care for a drink?" she asked, uncorking the bottle with a violent pop.

"No, thank you, Your majesty."

"Are you sure?" she tipped the bottle, vermillion liquid splashing into the clear glass before she lifted it quickly, cutting off the flow and glanced back at him. "Ah, forgive me. I forgot that you don't drink."

Jack inhaled sharply at that bit of knowledge. Some things she might know from his file, which she no doubt had access to – but that was not one of them. He had no idea what was going on, and it just made the whole situation worse. He hated being in the dark.

She hummed, taking a sip from her glass before she sashayed back to her desk, wide hips rising and falling dramatically with each step. It was a move her recognized from observing other cadets. Her heels clicked on the hard wood floor.

"Tell me, Jack – have you received your commission in the Imperial Fleet yet?"

"No, Your Majesty." Most of his peers had, even those he exceeded when it came to overall scores. He wasn't sure how to feel, unsure if he wanted a place in the military or not. Considering the growing itch his uniform was starting on the inside of his left elbow, he was leaning toward 'no'. Though from here, he really didn't have anywhere to go.

Gothel had reached the desk again, taking another sip of her wine as she pushed aside a few papers on the surface to pick up a folder with the Imperial Flight Academy logo emblazoned on the front.

"Your file," she smiled, holding it up for him to see before setting down her wine glass to open the folder. The way her eyes ran over the page told him she had already read it and knew exactly what she was looking for – this was all a show for his sake. "And your final evaluation… Ah! Here it is. Let's see… 'Cadet Frost is rash, displays an inability to function as part of a team, has no sense of responsibility and lack's proper respect for authority.' In short: You're one of the best pilots the Academy has ever have the privilege of producing; your tactical skills are noteworthy… but you don't play well with others, and you have a habit of disregarding orders."

Jack wanted to say that the Academy had not "produced" him. Fine-tuned, maybe. But he was not a product of the Empire.

Everything else was accurate, though – enough so that he cringed as she spoke. Maybe he shouldn't be so surprised that he hadn't received a commission. Never mind that the orders he had disregarded were for maneuvers he knew wouldn't work; or that he always succeeded when he did breakaway. But no one ever acknowledged when his unorthodox moves were a success. That was beside the point when it came to the military. He had learned that officers did not like being proved wrong – especially not by cadets.

Warren had prepared him as a pilot. But they had taught him to think and strategize, not just follow text book flight maneuvers and blindly follow ill advised orders.

"Even with your short comings, there were several ships willing to overlook your rebellious streak in favor of your piloting skills." Gothel closed the folder and tossed it back on the desk with a smack that resounded in Jack's ears. "But I had already flagged your folder."

Jack blinked, staring at the empress as he tried to understand what he had just been told. His final evaluation made sense. Everything beyond that led him into a deeper state of bafflement. He continued to go over her works in his mind, analyzing and cross analyzing them until his brain felt like a snake trying to eat its own tail. And he had to ask: "Why?"

Gothel sat on the edge of her desk, legs crossed at the knees. She paused midway through a sip of wine, and her lips pulled in a predatorily smile.

"Because you're not a drone," she said, setting her glass down with unnecessary care and stood up. She smoothed her skirt and came closer to where he stood in the middle of the office. "You caught my attention some months ago, Jackson."

He came to the quick conclusion he didn't like it when she said his name. It felt like of violation of some kind, and produced the sudden desire to take a shower to wash off the honey like residue of her voice that coated his skin and threatened to make him gag in disgust.

She continued to come closer, then vanished into his peripheral, circling behind his back. Closer, closer, too close.

It wasn't respect or training that kept his spine straight, of his hands clasped at the small of his back. But rather it was wariness. Because his every instinct scream that there was a predator behind him, and he should no sooner let her out of his sight than he would a growling cougar. Still he knew that movements, just to turns his head and look back, would encourage her.

Everything he knew about Gothel told him she was vain. From the mirrors on the walls, to her tailored dress meant to accent every carefully manufactured curve, her immaculate black hair and manicure, down to the sway of her hips that he guessed was intended to attract his gaze. She wanted attention, so it was best not to give it to her.

That wasn't easy when every sense screamed at him that he was turning his back on a threat.

"Last year, when Ambassador Naveen's daughter was kidnapped," she went on. "You defied orders to stay out of the way, and stole a speeder from the palace hanger. Not only did you save the girl, but the chase was absolutely breathtaking!" She said the last word in a breathless voice, apparently for dramatic emphasis.

Breathtaking, Jack thought wryly. She had no idea.

She had probably been sitting in this office, watching out her window, or the skycam footage the news had broadcast. She hadn't been battling the G forces that had threated to tear him and the speeder apart that night.

When he had heard about the kidnapped firl, he hadn't even stopped to consider following the official orders for everyone to stay back and let the police do their job. He had taken one look at the situation and known that girl didn't have a chance if someone didn't step in. A child deserved better than that.

He had already been near the palace, though he could never remember why, and he had taken the fasted, most agile speeder he could find (it had been idling on the edge of the walk up to the palace while the concierge had stared open mouthed, not in the hanger bay as Gothel had said) and he hadn't even considered that he was technically stealing in his haste. He had pushed the speeder to its limits, first to catch up with the fleeing kidnappers, then to survive everything they had done in their effort to lose him. He still had nightmares about a speeder bud bearing strait down on him. Only fast thinking has gotten him to the side of the bus tunnel before it crashed into him, though he had scraped the belly of the speeder on the wall, and the ceiling against the bus as it had sped by.

Flying through the power plant hadn't been much fun either…

But he had gotten the young girl back to her parents – that had made it all worthwhile. Ambassador Naveen and his wife had paid for the speeder, and Jack had slipped back to the Academy before the press managed to get their hands on him. Though not before someone had recognized him and mentioned it to the officials. (He suspected he knew who it was, but could never confirm the guess.)

"I saw you fly around the palace, and nearly stayed up the whole night re-watching the skycam footage."

The press hadn't gotten their hands on him – but they had played the footage so many times even he had gotten sick of watching it while he'd been under confinement in his dorm room while they decided his punishment for all the orders he had broken that night. (Starting with the fact that he wasn't supposed to leave the Academy that night in the first place.)

"When I found out you were a cadet, I knew I had to keep an eye on your training." She came around, and spun to face him. The hem of her skirt flared dramatically, and her smirk told him she had done it on purpose. "Or did you really think those charges vanished on their own?"

Jack grimaced inwardly as he realized he should have looked into that. Instead, he had been too relieved at the thought that he wouldn't be expelled. A stupid, amateur mistake – North and Bunnymund had trained him better than that.

She withdrew a datadisk from the folder – the skycam footage he guessed.

"You didn't learn to fly like that in the Academy," she said. "Skill like that doesn't belong in the fleet, slaving your way up through the ranks."

Considering the itch inside his elbow was bordering on unbearable, he was inclined to agree with her on that. When she turned back toward her desk for a moment, he reached over to try and scratch through the black fabric. It didn't help much. If anything, it seemed to make it worse.

Typical.

She turned back to him, and he dropped his hand back to his side. Gothel caught the movement, one dark eyebrow quirking in what looked like amusement.

"I certainly wouldn't mind having you as my personal pilot," she said. "If you prefer a one-man fighter, I can make room for you in my guard. I'm open to negotiations, if there's another position you would prefer."

She was behind him again, hands on his shoulders, thumbs kneading the muscles that connected his neck and shoulders. A motion that was intended to relax the muscles. But at the moment it only made him tense further.

"So long as your potential isn't wasted, Jackson," she said, leaning close to his ear.

His instincts of self-preservation shrugged his shoulders to escape her hands and he stepped forward without thinking. He turned to face her, in time to see her green eyes narrow, her entire expression darkening. His initial impression of a predator came back full force. Except now her fangs were bared at the perceived offense. Never mind that she had been the one to invade his personal space.

"You don' t have many other options, Jack," she said, voice now low and dangerous. "Pilot of a merchant freighter? Please. You're too flamboyant for that."

That word. Everyone accused him of flamboyancy. It tended to get him in trouble, though he wasn't entirely sure what they meant.

Gothel stalked back to her desk (he was glad her thinly veiled attempts at seduction were gone). Picking up the folder, she held it out to him.

He accepted it, looking at the Academy logo, and wondered why he had made the choice that brought him here. He had run from his responsibilities as a Governor, and now he would be… what?

Sighing, he turned and left the office, not sparing a glance for the guard still stationed outside the door as he headed for the turbolift.

#

The Crood's Diner was located near the middle class docking bay, and had become one of Jack's frequent haunts during his free time (or whenever he needed to get away from the Academy). It was one of the cleaner establishments, the food was edible, and the large windows offered an unparalleled view of the ships that came in to land.

While his peers hit the clubs and casinos in the higher end of the city, Jack came to see what he could learn from the pilots that came through the all edges of the galaxy – both in terms of piloting and galactic news. He wasn't interested in the holonet that was controlled by Gothel and her henchmen. Occasionally he would mention Warren to hear the debates it would start over details pertaining to rumors that were a far cry from the truth to begin with.

For now it was mostly empty, only two others aside from Jack himself. He sat at his favorite booth near the counter, legs extended over the bench with his back pressed against the window. His feet rested on the duffle bag that held everything he owned. His uniforms he'd left hanging in the closet of the dorm room. He had kept the boots, though. Those were comfortable, as far as shoes went. On his left forearm he wore the gauntlet that had been north and Toothiana's goodbye present. He had worn it whenever he was out of uniform, and the familiar weight might not offer the same comfort his staff would have, but it comforted him none the less.

Bored of the help wanted ads he was skimming through on his datapad, he glanced back over his shoulder when his peripheral caught sight of movement in the sky beyond the window. He watched as what looked like a Berk Nadder 10-21 came in for a land. It was medium blue, with red and orange detailing. Beautiful, like any Berk design. If Jack could get a job piloting that, or a ship like it, he certainly wouldn't mind.

At the moment, though, the only think going anywhere was the glass of juice he had ordered with his meal, which the waitress was refilling – again.

"Thanks, Eep," he said, running a hand over his eyes.

"No problem."

At some point he had been added to the list of regulars her father actually liked, so he received refills for free – which was certainly coming in handy at the moment.

He took a drink of the juice before he turned back to his datapad… and gave up. Instead he turned his attention to his plate of food. If he wanted to get a job as a pilot, then he would need to actually get out and pound the pavement, talking to the pilots that were refueling.

He turned his attention to his plate of food. If he couldn't find a job, he couldn't afford to waste a meal.

He was just finishing off his meal when a chime indicated the arrival of another customer. Jack glanced up at the door as much from habit and curiosity as to maintain personal security.

The newcomer was about his own age, probably a couple years older. Jack couldn't resist quirking an eyebrow as he noticed a small braid in the dark brown hair, which was otherwise tousled. He seemed intent on keeping his right temple covered with his bangs. Bright green eyes scanned the diner before he took a seat at the counter.

Jack watched from the corner of his eyes as Eep took the newcomer's order.

As soon as she left to take the order to the kitchen, where her father and brother were the cooks, the brunet's shoulders sagged, and he rubbed his forehead.

Jack looked back at his plate, trying to bite it back… but he knew the question would come out. So after a moment he looked back at the counter and asked: "You okay?"

The brunet glanced back over his shoulder, clearly not sure if he was the one Jack was talking to. Their eyes met briefly and he nodded, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah. Fine. Just… wish someone had told me that people don't hire a ship when the captain is the only crew member – I might not have become a ship-for-hire." He shrugged. "Other than that, I'm fine."

Jack chuckled. "That's up in the air. I was told not to do something and I did it anyway. Now I'm stuck here."

The brunet chuckled dryly, turning his stool so he faced Jack's booth. He held up his glass of water in a mock toast. "To messing up?"

Jack raised his own glass in agreement, smirking as they both took a sip. "Care to join me?"

"Sure." He left the stool and slid into the seat across from Jack at the booth, with his glass of water in his left hand. He extended his right hand. "I'm Hiccup."

"Just Hiccup?"

"Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III – but that's a bit of a mouthful."

Jack tried not to laugh as he reached out and shook Hiccup's hand. "Jack Frost."

"Nice to meet you."

"You wouldn't happen to be in need of a pilot, could you?" Jack asked. "Or a mechanic? I'm not picky at the moment."

"Right now I need someone I can call a crew," Hiccup shrugged. "If I can, I have some freight I can haul out tonight. Provided you don't have any prior engagements."

"Nothing that can't be cancelled," Jack said with a shrug. The Academy graduation ceremony was the next day, but missing that didn't really seem like that big of a deal. And getting as far away from Gothel as possible was certainly appealing.

Hiccup leaned back, considering Jack as he took a drink of water. "Can you pilot a Berk Nadder 10-21?"

For a moment, all Jack could do was stare at him, going over the words in his mind to make sure he hadn't misheard. But how many Berk Nadder 10-21s could there be in one port at any time – even on a planet that had as much traffic as Pallash I?

Apparently Tsar Lunar hadn't forgotten him, even all the way in this part of the galaxy.

"If it's built for humans, I can pilot it," he said, unable to bite back a smile. Not a smirk, but a smile. He had almost forgotten with a smile felt like.

Hiccup looked at him, considering again, then smiled in return, holding out his hand again. "Welcome to the crew of The Stormfly II, Jack Frost."

Jack is now a member of Hiccup's crew. Merida will come next chapter – as will the story of why the ship has the name it does (i.e. a little more about Hiccup's backstory). Though I think some of you can probably guess…