Taking Orders from Nobody

Disclaimed.

I'm watching the old Speed Racer.

I'm not regretting it.

Chapter twenty four:

"Are you really, really absolutely, positively sure you don't want to go with me?" Sora tilted his head and scrunched up his nose. His hair was more of a mess than usual. There was an imprint of a crease that had been pressed into the fake leather seats of the gummi ship against his cheek. Despite spending the night in a captain's chair, he appeared bright-eyed and alert and his eyes just got brighter when Aerith presented him with a stack of strawberry pancakes.

"Fresh Strawberries? Where did you get them?"

"Someone's been growing them in a little patch, where the gardenias used to grow—tomato, too. And some spinach... Not like you would know where I'm talking about."

"Not like I care about spinach. Thanks, though." He shoveled a huge bite into his mouth.

Jak took advantage of the silence, "Yes. I'm sure."

Sora swallowed, yawned, stretched his back, rubbed his eye and then reached for the sky, moving his arms to cover as much space as he could, before asking, "Hoooow about I just kidnap you?"

"You can't even lift me."

Sora put his hands on his hips and insisted, "Can too!"

"... You can't."

"If you keep having nothing but coffee for breakfast you'll be lighter than me in no time."

"I don't like eating in the mornings. It makes me sick."

It actually reminded him of the strict schedule in prison—and the high-carb diet—and that made him sick. He was not going to tell Sora that.

"But aren't you hungry?"

"I have hate. I have coffee. I'm good."

"No wonder you're always grouchy, a breakfast like that... " Sora laughed, planted an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, "Maybe I won't leave until you agree to go with me?"

"Sora, leave him be."

Leon turned the page of his morning paper, which was ten years, three months, and sixteen days old. It was largely untouched by time, except for the fact that it had been soaking wet yesterday and the edges were a little singed. He must have pulled it out of the fire before the flames got to it, specifically to look all knowledgeable and dignified while reading it.

"You're not really reading that paper, are you?"

Leon hid his face in the newsprint. He could have been hiding shame—could have been hiding a smile. Sora turned back to look at him, and did not leave him alone at all, "Are you really sure?"

He was not sure, "Yes."

"You don't sound sure."

"I'm sure."

Sora's toothy smile dropped, his eyes flicked over Jak—not looking at the details this time. Sizing him up, looking him over, weighing his real options, before saying, "Well... I guess I really can't force you."

"No," Jak replied, he took another sip of coffee—too weak for his tastes—and his eyes wandered from Sora and his baby face full of pancakes to Stitch, sneaking along the wall over Aerith's head, dropping down to the coffee pot. They did the old fashioned way here, with percolators instead of the the drip-through machines that were common in Haven City, all aroma, no flavor. Maybe that was just because the darkness eroded taste. Stitch and coffee would be an awful combination, and Jak considered warning Aerith, but she saw him just in time and shooed him way with a spatula. Someone of his size was not meant to handle caffeine. He had to trick Daxter with decaf, trick him with non-alcoholic beer, and worry if every word on every food label he did not know was actually Ottsel poison in disguise.

Where ever he was—if he was with someone—he hoped they realized that.

He did not want to think about that; Daxter, surviving the Heartless only to be felled by Xylitol.

"I still don't know anything about you."

"There isn't anything to know."

"There's lots to know—What's your friend's name? I never caught it?"

"I never threw it."

"So?" Sora kicked the table—he might have been aiming for Jak, "It's too early for you to be this dense. Throw it."

"Daxter. His name is Daxter."

"Got a special girl, maybe?"

Jak just stared at him.

"She must be really pretty if you refuse to talk about her."

"She is."

Sora's big, beaming smile just got bigger, "Soooo..."

Jak would have none of it, "You've got strawberry in your teeth."

Sora turned bright red and focused on stuffing his face for a little while. Jak focused on his coffee. Stitch focused on slipping past Aerith. Aerith was not going to be slipped past, "Jak, what should I do about him?"

"I'll worry about him." he got up, coffee in hand, and took Aerith's place at the stove. He demanded, quietly, "Stitch, do you really need coffee?"

"Ich." he nodded a little bit.

"Are you lying?"

He nodded more, black eyes wide and honest, smile white and sharp. Jak looked at the percolator like he'd rather use it as a door stop, then looked at Stitch. He took a mug from the cupboard above it, and gave him a warning finger, "Half a mug."

"Pancake?"

"Fine."

Jak poured out the last of the strawberry-laden batter as Stitch poured himself three fourths of a mug of coffee. It was quiet. Leon turned the pages of his paper a couple of times, Sora clinked his fork against his plate. Donald and Goofy came around, but did not say anything Jak really cared about. His ears were good—but if he was not invested in understanding every single word then he could not understand it at all. Not Donald at least. Nothing but squawking.

Stitch asked, sitting on the counter top, "Sora?"

"Yeah, yeah I know."

"You said we would go."

"You can go. You're not the problem."

Stitch was quiet. Now that the pancakes were cooking away under his nose, Jak had to admit, he was starving. He thought about physically chewing food this early in the morning, carbs at that, and it passed quickly. Jak would never say he did not understand why people from the future liked bread so much—but he did not, maybe it was the yeast, maybe it was the gluten. Honestly he did not even like grain-distilled liquor. He had a handful of strawberries. They were not as good as the ones from the Forbidden Jungle, but they were better than just coffee. He fought back the need to throw up as he watched Stitch drown the pancakes in syrup and scarf them down with his bare hands.

He stared out the window, one hand on the counter and one hand holding his third mug of coffee. It was overcast, a half-assed threat of rain hung above the maw. Cooler than yesterday. Darker than yesterday. Some of the smoke still hung in the air. If he was not going with Sora—and he was not going with Sora, what would he do? Stay here? He was not going to find Tess, Not-Terra, or any other Keyblade Bearer just sitting around here.

Maybe, if he stayed with Kairi's Grandmother, Lea would turn up again. He was no Keyblade Bearer, but he could travel from world to world. To hear the old woman tell it, he was already living dangerously—already had an interest in him, too, right? With as busy as it was around here, Lea would probably turn up again in a couple of hours.

He hated to admit Leon was right. But Leon was right. Going with Sora was a bad idea. Even if Sora thought it was a good idea. To avoid having to refuse Sora a few more times, Jak finished his weak coffee in one gulp, went down stairs under some paper-thin pretext and wondered why Stitch did not just leave him then and there. Stitch followed him down, sat on the table while Jak sat in the chair, drumming his fingers on the wood and staring at the pipe hammer he had thrown together.

"You can go." he told Stitch after a long pause.

"I know."

Jak waited around until he heard Sora say his good byes, and footsteps on the stairs. Too light to be Sora. It was Aerith. She slid into the chair across from him, moving deliberately, teasingly, slyly, with a little grin that was all innocent curiosity. She propped her chin on her hand, "Sora's leaving."

"I know."

"You're not going with him?" Aerith's tone was veiled and difficult to decipher and Jak hated it, "What are you going to tell Leon?"

"Nothing."

She chuckled, just as veiled, just as difficult to decipher, "Nothing?"

"Yes. Never speaking to him again. With luck, I can avoid him forever."

"You can avoid him forever in the..." her eyes made a deliberate, sparkling sweep of the run down walls, before coming back to Jak and asking, "Basement of his own house?"

He could not decipher her tone—but he was almost positive she was toying with him. There were worse people that could be pulling his strings, although he had made sure they would never pull his strings again. He pulled back. "I'd prefer Merlin's... but I'm not speaking to him, either."

"Mmm-hmm."

He supposed he could go live with Kairi's Grandmother—what had Sora told her about Kairi? That he would find her and bring her there? Or that he would take her to Destiny Islands when it was all over? She did deserve a tropical vacation. He was not about to ask. Maybe he would go out, test the hammer on some Heartless, do something to ease the frustration.

Aerith did not laugh this time. "So, after all that? You're really not going to go with Sora?"

It felt like a cop-out saying it, "I'm really not going to go with Sora."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm violent with a hair trigger temper and I'd make a monster of a heartless."

Aerith did not bother arguing. It would have been good of her to insist that he was not—but it was kinder to let him be honest. It was not her job to feed him lies. She brushed some of the remaining sand down onto the floor. Jak heard the Highwind's engines rev, then idle from the wall, then fade, and through it all Aerith watched him, like she was expecting him to run away at the last second. He remained where he was. She shrugged, stood up, hardly scraping her chair against the floor, and then left with hardly a noise against the stairs, and hardly a noise on the upper floor. It was like she was waiting for him. Jak leaned forward, tried to get a glimpse at the landing. The door was open, but he did not see her.

He looked back at Stitch.

"Thought you'd leave with him."

"Ohana." Stitch said simply.

And he thought he had been the one to cop out. How long ago had he found Stitch? Two days—no. Not it had only been one day. One day did not a family make. He did not share that though. He shrugged, "Well, thanks..." then he leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head and tipped the chair back on two legs, breathed through his nose, before he signed, "Plan B..."

He closed his eyes, thought about what Samos would say—probably that he needed to learn to share the spotlight, bite his tongue and go with Sora for the good of their world, and Samos would be right... except Jak was not a tongue biter. He thought about what Daxter would say. Something sharp tongued and too sassy, considering his easily kick-able frame and poorly camouflaged fur.

What could he do? Steal a gummi ship? The only one he knew was around was Sora's... and Sora needed his ship. But if he was stuck here...? He would never know when his world came back. What could he do? Wait around where his world had been for its return? How would he even know what worlds were "close" to his own? More worlds created by the precursors? Or more worlds ravaged by the metal heads? Heartless?

It would have been a real problem.

Except, when Jak was trying to master areo in the bailey, and failing because he was the furthest from proud as he had been in the past three days, he heard gummi ship engines again. He looked up and saw a very different ship descending. He was intrigued at first, then confused. Sora's ship... It had been red right? And bulkier than this one. This one was purple, loaded with guns, and sleek, built for speed and attack, not substance.

Besides, Sora left an hour ago— there was no way he would be back so soon.

Was this some new Keyblade Bearer from some other distant corner of the universe? Was it Riku? Maybe it was Lea? Jak jogged through the Bailey. The ship docked in the same place as Sora, the silhouette of the pilot certainly looked like Sora, and the messy haired teenager that climbed out, grumbling, "Hell, we just fucking left..." was unmistakably Sora.

"Sora?"

"Sup? We need Merlin... What's with that look on your face?"

"Your ship was red."

Sora looked at the gummiship. To say he was hinting at something would be a gross understatement. "Yeah. Yeah it is. My ship is red."

Jak found himself grinning, "You have... You have more than one ship?"

"Yeah. I'm practically an admiral." Sora joked, "It's made me soooo forgetful. I mean, look, I've just left the cockpit open and everything and the keys are just right there in the ignition."

"I'll get them, Sora."

Sora grabbed Donald by the back of his tunic and yanked him back down again. Donald squawked and grumbled as Sora threw his arm around Jak's shoulders and started chewing the scenery. "Wouldn't it be so tragic if some kid climbed in there and just drove off? Merlin'd have to warp me to Disney Castle—not like he minds. He just hates gummiships. The Falcon'd just be here, ripe for the taking. And this isn't a ship made for kids. It's very unsafe. Just look at all those guns. It really doesn't last long under heavy fire—and it's so fast it's almost impossible to steer. Some poor kid could just get blasted off into space." He made a motion with his hand, a sound effect with his mouth, "How tragic would it be, right?"

And then he winked with no degree of subtlety at all.

"So tragic." Jak nodded with feigned solemnity, "That poor, hypothetical child."

"We're gunna go to Merlin's now, buddy." Sora replied and gave him a firm whap on the back, ending with a rough shake to his shoulder that made Jak wonder if Sora really couldn't lift him, even if it was just long enough for a suplex or an over the-shoulder flip.

"Catch you later."

Sora settled down, his message received. His smile stopped being hammy and started being genuine again, "Do good out there. I know you can. You have no idea the good you can do if you only smiled."

"One hero to another." Jak replied, "Subtlety, Sora."

Sora let him go, "Got it. Tone it down."

"And stop swearing."

"Okay." then he rubbed his hands together, "Welp, come on, guys, that Cornerstone of Light isn't gunna save itself."

Jak watched them go with a short, sharp wave, almost a salute. When they were down the stairs, out of the average person's ear-shot, Jak heard Goofy whisper, "Sora, why didn't you just tell him he could take the ship?"

"His pride, Goofy."

Jak folded his arms and sighed with a smile, shaking his head. That kid was going places. He heard Stitch climbing into the Falcon. Jak followed, scanned the controls. Radar, radio, steering wheel, it was basically a zoomer, but with life support systems, a cockpit that could seal itself completely, and beds—and he could not read anything.

"Can you make heads or tails of this, Stitch?"

Stitch already seemed to be making heads of it. He picked is way around the controls, pointed at the captain's chair, "Sit."

"Stitch, I don't know how to fly this thing."

"I'm too short." he replied simply.

He had a point. Jak sat down, closed the six point harness over his stomach and followed Stitch's instructions. Ignition on and engine ready, everything, the engine, the fuel system, the cockpit sealed and all indicator lights green before the landing gear was taken up, and the landing gear up before the fuel was allowed to get to the engine. Throttle then clutch. There was a quick spluttering, a roar of engines and the Falcon was in the air. Sora was right, it was fast. A blink of an eye and the sky of Hollow Bastion was gone.

Of all the things Jak though he would see in his life, space was not one of them. He looked out of he cockpit saw worlds just floating there, colorful, beautiful some of them hidden behind nebula, shimmering every color imaginable in the light of ten thousand stars, distant, not so distant, some so far away, Jak and Stitch must have been the first people to see their light—and they might even be long dead now, cold and black and burned out, the worlds that lived off their warmth, the clouds of dust they made glow, dark and lifeless. Far off, a meteor shot through the sky, leaving a trail of frozen dust.

"... Whoa."

He felt small, in a good way. He grinned stupidly, marveling at it all as Stitch moved freely around, pacing from one side of the dash to the other, looking out, before climbing around skillfully and looking out at the back of the dome, getting his bearings. Jak guided the Falcon through a field of asteroids before working his way over it.

"Where to, first, Stitch?"

Stitch shrugged, "Home is far."

"Well, you curious about other words or do you want to keep flying?"

Stitch looked at him, his eyes narrowed just a little bit. He was thinking.

Daxter could be anywhere, if he was anywhere. So could Tess. He had a reason to be curious. Stitch did not. Not really.

Jak focused on the mess of space ahead of them, were coming on on a field of asteroids. Seemed harmless enough. Jak figured he could be forgiven for being a little wary of it—space was not a two way street. He pulled back on the wheel, sent the Falcon upward, skirting a rock with no skill, a paint chip, nothing more.

He closed the throttle in an attempt to slow it down. It worked. The Falcon slowed to an easy amble, though the engine spluttered impatiently. While Stitch weighed his choices, Jak saw a streak of light jump from Hollow Bastion, still close enough he could make out the town in the blue rock, the trail of smoke left from Lea's bonfire, to a world very close to it, green, with a white and blue castle. That must be Disney Castle. Looked like it was having some trouble with the darkness. It was billowing out like a mist.

"We could go help out them, never did thank him."

"He knows. We'll see him again." Stitch assured him. He crawled around. Jak had to twist back around quickly to follow him. It was quiet again. Stitch stopped at the right hand side, then said; "Curious."

"Explore it is." Jak looked out to the worlds. He could pick a world, any world. There was nothing getting in his way, no one telling him he could not do something. Each one was just as likely to have Daxter—if any of them did. He wish he could punch a pair of coordinates and rocket towards him. He made a few corrections to the course, started heading towards the closest world.

He glanced down—gauges were pointed to the middle. Half power, half heat—looked normal. Should have thought to ask where to get fuel before running off. But Stitch was right, they would run into Sora again—he should have asked where mission control was. If he was going to be getting any radio signals, it would to him some good to know where they were coming from.

Stitch dropped down into his right-hand chair, strapped himself in. The seats were not made for someone his size—he would pop out at the slightest jolt. Jak wondered which of the many buttons he pressed to get the guns to fire, then he wondered why the ship even had guns. The Heartless did not come in to worlds on ships, they traveled through the Darkness, right? They could just emerge anywhere they liked.

So why did the ship have guns?

He did not get a chance to wonder long—the radar started going crazy. Jak opened up the throttle and let the Falcon do its work, getting them them hell away from it. He glanced at the gauges one last time, his eyes caught a pair of buttons on each side to the steering wheel, they were bright red, thumb-sized and un-leased a hail of bullets so large that crazy-awesome overcompensation was an understatement.

They also alerted every other ship in the field to their presence.

"Worse than traffic back home." Jak muttered to himself before dodging a set of homing missiles and getting blow away by the blast they made as they all hit each other.

Haven City had given him one gift, incurable road rage. Jak went silent. His eyes narrowed, his knuckles went white on the wheel, and his hand hovered on the throttle, ready to cut the engine for sudden stops and sharper turns, one hand firing the guns.

The radio picked a bad time to hiss. A squeaky voice cut through the blaring of the defense system and the static of the radio, "This is Disney Castle hailing the rogue Falcon."

"I have two hands."

They did not hear him, "This is Disney Castle hailing the rogue Falcon."

Then he heard Sora in the background. He sounded a little antsy—like he was afraid of getting in trouble for loaning out the ship, "I'm sure he's fine."

Jak was not interested in telling them anything was wrong. He wondered, barely able to think over Stitch's thrilled shouts as he did a barrel roll to avoid a spray of lazers so hot he felt it inside the cabin, how easy it would be to disconnect it completely. There was inaudible bickering on the other end, Sora, Merlin, some squeaking woman's voice, then, "So, lad, Sora tells me he loaned you the Falcon. How are you enjoying the freedom?"

It was Merlin.

He could bitch at Merlin. He let throttle and grabbed the radio, "Merlin, how to the Heartless travel?"

"They travel the darkness."

"Then why do they have ships?"

Something slammed into the back of them. Jak pulled the ship up, tried to get it to go left, but with the radio in one hand and the enging running full tilt they hit the rock and skidded for twenty feet before breaking free of it. Jak glared at an enemy he could not see. The Falcon coughed, the internal lights flickered and a cannon misfired. Jak looked down, his frown deepened. One of the gauges... it was in the red. They had all been fine before. He had just checked. Did a fuel tank get hit? Or was that temperature? Honestly, the little picture next to it looked like a smiley face, it was hard to tell what it was.

No one answered, Jak kept talking. There was no time to panic. "Lost the fuel tank. Someone tell me how to keep life support on."

"No, that's not possible. Gummi ships run on happy faces."

There was always time to be mad at Merlin. "Don't feed me that feel good crap right now!"

"No!" it was Sora's voice, "He's not jerking your chain, Jak. The Highwind, the Falcon, they literally run on happy faces."

That was so fucking stupid. That was so trite and cliché that he had to laugh.

The Falcon spluttered back to life.

He needed to kill something.

Well, we're in the Land of Dragons, only problem is, Mulan's plot was all used up by Sora.

You know what that means, right?

Right, guys?

Guuuuuuuuuuuys?