The fluorescent bar on the ceiling hummed quietly along to the rumble of the Caravan. Hawke looked around, checking that she hadn't left anything behind. She hadn't really bothered to unpack since arriving, so chances weren't big that she would. People barely had possessions in the Circle, and she had left even more behind on Ferelden before her escape. A single messenger bag with some essentials was all that remained. It was already slung over her shoulder, a little fuller than before with some extra clothes from the marketplace. With those packed away, there was nothing left in the stark chamber to suggest she'd ever been there.
After goodbyes — kisses on the cheek, high-fives, a bone-crushing hug from the giant behind the bar — she went down to the cargo bay, Dog happily following on her heels. He stumbled a few times, tripping over his paws like a drunk in heels, but caught himself and looked up at her with sunshine plastered across his silly face. She smiled, an increasingly common occurrence since she got him. Scars ran over his massive frame, and his ears and tail had been clipped. He'd probably been locked up, poked, and prodded since he was a pup. Not allowed to be a dog in the least had resulted in the uncoordinated mass of limbs and muscle trotting beside her. Yet however he'd been treated, it hadn't dampened his spirits one bit.
She hadn't noticed him before he barked and stared straight into her eyes from across the crowded bazaar. Undoubtedly, the merchant's claim that he'd only livened up after he saw her was nothing more than a sales tactic. Still… there was something about the way he looked at her that went beyond that of a regular animal. Perhaps it could sense the kinship she felt, another free from Chantry control, though she probably gave him more credit than he deserved. Regardless, he was with her now, and she wasn't going to let anyone else lay a hand on him.
They walked the gangway leading to the upper level of her ship, where they entered into a compact living room. The built-in seating and adjustable table were more than a standard Shadow had, which would generally be built for short-term stealth missions.
She hadn't found the additional space essential, even considered it a hazard at first. The bigger the ship, the bigger the reaction needed to shift it, the higher the strain on the Catalyst. The vessel was a visual oddity at that, but… it was hers. Having spent a good week fixing it up had made her more appreciative of that fact than she had been initially. Though she enjoyed giving V a hard time about the ramshackle vehicle, she privately admitted he'd been right to convince her of its value. After all, she wouldn't be going on a short-term mission once she would leave his service. There was also the unplanned addition of a massive dog. A bit more space than the average shuttle would be a welcome luxury. Even their upcoming trip — a couple of weeks with only V for company — would undoubtedly be more taxing in a smaller vessel.
The cockpit lay to the front, while a small hydroponics bay and kitchen filled the back. From here, a steep ladder led to the lower deck. Dog flattened himself against the ground as she climbed down, paws curled around the edge and his nose following her as far as it could, his hot breath tickling her hair.
"Sorry, buddy." She chuckled at the upturned brow that wrinkled his worried forehead. "Once you learn to climb ladders, you can come down here too."
He whined softly in response. From the look on his face, Hawke wondered if he was going to try.
A narrow corridor with doors on either side ran through the ship below deck. There were two small bedrooms, each with a cupboard built into the wall and only just enough room to stand up straight. There were a bathroom and storage as well, and another ladder down that gave access to the engine.
Hawke entered one of the bedrooms and emptied her bag out on the bunk. Clothes, a cassette player with headphones, music tapes with faded labels, her Chantry ID card, and a set of documents. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it onto the pile, then picked the tapes out from the rest to stick into her back pockets. Her hand briefly hovered over the file before she picked it up. She searched the room for a place to hide it, her thumb absentmindedly caressing the cover. She settled on shoving it underneath the mattress. Nosy as he was, she wagered even V wouldn't be so bold as to look for her secrets there.
Dog hadn't moved when she returned. He was still looking down into the stairwell, his stumpy tail leading his behind into wild swings of excitement the moment she came into view. He bounced around her as she walked over to the cockpit, deposited the tapes in a drawer and sat down in the pilot's seat — a high-backed chair of faded red leather. There were another two chairs, one on each side and slightly behind hers. One sat at weapons control, the other communications. She could reach it all herself if she needed to, though in a tight situation another set of hands would probably be welcome.
"Up," she directed, pointing at the chair on her right. Dog jumped, making the chair spin as he settled into it. Hawke stopped it with her foot, then leaned in to fasten the seat belt-turned-harness she'd installed. She gave an appreciative nod as the animal sat securely strapped in beside her, panting happily in excited puffs. "Perfect. How about some music?"
He barked in agreement — at least, what she interpreted as agreement — and she began to take the necessary measures. She'd half put the control panel together herself, half augmented what was already there. An older model Shadow formed the core of this pieced-together custom build. It wasn't reliant on the more modern bits of tech the Chantry had started to integrate in recent years. There were no touch displays, no holograms or artificial intelligence. Just tried-and-true switches and relays, gears and valves, pistons, plugs, and wires. She'd hated having to work with the new systems. The insides were so sleek and fused together you'd have to toss the entire thing if one component broke down. When the Enforcers wouldn't allow that, she'd spend hours carefully peeling them apart, terrified of causing more damage. In this ship, she could screw off a panel and look behind it, see the inner workings, know precisely why each display showed what it did and what was wrong when it didn't. She liked that clarity and the independence it gave her — another boon to her new ride.
The music came on as she slid one of the cassettes into the dashboard player, a bootleg recording of an Antivan band she'd never been able to see in person. Their electric instruments filled the cockpit with the swinging notes of a summer dance, bright and colourful, even as the singer told a story of someone caught in a bad romance. Hawke matched her rhythm to that of the song, tapping buttons and flicking switches to the beat as she hummed along. Music was the best tool she'd found to stay grounded in the here and now. Without her cassette player to keep her company, she doubted she would have made it to the Caravan at all.
"Ready to rock?" a voice called out.
She glanced over her shoulder to see V drop his bag onto the couch, then come towards the cockpit. "Born ready," she called back, lowering the volume. "Good to go?"
"Good to go." He came to stand beside her, hand resting on the back of her chair, and looked to Dog. "The mutt has his own seat?"
"First come, first serve."
"Good to know where I stand, I suppose."
"Well, you probably want to sit at some point. Maybe have a lie down once in a while. I'll allow it."
"Thanks, Hawke," V chuckled, "You are too generous. What if we need weapons?"
Dog tilted his head and looked to the controls as if trying to determine whether he could manage that role. Then, faster than anyone could stop it, he lifted a big paw over the panel and brought it down with a smack. V's hand clamped down on her chair, pressing the air out of the leather with a soft hiss.
Everything was still… Dog's paw pressed hard on a big, red button. At the same time, V looked on horrified, waiting for what terrible consequence the animal had brought upon them. When all remained quiet, her boss turned to her, eyebrow arched.
"Routed control to my own panel," Hawke said casually, "Disabled that one for now. If I do my job right, we won't need them."
He exhaled faintly and shook his head. "What did I get myself into?"
"A ship?"
"I'm glad you are considering it as such by now," V chuckled as he sat down in the remaining chair. "Have you thought of a name yet?" Hawke pressed a finger to her lips and pretended to think, but before she could speak, he added, "Don't you dare say you're just going to call it 'Ship'."
"Oh, why not?" Hawke grinned, "It's clear, no?"
"And bound to cause a wealth of confusion whenever you need to dock somewhere, I'm sure," he laughed, "but don't you think your first vessel should be called something a little more meaningful?"
"Dog is fine being called Dog."
Dog barked his assent.
"And the ship probably won't have sleepless nights over its name either, even if you called it 'Scrapheap'," V argued, "but this is your ship. You are known by it once you get out there. It's less about what you name it than about what you name yourself." He gave her a meaningful look, then turned his attention to the console before him. He'd familiarised himself with it over the past days and now quickly established communication with Leliana in the Caravan's control room. "Nightingale, ready to let us out?"
The radio hissed static at them for a second before her melodic voice answered, "Say the word."
Hawke input the commands to retract the gangway and close the hatch, switched on climate control, and brought up the radar.
"Ready?" he asked her.
"Affirmative." She frowned to herself as she said it, wondering why it sounded odd. V blinked in surprise, clearly agreeing with her. "…Chantry habit," she laughed, feeling her face flush a little, "Ready."
"Aye, Captain," he said with a mock salute. "We're good, Nightingale. Open her up."
A force field sprung to life over the hangar door to keep the atmosphere in the storeroom in place against the vacuum. The door began to slide away, bringing the void beyond into view. Another two ships of the current entourage were visible, but there was plenty of space to move between them.
The engine came on with a roar, then eased into a pleasant hum. There had been a nasty rattle in it during previous tests, but Hawke was happy to hear it gone now. The ship disconnected itself from the ground, drifting upon its thrusters to hover in the air, and retracted its landing gear. Hawke drew a slow breath, a smile spreading across her face, and pushed the throttle.
They soared, one smooth motion as they glided from the hangar and sped away from the fleet. Hawke brought them round, fingers drumming on the steering wheel to the tune of the band, and checked their position on the navigational display. She circled around the Caravan and its followers in a graceful arc, then blasted away at top speed. Within minutes, the markers on the map were growing more distant, until they soon disappeared off-screen altogether. She switched the view to one with a larger scale, showing their planned trajectory.
There was a crackle in Leliana's voice when it sounded from the com again. "Stay safe out there."
"Will do, Nightingale," V answered, "Take care of each other. We'll be in reach for a couple of days still. If you need anything —"
"We'll be fine," she interrupted, "Just watch yourselves. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Why do I feel that doesn't narrow down the options as much as it should?" Hawke joked. "See you later, Red."
They said their final farewells and V closed the channel, ending the connection with a hollow pop. Hawke glanced at him. In their current positions, she could only see him from the side. He was frowning slightly, immersed in thought as he ran a long-range scan. She'd seen the look on him before, but only when he thought he was alone, like when she came into his office unannounced, or the time he emerged from his quarters.
"Have you left her in charge before?" she asked.
He looked over, and the melancholy faded from his features. "A few times."
"You seem worried."
"Ah, no…" he chuckled, "They'll be fine. There is just something I wish I could have finished off before leaving, but Leliana can handle it."
"I see."
Hawke turned away and directed her attention to the front. A streak of indigo and magenta painted the velvety darkness in the distance, obscuring the brightness of the twinkling stars. There were more, countless more, on the edges of the frame. Each was a system, like theirs, in its own right. The vastness of it was overwhelming at times, exciting at others. Who knew what kinds of worlds were out there to uncover, what types of people were trying to make a name for themselves?
"So, why'd you name your ship that?" she asked V. "What's the message to the universe?
"Named it what?"
"What do you think? The Caravan."
He smiled knowingly, an amused twinkle in each eye. "That's not her name. People started calling her that because of the fleet. I haven't had a reason to correct them."
"Oh?" Hawke was genuinely surprised — she hadn't heard anyone call the ship otherwise. "What's her name then?"
He let his silence stretch on for a few seconds, making a show of pondering whether he wanted to tell her or not. "She was called the Hanged Man originally."
"The Hanged… Man?"
V nodded. "Once upon a time. I'll leave it to you to decide what that's supposed to tell the universe about me." He turned away with a wink, resuming his task of scanning their surroundings.
He sat at his console a while longer, then checked whether she needed him for anything else. When she told him she didn't, he went below deck to pack his things away. Afterwards he was rummaging around the kitchen to make them lunch, which he brought her in the cockpit. He sat down in the living room himself with a stack of documents and a notebook, signalling his existence only with the rustling of paper and pen, barely audible over her music.
Their rhythm established itself without discussion over the following days. V took care of matters related to their personal well-being, while she handled those required by the ship. Sleep, rise, breakfast and checking navigation for the day. Morning hours of scribbling and maintenance, lunch, continue for the afternoon. Dinner, a game of cards. Final check, wash up, rinse, repeat.
Days passed in which little changed beyond the distant colours of the darkness. Hawke was sitting in the cockpit one evening, feet tossed upon her console, pondering this new routine and the person she was sharing it with. It was surprisingly comfortable, and yet… it felt off at the same time. He was quieter than she'd anticipated. They still chatted, but he no longer talked her head off. It was what she'd wanted him to do, or at least to stop inquiring into matters he was better off not knowing about. Now that he had, however, she wasn't sure she liked the alternative. It seemed a wholly unnatural state for him to be in, which made it strangely unsettling.
"We're almost out of range, right?"
She jumped a little in her seat. V had come up behind her, far too quietly for someone so sturdily built. He looked at her in surprise, then laughed.
"Guilty conscience, Hawke? Or were you daydreaming?"
"Neither," she replied, turning the music down a little, "Just good old-fashioned spacing out."
"The best of time-wasters. It's good to have an arsenal of them out here, isn't it?"
"An ability to keep oneself entertained is a valuable skill indeed," she quipped, "Don't go on away missions if you can't stand to be around yourself."
"I guess we'll find out whether we can." He nodded to the communications console. "How long?"
"Ah, soon. If you want to contact someone, you should do it now."
He stared at the radio, momentarily dipping back into that concern she'd seen surface before. "No, it's fine," he said, playing it off with a roguish smirk, "Don't want to make them think I miss them already. They'll exploit it to no end once I'm back."
He turned his back on her and went back to the living area. Hawke watched him go, eyes narrowing as the uneasy feeling crept up on her again. Something was amiss — she'd spent too much time being lied to, being told that she didn't need or wasn't authorised to know, not to be sure of it.
She looked out the window, to the eternal void that appeared to darken the closer they got to the edge of charted space. Few had attempted to go further, and only with limited success. With the Belt continuously in motion, rocks colliding upon one another and breaking apart, it seemed like a fool's errand to try. Those that managed to get through were only met with more emptiness, stretching on for light-years that would take ages to cross.
Historians believed the First once might have been able to jump across the galaxy in the blink of an eye, as V had thought she was able to do. If those stories were true, their secrets had long been lost. Finding such a form of travel was a holy grail among scientists, but none had made significant strides. The best they'd managed was to discover Catalysts, triggering a revolution across the sector in trade and travel. Yet as long as the process required their energy, the distance anyone could traverse was finite, keeping them well within the bounds of their own solar system.
Though Hawke was fascinated by what and who could be out there, she didn't mind that the Chantry likely wouldn't expand its reach within her lifetime. There were plenty of places in Thedas space to explore, once she could think in such terms. If unlimited travel became a reality and the entire universe reachable, she shuddered to think what people might do to it.
With a sigh, she returned her attention to matters closer to home. V had settled back into his seat and buried himself in his papers again. Hawke bit her lip, considering. She switched on auto-navigation, swivelled around in her chair, and got to her feet in one fluid motion. Dog was napping on his bed but raised his ears in greeting. She leaned against the door frame, still unsure of what she was doing back here until V looked up from his work.
"Problem?"
Hawke shook her head. "Nope… still empty out there."
"Alright." His nose disappeared into his notebook again, while his eyes glanced between it and the page in his hand.
"What are you working on?"
He glanced over, briefly at first, then straightened himself up. Elated disbelief spread across his face in a toothy grin as he pressed a hand to his exposed chest. "Hawke! You are showing an interest in me? I am flattered."
"If you're going to be a dick about it —"
"No, no. I am far too in need of company for that," V said, waving her over. "I might actually be one of those people who doesn't like to be around themselves too much."
She hesitated for a second, then sat down on the other bench. "You seem perfectly pleased with yourself to me."
"Of course, I am. That's not the same thing."
He tended to clear off his papers before she joined him at the table at mealtimes. She was surprised to see they weren't charts with numbers or lists of names. Fragments of text instead told of a pickpocket targeting a Chantry officer, the smell and texture of a neglected colony, snappy dialogue between two bounty hunters in a standoff…
"You write?"
"I do," he said casually, "One of my revenue streams. Quite a successful one at that."
Hawke picked up one of the pages. It described buildings of white moon rock and iron scaffolds, workers wearing masks and reflective goggles, clouds of dust that spun spirals in the thin atmosphere.
"Nevarra?"
"Free Moons. Kirkwall, specifically."
"You've been there?"
"Born and raised." He said it proudly.
"Why'd you leave?"
He leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. His artificial arm was slightly bulkier at the shoulder, but the quality of the craftsmanship was unmistakable. He was barely asymmetrical, the mechanical limb almost identical to his real one. "Why not get to the point, Hawke?" he asked, his mouth curving in a sly smirk.
He was forcing her attention to his neckline again, something which she had steadfastly refused to acknowledge so far. She briefly wondered what kind of person he usually dealt with who'd be impressed by it. "You've practically been begging me to show an interest," she teased, "Is it more than you bargained for already?"
"Not at all," he chuckled, "but playing coy is very obviously not your game. Small talk is only going to get us so far for the next weeks, you know? If there is something on your mind, then get to it."
He was deflecting, but she doubted the reason was related to her. "Fine." She crossed her arms. "There is something you're not telling me."
"There are many things we're not telling each other. Isn't that our deal?"
She rolled her eyes. "Do you want me to ask, or —"
A high-pitched beep went off in the cockpit, an alarm she hadn't yet had the chance to learn the meaning of. Dog jumped to his feet when she did, then bounded behind her as she crossed the distance to the control panel. A dot had appeared on the radar, still a long distance away, but far too close for comfort. V appeared beside her. They stood frozen for a long moment, staring at the innocuous speck blinking on the border of the display. Hawke felt her heart still in her chest, wary in anticipation.
"Get me their signature," she ordered, sitting down in her seat.
"Got it," he confirmed, following her example. "I thought we avoided the patrol routes?"
"We did," Hawke said through gritted teeth, "It was nowhere to be seen before. They must have shifted here."
He nodded and input the commands while she adjusted their heading. "Chantry," he confirmed a moment later, "Cruiser class."
"Exploration mission perhaps."
"Here? You said it yourself, there's nothing out there."
"Patrol then," she murmured, glaring at the readings, "but off-route for some reason."
"Shit." V's eye went to the tube hanging from the ceiling behind her. It was made of thick, translucent rubber, and ended in a pin-shaped plug. Blue liquid swirled within, washing the warmth from his eyes. "Can you get us out of here?"
"Yeah, don't worry." She grabbed the plug and yanked it down, pulling the tube towards her neck.
"Unknown Chantry Vessel. State your identity."
Their eyes snapped to the radio speaker from which a metallic voice had invaded their space. They hadn't had a reason to run in stealth mode and she'd wanted to preserve her energy. Instead, she'd banked on the fact that Shadows had low emissions. The ship shouldn't be able to pick them up at this range… and yet it had. Hawke cursed under breath. Damn the blighted fool that had salvaged this engine.
"They think we're Chantry?" V asked. "Why?"
"Each lyrium core manufactured by the Chantry has a unique identifier," she explained automatically, running options through her head, "This one as well — we're emitting a Chantry signature as a result. If we're lucky, this one isn't blacklisted in their database."
"Can we still run? Perhaps we can make it to the Belt. You can lose them there, right?"
"Chantry Vessel," the radio repeated, more demanding, "Enable your visual link."
"Hawke?"
Hawke sat frozen, hand behind her head with the lyrium interface an inch removed from her implant. Though her body was still, gears were spinning in her head like mad. They could jump, be gone before they knew what happened. Perhaps they would pick up their signal again when she resurfaced, set a pursuit. If it was possible to reach the Belt, she wasn't sure at what cost. Then again…
She and V weren't supposed to be here, but neither was this vessel. V was right, there was nothing out there. A spying operation on Dweller activity perhaps, or something else that wasn't supposed to draw attention. The presence of another Chantry vessel was as surprising to that crew as it was to them.
An idea formed in her head, a chance to answer a question that had occupied her ever since she'd run away. She could still try for an escape if it went south, though they'd likely be on her tail. Hawke bit her lip, weighing the risk, then swallowed back her nerves and made up her mind.
She released the tube and turned to the communication's interface, pushing V's hands away. His eyes grew wide as he watched her open the channel.
"Greetings, Chantry Cruiser," she said in her most trained voice, "We cannot establish a visual link. Request to avoid these coordinates and disregard our presence from your logs."
V mimed insanity at her, and she silently shushed him in return. "Disregard?" the voice answered. "State your identity!"
"Our identity is classified," she replied firmly, "Project Code Vimmark. Continue your route."
She wondered if V's eyes would fall from his skull if they became any wider. He stared in pure concentration at the radio, sweat beading his brow and a deep frown twisting his laugh lines beyond recognition. Static hummed on the line for several long, agonising seconds, until the voice popped back in.
"Affirmative. Blessings upon you."
"… And you."
V ended the communication with a sharp tap of the button, then immediately got to work on their sensors. They watched in silence as the dot on the radar flashed several more times before it began to move away. It disappeared off the edge a few minutes later, then vanished from long-range readings as well.
He exhaled a quivering breath, relaxing against her as she let her head drop to the console. "Project Code Vimmark?" he asked, "Not that dancing around each other's secrets hasn't been fun, Hawke, but I think it's time we revisit our deal."
