A/N: Hey, look at that, it's officially been a year and change since I started Not What You Expected. That's neat I guess. Also, my other story, You Came Back, is officially done. So updates for this should be faster (unless life decides to slap me for my arrogance).
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"What're we even doing here?" questioned Valentine, half speaking to the seven others in his party. Reaching around to adjust his axe, he swept his gaze from one to the other, searching for answers.
Dusk was on the horizon, mitigated by Vale's seemingly eternal glow. Not that it made a difference to the two teams wandering around the seedier parts of the city; fully half of the group were faunus, so the light level wasn't a hindrance. But to Valentine, sore from a long day then walking for hours on end thanks to his counterpart's directions, he wanted nothing more than to call it quits.
"We've been going in circles." Elise whined, slumping.
"How much longer?" Erik likewise complained, matching his sister's malaise.
Raoul was silent, but he could tell the large teen's patience was beginning to wear thin. Being fully armed wasn't helping anyone, Valentine in particular having to keep slinging around Foe-Smiter to stop being poked every ten seconds. The strap was digging into his shoulder, rubbing the skin underneath his jacket raw.
Peering to the sides of the underclassmen, he found sympathy and glee in equal measure. Briefly matching looks with the former, the teen who was roughly his age winced as he massaged his neck.
"Hey Oscar, you tired yet?" Valentine asked, hoping that by convincing him, he could get his leader to cut this training exercise short.
"Well..." Oscar Pines glanced away, uncertainty in his steps. He too was showing his exhaustion; the heavy breastplate and large sword he carried couldn't have been light, not to mention the weird black greave he wore. The former farmhand (Val mulled he never did explain how or why he gave up farming to become a Huntsman) may have been politely meek, but when he decided on something, he tended to stick to it.
"By all means, keep complaining. It's music to my ears." went the cheerful voice from the other side, one that never failed to grate on Valentine's nerves. Glancing over, he narrowed his eyes at the white haired faunus, cheerfully walking along with zero sign of strain. Masculum Aries returned his hostility with a grin. "Pain is just weakness leaving the body. Now tell me, how much pain are you feeling?"
Valentine stared hard at the goat horned girl, distinctly unhappy with her right now. It was bad enough she failed to look strained whatsoever by all the activity, but she didn't even bother to change from her normal school outfit. The only thing she did for preparation was nab a large circular blade, clamping it to her back to carry. 'Praestigiator' she called the thin circle of black metal, always deflecting any question of what it meant.
"Just because you're not tired doesn't mean the rest of us aren't." Valentine shot back, the twins vigorously nodding in agreement.
"Not much further." went the ever calm voice in front of Valentine, catching his attention.
Twisting around, Ron Mavros offered a shrug. The tall and lanky guy clad up to his chin in a thick black outfit was usually friendly, even helping him with homework a few times. Valentine wasn't returning the feeling right now, since the snake faunus looked as tired as Masculum, which was to say not at all. He thought it was strange since the engraved black sword strapped to his back, Hydra, was far larger than her weapon.
"We're almost done, just give it about another half hour." Ron offered, his tied back dreadlocks rustling with his movement.
"Are you sure?" the twins chorused, casting suspicious looks on the tall student.
Valentine found the strength to jog up a bit further, to the leader of their little party. Tapping on her shoulder, he asked, "Bael, we done yet?"
"Almost, just need to search a bit longer." she answered distantly, her ribbed black horns swiveling in place as she looked around the emptying streets.
The green haired faunus in a thick jumpsuit was shorter than all of them, shorter than even Ruby. Yet that didn't stop her from lugging around a rifle almost as long as she was tall, with a sharp edge down the length of the barrel. Vera she named it, always referring to the gun with female pronouns. He didn't get why, and whenever he asked she blew him off.
"What're you even looking for? Seriously, professor Port told me you guys were doing a training thing and asked if we would join you after classes." she turned her head to him as he spoke, revealing brilliant eyes the same shade as her hair. "But all we've done for the past hour was walk around, in this run down area too." he finished, sparing an apprehensive look at their surroundings.
"And what if I said we are training?" Bael asked him enigmatically, her face utterly neutral. Behind him Masculum smothered a laugh.
"To do what? Walk for a while?" Valentine threw his hands up, immediately adjusting his axe once more.
Bael cracked a smile. "When we get back, I'll fill you in on what you did right and what you did wrong. But between you and me, you've done well so far."
Valentine groaned, slapping his forehead. This caused Bael to cover her mouth, stifling a laugh. "You're too impatient."
"And your Aura's weird." he grumbled back.
Two meters from him, the twins sent an unhappy look upon Oscar, who waved his hands placatingly in the face of their rage. Their identical semblances triggered to make them glow, definitely getting across their displeasure. All Raoul did was sigh, keeping his calm as he strode onwards with his friends. The dark of night was encroaching, casting long shadows from the buildings.
In an empty warehouse a short distance away, a blind was slapped shut. The observer turned from the window to briskly move further into the building, keeping one ear open for the quiet alarm from the cameras. The gaggle of students outside passed in front of their hideout by accident, but next time it could be a different story. She aimed to be ready for anything that came her way.
Stepping into the main loading area, Emerald Sustri needed a second to note the location of her partner: leaning with his arms crossed on the wall right beside the door, evidently waiting on her.
"Anything?" asked Mercury Black, the grey haired young man in similarly toned armor and pants giving her an appraising look.
Emerald fought back the urge to grind her teeth. "Just some students wandering around."
How she hated this fool, especially since she was stuck with him for the time being. Mercury's disdain for anyone besides himself, general smarminess, and utter lack of regret made him as much of a liability as an asset. Emerald thought of him as a dog; not without his uses, but never to be relied upon. His loyalty to their cause and willingness to do anything Cinder told him to were his only redeeming traits in her mind.
"Students huh? Sure they weren't scoping this place out?" Mercury asked with a coy smile.
"I'm sure. You would've known if you looked yourself." Emerald retorted.
He shrugged, without so much as a hint of concern. "I'm here to take out some lost students. Spying on a random bunch of idiots your job, not mine."
"And how're you gonna do that if we get caught?" Emerald snapped. "You forget we're wanted fugitives here? Whatever." she groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she faced away. "Why can't that stupid White Fang rep get here already?"
"Told you, if you sleep on the flight, you don't get travel lag." Mercury reminded, grinning even as she shot him a glare.
"Is there a problem here?"
Emerald and Mercury froze, the colors draining from their faces. Both whipped themselves around, spotting the third member of their little foray seeming to slither towards them.
"Squabbling children, what bothers you?" the one known as Tyrian Callows asked again, unwilling (or unable) to halt a chilling giggle from escaping his throat. Both of them flinched when he jerked himself upwards, although he mercifully didn't come any closer.
By physical appearance alone Tyrian was disturbing, beginning with his slender features and sharp yellow eyes. A short braided ponytail swung behind his head, yanking around to his frequent movements. Even the way he walked set off alarms in their heads, his unsynchronized pace giving every impression of stalking someone. Currently he garbed himself in the outfit of the White Fang with a leather jacket over his torso, the only thing either of his supposed companions could say was normal about him.
The green haired girl swallowed a lump; Salem told him Emerald was in charge, so she knew he wouldn't intentionally harm her... so she hoped.
"There were a few Beacon students walking around out front, they looked lost to me. Everything's fine." she reported, trying as hard as she could to keep the fear out of her voice. Mercury looking nervous wasn't enough to make up for dealing with him, not by far.
"Really." Tyrian purred, his head slowly tilting. "Should I go... deal with them?" his tone rose in pitch, his unsettling gaze on her while he grinned.
Emerald needed a breath before she could continue. "No. We need to keep a low profile here in Vale, so we can get those missing people. Salem wouldn't be happy if we got arrested, or killed." she offered, watching his glee instantly morph into a disappointed frown. His near reverence of the thing they all ultimately owed their allegiance to had its uses, as Cinder warned before they left.
"Very well." Tyrian said sullenly, slinking away.
"You think the cops already know were in the city?" Mercury thought aloud, making his partner wince. "We took a Bullhead almost straight here, someone had to notice."
"That's only a problem if we aren't careful." Emerald reminded irately, casting a harsh glance on him for the comment.
Tyrian perked up, just as she feared he would. "Perhaps, when these students are in our grasp, then we can thin their new flock-"
Again the sane members of the trio flinched, this time from the man jerking his head up. He swiveled around, a sudden empty look on his face.
"What's-" Emerald tried to asked, only to be cut off by a swipe of his hand.
"Quiet." he whispered. Creaking his head around, Tyrian narrowed his gaze towards the door. "There's someone outside."
Burying her fear, Emerald turned to the innocuous looking entrance nearby. She ran through every decision she made in the past couple days, but the greenete couldn't think of anything which could have gave them away. Glancing to the men, she found Mercury getting off the wall to resolutely stand behind her, while Tyrian withdrew a pair of curved knives from his sleeves, settling a dangerous look upon the incongruous door.
Smothering a groan, Emerald tip toed her way to the door, grabbing a pistol placed atop of a stray crate along the way. It was a good little weapon, Atlesian made, holding twenty Dust tipped caseless rounds. Not enough to deal with anything larger than a Beowolf, but she brought it and a couple rifles for much smaller game in mind. Creeping right up to the entrance, she spared one more look to confirm her comrades were still behind her. Placing a hand on the handle, she took a deep breath and swung it open, the pistol held high.
For a moment Emerald stared uncomprehendingly at the young woman standing right outside the door, dimly shocked. It took her several more seconds to dredge up her name, thanks to how long it had been since she last saw her.
"N-Neo." she sputtered, lowering the gun a few centimeters.
She looked almost exactly like how Emerald saw her last, albeit a couple years older as she could tell after some observation. Her hair was still half brunette and half pink, her sharp eyes closely matching the colors. The clothes she wore were similar as well, the white coat and boots contrasting sharply with her black pants and gloves. A parasol was held in her grip, comfortably resting on her shoulder. Her smile however was exactly the same, in an unmistakeable upturn of a pleased smirk.
"What-wha-how?" Emerald stuttered, shocked and confused.
Over her shoulder Mercury leaned, a flash of astonishment crossing him. "Hang on, I know this chick. You were that one thug's lackey, whatshisname, Roman or something?"
"You died, I'm sure of it." Emerald stabbed a finger at her. "You were on the command ship when the Atlesians blew the pile of junk out of the sky. There's no way you made it out."
In response, Neopolitan flicked her hand, producing a small card that she held out. Staring suspiciously, Emerald yanked it from her fingers to peer at it. Her scowl quickly turned to confusion as she gave her a dumbfounded look.
"You're the White Fang rep?" she questioned incredulously, raising a brow when the two toned girl nodded.
Behind the young woman, Tyrian leveled a cold gaze on the stranger. Just by looking at her, the sharpened instincts he spent many years honing warned him this girl was untrustworthy. However, although he was confident in his ability to end her life, there were uncomfortable complications in such an action. As much as he hated it, Tyrian had to know more about her first. Once he knew who she served, then he would release the girl from her mortal coil.
Catching movement, his eyes peered downwards while Emerald prattled on. By the silent girl's feet toed a small red colored creature, rubbing against her legs as it came into the light. For a second Tyrian locked eyes with the fox, matching its emotionless gaze with his own. The small animal tipped its head once before turning to dart away, vanishing from his sight.
"Fine." Emerald huffed, motioning for the men to clear some room. "Get in here and give us all the intel you have. When you're done, tell me how you escaped a crashing airship in one piece."
Neo smiled, gracefully striding into the warehouse at the greenete's behest. All the while, Mercury regarded her with bemusement, and Tyrian coolly tracked every move she made.
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The next day...
Striding onto the VIP landing platform, Goodwitch awaited the coming of the Headmaster's guest. To pass the remaining few minutes until their arrival, the professor spared a glance at the distance; she spotted gathering clouds on the far horizon, the dark masses threatening to spill into a storm. A part of her noted how well it seemed to fit the predicament she was in, playing the part of a greeter to someone she disliked immensely.
She remembered Ozpin's reasoning, and while she maintained her disapproval, Goodwitch understood his logic. The blonde didn't like it, but the honest truth was she didn't need to. All the professor needed to do was her job, nothing more and nothing less.
Peering at the open sky again, Goodwitch thought she spotted four distant shapes drifting into view. The observation, although interesting in its own right, came secondary to another speck she identified, this one coming closer at a breakneck pace. Straightening up, she held herself in a ramrod posture as a blue and grey airship swooped on its final approach. She kept still even as the artificial gusts washed over her, fluttering her hair and cape backwards.
Roaring loudly, the Atlesian gunship pulled back as it hovered above the platform, the pilot aligning his craft into place. At an unseen cue the gunship descended, the screaming of the twin engines winding down in sync with its landing. Two meters from the ground hatches underneath the craft slid open, deploying landing struts which methodically accepted the weight of the VTOL. Once it was firmly settled, the engines finally cut out. Their mechanical whine wasn't fully gone when the back hatch began to lower.
Adding a bit more rigidness to her pose, Goodwitch schooled her features into a blank state while two figures emerged from the gunship. Focusing on the first striding towards her, she resisted the urge to sigh.
Tall, imposing, and clad in a white business like uniform, the clean shaven officer had his hands clasped behind his back as he came towards her, his expression a match for hers. The man paused outside of arms reach, nearly every facet of his form under strict control.
She nodded once in a curt acknowledgement. "Greetings General Ironwood. Welcome back to Beacon."
"Thank you professor Goodwitch." James Ironwood replied perfunctorily, showing nothing. His subordinate stopped on the edge of the ramp, knowing when she didn't belong. Noticing the blonde's bespectacled gaze ghosting over, Ironwood deigned to explain. "Commander Winter is in charge of the unit of Atlesian Specialists I brought. Given the urgency of Headmaster Ozpin's message, I felt their presence could be useful."
"I understand." Goodwitch replied coolly, turning to gesture behind her. "Follow me, the headmaster is waiting."
Neither spoke a word after the brief exchange. Glynda did what she was expected to do, guiding the foreign headmaster into the bowels of the tower. Walking in wide strides, she didn't bother checking on Ironwood's progress. He would keep up easily enough, she knew him well after all.
Inside the elevator, Ironwood cleared his throat. "So..."
"Headmaster Ozpin will explain everything in a moment. Have patience." she gently chided, not giving him a second look.
A quiet grunt was his response when the door slid opened, especially as she took off in a rapid pace. Goodwitch knew she had irritated him, but besides the obvious breach of trust between her and the headmaster, she didn't know how to approach breaking the story. How could she explain the things she had heard, where should she start telling him about a tale so wildly fantastic she almost rebuked the students for wasting her time? Although tinged by guilt, she was relieved Ozpin would be the one to handle this instead.
Pausing outside the Headmaster's office, she turned around gracefully to find out Ironwood easily kept up. Flicking the controls, she gestured inside. He gave her a questioning look as he stepped through, which went unreturned as he vanished from her view. Locking the door, Goodwitch let out a breath before straightening up; she still had work to do, namely preparing Vale for the Atlas detachment.
A small amount of Ironwood's discipline slipped when the door sealed shut behind him, ensuring their privacy. The stately General crossed the expansive office, his surprise at the sight before him overcoming the usual formalities.
"Ozpin, isn't this unexpected. I was under the impression your leg made walking difficult." he began, crossing his arms across his back as he came to a stop.
The strained master of Beacon paused in front of his desk, gripping his cane tightly. Turning his head, Ozpin mustered a small smile in greeting. "James, welcome. My apologies for the summons."
Ironwood waved an arm to dismiss him. "I've known you for a long time Ozpin, you wouldn't personally call me here unless the situation was dire. Much less ask for an Atlas military presence."
"Yes, about that." Ozpin tilted his head while he rested, his chest faintly swaying with his breathing.
"Your request was well timed, in a loose sense. There was a battlegroup already present in southern Vale when you contacted me, the 33rd Patrol Battalion. Four warships, approximately nine hundred soldiers and personnel, although their mechs are last generation." Ironwood pursed his lips at the thought of the public hysteria surrounding their primary offensive tools, thanks to the same battle which maimed his counterpart. In the end he couldn't blame them, not after their top of the line war machines turned on the people they were meant to protect. "Unfortunately their operation had just concluded, they were on their way back to Atlas when I diverted them here."
"A search and destroy mission?" Ozpin checked, leaning on the desk for support.
"Sweep and clear." Ironwood corrected, sighing at the blank look the man gave him. "Public relations has been working to shore up confidence after the Battle of Beacon, they believe the less 'aggressive' term would be less off putting to local communities."
"I see. But the forces I asked for will be here." Ozpin softly pressured. His tone elicited a slight frown from the General.
"Yes. The troops are tired and supplies are low, but there will be a battalion strength unit within Vale city limits in the next few hours. I'm afraid many of the local contractors and markets are going to be busy for a while, in your place I'd prepare for a Dust shortage." Ironwood explained, the lingering traces of his goodwill evaporating.
"Good. I doubt their presence will be necessary, but I'd rather not take chances." Ozpin spoke quietly, sliding his grip over the cane. He recognized the cues Ironwood emitted, and let out a breath. "You wish to know why, right?"
"I distinctly recall you disagreeing with me over the troops I brought for the Vytal Festival, claiming the show of force would worry the people. Yet here we have a significant force incoming, at your personal request no less. So, what are you afraid of?" he questioned pointedly.
Ozpin tilted his head back, giving the ceiling a weighted stare. "The unknown James."
"Pardon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"There's so much about Remnant we don't know. There are great secrets, some we are burdened with keeping, but its a plain truth that knowledge of our own home is sorely lacking." he went on, lowering his gaze back to his counterpart.
"I don't understand." Ironwood gave him a curious stare, one that wasn't entirely harmless.
"So what happens when we are faced with a total unknown? Something outside our experience, almost beyond our understanding? What do we do?" Ozpin questioned flatly, settling a weighted look upon him.
Ironwood thought for a moment, frowning. "I can't give you an answer. I don't even know what you're talking about, so how can I make a choice without a clue about the variables?"
"That has been my dilemma for the past few days James. I was faced with something I believed I could handle, but as it turned out, I was wrong. Hopefully you will have a better grasp of how to proceed than I." In lieu of explaining what he was talking about, Ozpin reached behind his body to grab something. Instead of his prized coffee mug, he clutched a small device which he then held out to show. "Do you know what this is?"
Ironwood peered at the green block in his hand, noting a black antenna sticking out from the top. "I want to say it's a radio. I used something similar back when I was a student myself, but those were phased out when I received my officers commission. Why do you have one?"
"What would you do if I claimed a soldier from another world gave this to me yesterday?" Ozpin posed, retracting his hand.
"I'd ask if you're losing your mental faculties, for starters." Ironwood replied, frowning.
"I wondered that myself." he said softly, bringing the device up to his face and clicking something, making it beep. "Hello? This is Headmaster Ozpin calling the Prometheus."
Ironwood's attitude vanished when the device crackled. "Copy Headmaster Ozpin, we read you loud and clear."
"Excellent. My guest and I are ready, you may bring us up whenever you're ready." he finished, noting the confusion on the General's expression.
"Acknowledged, standby."
Clicking something, Ozpin lowered the radio as he kept a neutral expression on his compatriot. "I must ask you leave your weapon here for now. You should also lower your arm."
"Alright, what is going on?" Ironwood demanded, dropping both of his hands to the side while he stared coldly at the headmaster. The corners of Ozpin's mouth twitched up.
Before the General could protest further, there was a flash of powerful white light, accompanied by a strange high pitched noise. Whatever the light was, it lasted for an instant. Blinking away spots in his eyes, Ironwood fought down a wave of vertigo. Giving his head a slight shake, he began to take in his location.
When he processed the ambient sounds, the hardened soldier paused. Ironwood identified distinct voices; after a moment he recognized it as airship bridge chatter, a detail common to any large craft. More importantly, he heard a low hum in the air which certainly wasn't there a moment ago. Along with the sounds came new input; the air tasted different, possessing an unpleasant metallic aftertaste. The lights were dimmer too, plainly artificial. For a moment he didn't understand what he was looking at, being preoccupied by the radically different location his senses were exploring.
Movement tore him away from his thoughts, and he instinctively straightened up. But what he saw rendered him silent; a greying man, clad in a green jumpsuit studded by several unidentifiable patches, paused a couple meters away from him. The way he held himself, crossing his arms behind his back and nodding perfunctorily, gave him away as military. "Headmaster Ozpin, General Ironwood, I am Colonel Lionel Pendergast. Welcome aboard the USAF Prometheus."
"Thank you for having us Colonel." went Ozpin from beside him. A glance showed he was standing up as straight as he could manage, gripping his cane tightly. Behind Pendergast a blonde woman in a similar uniform approached, stopping beside him to copy his pose. At the sight of her, Ozpin nodded warmly. "Major Carter."
"Headmaster Ozpin, welcome. I'll presume you are General Ironwood?" she formally asked, the discipline evident in her body language.
"That's right Major, I'm..." Ironwood faced an unexpected problem at precisely the wrong time: his right arm wasn't responding. Despite his silent urging, the limb refused to cooperate. Suppressing a groan at the untimely malfunction, he held out his left hand instead. Her grip was strong, giving three restrained shakes before letting go. "Thank you for having us."
"You're welcome General. Now, I must ask if you were briefed on the circumstances." Major Carter waited expectantly on his reply, either not noticing or choosing to disregard his hesitation; he had a gut feeling it was the latter.
"I'm afraid not. In fact." he glanced around the cramped room, noting uniformed men and women going about their unknown tasks in front of banks of computers. He was aware of the glass behind him, but eschewed the view outside in favor of his immediate surroundings. "Where are we exactly? And how did we get here?"
"General, I'll leave the task of filling you in to Major Carter." Pendergast said neutrally. "But to answer your first question, look behind you." he finished with a gesture, walking off without further word. Frowning, Ironwood turned around at the same time as Ozpin.
Outside the glass was a black sky, speckled by countless tiny dots of light. But the sky wasn't the only thing either man could see; taking up a third of the glass was a blue and white sphere, covered by patches of brown and green. At first Ironwood thought the patches were random, but as he looked closer, he noted the one in the center seemed familiar. The pattern scratched at his memory, on and on until it suddenly clicked.
"T-that's Sanus." he spoke, internally flinching at his stutter.
"My my, isn't this a sight." Ozpin said quietly, a soft smile on his features.
Carter cleared her throat, catching their attentions. "Its an amazing view, isn't it? I'll admit, the first time I traveled to space I was a little too occupied to fully appreciate it."
"So, we really are in space." Ironwood shook his head in disbelief, the question of his malfunctioning arm answered in a way he never expected. A pertinent thought caused him to snap his head to Ozpin, unsettled curiosity in his eyes.
"I just discovered all this a few days ago myself. One of the first things I did was contact you." he spoke neutrally.
"Anyway sirs, if you'll follow me." Carter gestured to them, taking off in a sedate walk. Ironwood's first impulse to clasp his arms failed miserably, and he quietly groaned. Fortunately for his dignity, he could still walk, albeit with a sluggish pace. For Ozpin, his cane tapped on the bulkhead with every step he took, the man's progress slow yet inexorable.
Glancing over the various terminals, Ironwood observed the bulky machines with puzzlement. He would assume a nation advanced enough to build a functioning spaceship would have better equipment than this, yet the low resolution computers (without so much as a basic hologram) looked to be decades behind the average warship he visited a couple hours earlier. He even recognized a distinctive clack of a physical keyboard used by one crewman, a noise he hadn't heard for many years.
The same went for the large table display Carter led them to, the surface showing a decent quality map. Letting himself examine it for a moment, he felt his breath catch when he spotted the incoming Atlas forces on Vale's periphery. In a few second's time he thought of many ways something as banal as their god view map could be used, none of them for good.
Preoccupied as he was, Ironwood didn't miss Ozpin speaking, "Doctor Jackson, good to see you again."
Straightening himself up again, he discovered a bespectacled man standing on the other side of the table nodding to them. Short haired and clad in the same uniform style as the other crew, he didn't appear extraordinary at a glance. Upon closer inspection however, he noted the man looked and carried himself in a different way than the others. More relaxed, less stringent, but he kept a recognizable hardness in his form.
"General Ironwood, welcome." Jackson greeted, reaching out to shake. This time the General used his left, although the discomfort of using the wrong hand was impossible to dislodge. Fortunately his grip was just as brief as Carter's, lasting a few shakes before he withdrew.
"Thank you Doctor Jackson. I must say, I'm... I'm genuinely shocked by all of this." Ironwood admitted carefully, receiving sympathetic nods from the two.
"I am as well. All the same, thank you for the invitation." Ozpin said, briefly sweeping his eyes around. "May I inquire about the absence of Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c?"
"The Colonel is busy with his own tasks, I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to explain the details. Teal'c is currently assisting him however." Carter briefly explained, for some reason evasive. Jackson's sidelong glance at the other end of the bridge didn't help.
"So." the bespectacled doctor clapped, forcing the look to vanish. "I'll give a quick recap for General Ironwood's sake, just so we're up to speed."
He nodded in agreement. "Go ahead."
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Ninety minutes later...
"And here we are." Carter announced, leading the party of four out of the cramped corridors and into a seemingly cavernous space. "Welcome to the hangar."
With Daniel following at the tail, the Major led the Remnant natives throughout the vessel. Its sheer size was hard to judge from the inside, due in no small part to the narrow halls filled with uniformed personnel. Claustrophobia came quickly, and stayed throughout their obviously restricted exploration. On the last leg of the tour, she led them to the single most open area aboard the Prometheus.
"Quite impressive." Ozpin commented, his cane tapping on the floor as he moved inside. After him trotted Ironwood, the General still numb from the overwhelming explanation he received earlier. He paid attention as best as he could, but the truth was the man still coming to terms with the revelations they gave him. The detail of how utterly helpless his world truly was bit deeper than anything else, and he knew already he was going to lose sleep for the indefinite future.
The hangar was far from empty; aside from dozens of crewmen, there were two sets of four aircraft neither Remnant native had ever seen before, held securely in separate bays. The craft were strange, with large swept forward wings connecting to a smooth block. Two engine intakes could be seen in the front, while a small glass covered canopy rested on the top. It looked sleek and aerodynamic, giving little sign of being capable of vertical take off and landing.
"This room is the launch bay for the F302 fighter-interceptor squadron the Prometheus carries." Carter waved a hand at the runway-like ramp in the center. "The ship is designed to transport and launch up to eight of the three'oh'twos at any given time. If necessary, the hangar can be used to move other craft, such as a Goa'uld transport ship."
Although the subject matter was Ironwood's specialty, it was Ozpin who was more interested in the goings on around them. Approaching the first one, he noted what looked like stubby gun ports poked out the front, while a rack of missiles were latched on underneath. Based on Carter's explanation and his own limited knowledge of similar weapons, the F302 seemed purpose built for wresting control of the skies away from whatever made an enemy of Earth.
By accident he caught a glimpse of someone ducking out of sight on the other side of the aircraft, making him call out, "Colonel O'Neill, there you are."
Underneath the wing, the pair of legs he recognized half tripped. The legs bent down before the owner started to plod into view, reluctantly straightening up. Ozpin patiently rested on his cane as O'Neill seemed to slink into his sight, the man appearing to be fighting back a pained grimace.
"Uh, hi Ozpin." O'Neill reluctantly greeted, stopping an arms length away.
Ignoring the informality, Ozpin nodded as the other three approached. "I hope I didn't interrupt your task, I can assume you are quite busy." While Ironwood was still quiet, Carter and Jackson stifled a cough.
"Yeah, I was inspecting the fighters to see if everything's alright. Turns out its all A-okay." O'Neill said glumly, letting out a resigned sigh. "So, what'd you think of the tour?"
"Most informative. I must say, this vessel is a marvel." he replied, shifting as Ironwood cleared his throat.
O'Neill shifted in the presence of the General, with the latter beginning to hold his hand behind his back until he forcibly stopped himself. Though the Earth born Colonel was still politely respectful, there was an edge to his posture the headmaster recognized. Interrupting the greet was his first thought, but he had the feeling this needed to happen sooner or later.
"Colonel O'Neill I presume?" the Atlesian greeted, mustering a smile as he held out a hand. "I'm General James Ironwood. I've heard quite a bit about you."
"Nice to meet you General." O'Neill said neutrally, his eyes darting behind the man towards his teammates. There was a noticeable change in his body language when he let go, like he was trying to hide his discomfort at something.
"These F302s seem quite impressive." Ironwood said conversationally, gesturing at the craft.
"Yep." O'Neill replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Nonplussed, Ironwood nevertheless continued. "Have you flown one of these before?"
"Oh yeah, a few occasions. I don't do it full time, not enough hours in the day." he shrugged nonchalantly.
"I see." the Atlesian said softly, his expression darkening. "If I may be so bold, what's it like flying one?"
"Pretty cool, it just zooms on by." O'Neill theatrically swept his hand with the comment, while everyone else stood by mutedly. Suddenly grinning, he snapped his fingers. "Hang on."
Twisting around, O'Neill let out a shrill whistle. The noise made a crewman pop his head out of the open cockpit, alerted curiosity on his expression. In return the Colonel waved his arm, a cue for the man clad in a jumpsuit to crawl out to roughly land on the floor, briefly recovering before he strolled over. Giving the officer a quick salute, the crewman presented himself to the guests.
"Headmaster Ozpin, General Ironwood." O'Neill's introduction caused the crewman, a short haired man in his late thirties, to visibly stiffen. "I want you to meet Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell, he's the wing commander of the three'oh'two squadron we got on board. Say hi Mitchell."
The man shuddered before he stuck his hand out, Ozpin electing to shake first. "Pleasure to meet you sirs." Mitchell greeted carefully, possessing a weird twang to his speech.
As O'Neill grinned at his sullen teammates, Ironwood took the lead. "You're in command of the squadron of F302s aboard this ship?"
"Yes sir. Actually, I'm filling in for the wing leader on this mission. Normally I run a small squadron for Earth defense, but the ship's usual commander came down with the flu a week ago. Gotta say, its really something to be way out here like this." Mitchell glanced at his boots when he finished, wearing a sheepish smile.
"I see. So, how does it handle?" the General asked interestedly.
"Like a dream sir." the Colonel replied, taking a second to look over his craft. "It banks faster and smoother than any other bird I've ever flown, and the climb speed is just nuts. And even though it zooms at seven or eight thousand klicks per hour, you hardly feel the pull. Lets not forget flying out of atmo, that's a rush by itself. Took some getting used to I admit."
Turning away, Ozpin made it two paces before he stopped. "May I?"
"Sure, just stay away from the engines. The maintenance guys don't like it when someone bothers them while they're working." Mitchell warned with a wave.
While a clearly awed Ironwood began to ask Mitchell questions, Ozpin's cane tapped on the floor as he approached. Although there were a few other personnel busy around the F302, none spared him a glance even as he came right up to the fighter. A feeling of powerful curiosity welled within the old headmaster, a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time. A smile graced his features when he reached out to run a hand over the black hull; the smooth metal felt strange to him, the texture not quite matching up to anything he knew of. After a moment of thought, he decided it felt truly otherworldly.
"Yep, its real." O'Neill commented from right behind him, having crept up while the headmaster was occupied.
Lowering his hand, Ozpin let his eyes roam over the F302. "It certainly is. However, I noticed that it feels new."
"Yeah, production of these things just started a year ago. I'm wondering how they'll handle when they start getting long in the tooth." O'Neill asked distantly, looking over the F302 himself.
"There's only one way to tell I suppose." Ozpin did the same, resting both of his hands on his cane. "Say, Colonel..."
"What's up?" he took a step closer, wearing an expression of intrigue.
The headmaster turned his head to O'Neill, adopting the faintest of smiles. "I'd like to ride in one."
"Say what?" he questioned immediately, blinking rapidly.
"I would like to ride in this craft for a short while, to see what its like." Ozpin elaborated as he turned to face him.
O'Neill raised a brow. "Is this a secret test of character thing? I don't like those, they never give straight answers."
"If you wish to look at it like that, you may. But my request is genuine." he replied.
"Okay, so just to be clear. You, want to ride shotgun in that." he pointed towards the fighter. "When it goes out there." his hand jerked over, pointing towards the end of the hangar. "Out in space. You know, the empty place that can kill you in a few seconds if something goes wrong. You wanna do all that, on your own free will."
"Yes." Ozpin answered simply, observing how O'Neill's arm went limp. "I'd imagine you've done riskier things over the course of your career."
"Yeah, but that's me. If I kick the bucket I'll have a few weeping friends at my funeral, and then they'll divvy up my stuff. Minimal fuss, minimal trouble. You're not like that though. You have a country to run, don't you?" O'Neill questioned flatly.
"School, but I understand your meaning. Need I remind you O'Neill, your people came to me seeking friendship. You're trying to woo me into agreeing to a trade agreement, among other things." Ozpin allowed a small grin on his features when he finished. A glance towards the others showed Carter had joined the conversation between Mitchell and Ironwood, although Jackson was giving the two of them a suspicious look.
O'Neill adopted a smirk as he crossed his arms. "And people give me flak for getting creative on the job. You know this counts as corruption, right?"
"In a manner of speaking." Ozpin hedged. "To be quite frank, when will I get another opportunity like this? Its a once in a lifetime chance to both gain an understanding of the technology you wield, and how difficult it may be to teach prospective students of my own world to embark on this journey."
"Why can't you just say you wanna go for a ride on the space plane?" O'Neill jokingly asked.
"It's undignified for a man of my position to make such a request." Ozpin said with gravitas, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.
"Whatever you say." O'Neill rolled his eyes as he turned to shout, "Hey Mitchell!"
Breaking off the conversation mid-sentence, the man in question left a befuddled Ironwood behind to jog over. Although still respectful, Mitchell showed some curiosity while he stood at attention. "Sir?"
"Which of these birds are flyable right now?" O'Neill asked, smiling dangerously.
"Um, Blue Seven and Blue Four are down with some mechanical trouble, but the rest are ready to go sir." Mitchell answered hesitantly.
O'Neill grinned. "Perfect. Prep two of them, we're taking this guy on a trip."
"Sir." Mitchell said automatically, comprehension dawning on his expression.
"Don't worry about the paperwork, I'll cover it this time." the Colonel waved off, a flash of glumness interrupting his otherwise childlike enthusiasm. "Pick one and get mister Oz here strapped in. I'll go break the news." he commanded as he cheerfully marched to his team.
Mitchell coughed into his fist, while Ozpin settled an expectant look upon him. "Um, alrighty then. Follow me." he spoke with a lackluster wave.
Peripherally aware of the shocked conflagration O'Neill started, Ozpin trotted after the pilot, heading to the F302 one berth over. Briefly looking over the seemingly identical craft, the headmaster wondered how he was going to get onboard until a crewman arrived, pushing a ladder up to the side. Nodding appreciatively towards the stranger, Ozpin let Mitchell swiftly climb up into place, waiting until he was securely perched to wave the Remnant native up.
Sucking in a breath, Ozpin stifled a groan as he ascended the short ladder. If not for his crippled leg, he would've covered the short climb in an instant; as it was, he was forced to hold the defective limb a short distance away from the rest of him while he gripped tightly. The end result was him almost hopping up the ladder a rung at a time, a grunt escaping him with every step. Fortunately for his dignity he didn't hear a single laugh, and Mitchell showed only sympathy.
"You okay old timer?" he asked, holding out a hand.
Giving the limb a stare, Ozpin reluctantly took the offer, letting the younger man tug him up the last of the journey. "My leg may be crippled, but I am hardly infirm." he replied, unexpectedly getting a short chuckle from the man.
"You sound just like my dad. He lost both his legs in an accident, but he didn't let that stop him." Mitchell shook his head while guiding Ozpin into the cramped cockpit, using the headmaster's cane to help support him.
"What kind of accident?" he asked conversationally, landing on the well padded seat harder than he wished. After maneuvering in place he found a perfect nook to slide his cane into, within arms reach as well.
"Test pilot. His fiftieth flight, and precisely the third time something went wrong. My dad was really lucky that day." he answered, perching on the rim to gesture towards his sides. Frowning for a moment, Ozpin searched until he found a few straps, and once he had them raised Mitchell snagged them to cross over his chest. Now understanding, he located the others for him, allowing the pilot to latch them in place. "There we go, tell me when."
Pulling on another strap, the bonds tightened over Ozpin's chest, winkling his clothes until he grimaced. "Good."
Retracting back, Mitchell rooted around the front seat until he produced an encompassing helmet. Sighing, the headmaster took his spectacles off to set in his lap. While he slid the thick helmet over his normally ruffled hair, the pilot inquired, "If you don't mind me askin, what happened to your leg?"
"A rather unpleasant woman stabbed me with a sword." Ozpin answered once the helmet was firmly wrapped around his skull, needing a second to adjust it to a comfortable place. That accomplished, he finally noticed Mitchell staring at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Seriously?"
Placing his glasses back on, Ozpin located a couple more straps dangling from the helmet. This time he did the latch himself. "Yes. I confess my survival came down to fortunate timing."
"Woah." Mitchell shook his head, a bemused look on his face. "And I thought my luck with women was bad." Exhaling, he tapped the side of the hemet. "Alright, first switch here is off, the next is command net so everybody in the wing can hear you, and the last is closed link, between you and the guy in front only. Okay?"
"I understand." Ozpin replied, briefly feeling the small knob the man indicated. At first he was inclined to dismiss the small machine's simplicity, but as he thought it over he realized the point; with the F302's purpose, burdening the pilots with a complex device could distract them at a critical moment. Without equipment like what the Atlesian military possessed, simpler meant better.
"Alright. Normally the crew chief handles this part, but I think I did a decent job here." Mitchell commented.
A second later a voice from the F302's side bellowed out. "Mitchell! Move your butt, I'm flyin this one!"
Sighing, he gave Ozpin one more sympathetic look. "Good luck old timer."
Seconds after he climbed down, O'Neill all but scrambled up to the cockpit. His dash to the front seat was paused, the greying Colonel checking over the headmaster. "You good?"
"I believe so." Ozpin replied, testing his restraints. The last thing O'Neill did was grab something from the front seat, a small paper bag he tossed on his lap. He quickly deduced its purpose. "I don't get airsick."
"Just in case. Alright, let's roll." O'Neill concluded by hopping in the seat, efficiently readying himself. As the canopy began to lower, Ozpin felt the F302 begin to move out of its berth and onto the runway. Just before it sealed shut with a hiss, he thought he heard an indignant shout from Daniel.
Flicking his comm piece to the two way line, Ozpin braced himself. Glancing out, he noticed the crewmen and the guests scrambling towards the exits, flashing lights on the walls evidently giving them the cue to leave. He was strapped in too tightly to tell for sure, but he was certain he saw another F302 rolling into place as well. A low whine built up around him, likely the engines spooling up. His breath caught when the bay door slowly opened, causing a sequence of quiet pops from the canopy.
"And away..." O'Neill mumbled as the whine grew in pitch, a weird shudder coming from the air itself. "We go." Without warning the F302 shot forward, blasting out the exit and into space.
For a moment Ozpin saw little beyond a black void, speckled by innumerable tiny lights. It was like a moonless night, but starker than any sky he had ever seen. Curious, he raised a hand to drop it; there was a slight pull on his limb, nothing like what he expected a space worthy fighter craft to be like. If he didn't know any better, he would think he was in a particularly uncomfortable car.
"This is strange." Ozpin commented.
"You mean the part where you're not mashed against your seat?" O'Neill asked easily. "This thing has these toys called inertial dampeners. Without em, we'd be mush at these velocities."
"I... see..." he murmured.
The many lights swerved, becoming tiny blurs as O'Neill banked the craft. When the F302 straightened out, Ozpin spotted a small grey lump blissfully hanging in the sky. It grew larger by the second, allowing him to pick out details. A ram like prow, twin nacelles hugging the sides, and a blocky tower were some of the things he identified, with more and more ports and spots on the hull the closer they got to it. Only once the F302 breezed by the side did Ozpin discover blocky writing printed on the hull.
USAF Prometheus.
"She's a beauty, ain't she?" O'Neill's voice crackled in his ear, although he could hear him normally as well.
Ozpin was inclined to disagree, but at the moment he had trouble locating his voice. Fortunately for his sake the radio cracked on its own, announcing a new addition to the network.
"Colonel O'Neill." growled Pendergast, unmistakably furious. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Relax Colonel, just taking the teacher on a cruise around the block. We'll be back in sixty mikes or less. And before you get really upset, I brought Mitchell with me. You there?" O'Neill asked over the line.
"Copy Blue Three, this is Blue One. Shaft is standing by." Mitchell's staticky voice responded.
"Colonel..." Pendergast sounded even more upset than before.
"Sixty mikes Chariot, start counting. See you in a bit." O'Neill clicked the line off, turning the F302 around towards the brilliant blue and green orb. "So my dear, where would you like to go for our date?"
"I don't tread that path O'Neill, but I respect your life choices." Ozpin answered, feeling for his cane.
"That was a joke." O'Neill muttered. "Screw it, I'm gonna do some low flybys. Time to introduce the people down there to UFOs." With that, the F302 dove towards Remnant.