The events mentioned in this chapter follow an idea about Keith's past presented in my "Red Cub" story. But it should still make sense if you haven't read it.

Chapter 2 – Confession

"At Galaxy Garrison," said Pidge, "after the Kerberos mission was lost. I hacked into your records, I know why you got kicked out."

Keith hung his head and let out one of his trademark emo sighs.

Pidge felt like she was about to jump into an extremely cold pool, one she'd been staring at for some time. Well, time to be brutally honest and see what happened.

"Actually, I should thank you," she said. "If I hadn't found your files, I would never have found out about the Galra."

It was a starry, starry night. Katie Holt, aka Pidge Gunderson, was a city girl who got more out of satellite imagery rendered on her laptop than those times Dad had dragged her out camping. However, the view of the desert sky over Galaxy Garrison's barracks was impressive.

It was also deserted, the perfect place to get some good hacking done. Katie had discovered the hatch to the roof last week and had been up here, rummaging through the base's not-so-secure server every night since.

It would have been movie-level awesome, had she been able to find anything.

"Arrgg!" she ran her hands through her short hair – still getting used to that. "I thought military intelligence was an oxymoron."

The other great thing about the roof – she could be as loud there as she wanted.

Pidge was the kind of quiet nerd who didn't mingle, a useful cover so that Katie didn't get too close to anyone and let her secret slip. But being tight lipped was sooooo hard. Just this afternoon, Lance had been yammering on about his knowledge of the various manned missions to different planets and it had been excruciating, not being able to correct his mistakes – six and counting when she finally stalked off. So, she had a bunch of pent-up expletives to let out.

Hacking into the garrison's system was easy, delving into directories and cracking files was like taking candy from a sleeping baby, but finding anything interesting in there? good luck. There were cascades of folders with nothing in them and repositories of files with almost identical names and sizes. She bounced back and forth between attributing the apparent lack of any logical organization to a sys-op mastermind or a series of truly incompetent IT contractors.

Maybe the crazy busy schedule they kept the cadets on was depleting her brain cells: 6 AM calisthenics, room cleaning before breakfast, lectures all morning and hands-on labs or simulation training until four, then some outdoor exercise, dinner and completing assignments into the evening.

Some parts, like re-assembling an engine with Hunk, were quite enjoyable. The guy was a surprisingly good mechanic and genuinely sweet. Other parts, pretty much anything related to Lance, were super-painful. Did he ever shut up? Although his imitation of Iverson was spot on hilarious.

"Stop thinking about those guys and start focusing, Katie," she reminded herself.

She scanned through the classified Kerberos files for the nth time. Every technical detail, from the inventory of the wreckage captured by a satellite to the computer simulations, confirmed the official version: The pilot had misjudged the descent, one of the wings had cracked and the shuttle had crashed onto Pluto's surface.

It was the consistency of the evidence that convinced her it was a cover-up job. Nothing in science or engineering is that clear-cut. There's always some data point that doesn't fit. Even in a conspiracy theory. So, what-made up detail had the military intelligence goofed up on?

She turned to the pilot's files. Takahashi Shirogane. He was young – inexperienced according to the official report – clean-cut and extremely good looking in a boy scout/Captain America sort of way. He graduated top of his class, aced his pilot exam and even had a special commendation in his file for volunteer work mentoring at-risk youth. The only smudge in his otherwise squeaky-clean record was a write up in his senior year. He and an underclassman had gotten caught after hours taking the flight simulator for a joy ride. They'd given him a slap on the wrist, apparently, it had been the underclassman's birthday.

Katie pulled up the other boy's records. Odd, he should be in her year, but she'd never seen the shaggy black haired cadet around the garrison. Something about his name sounded familiar. Keith Kogane was almost as impressive as Takahashi. Not as academically outstanding, but his flight instructors may as well all have had school girl crushes on the kid. "Handles the ship like it's hardwired to his brain," wrote one. Another one gushed that he had "never seen someone ace landing the hurricane mod on the first try." And her favorite new bromance line, "watching him in a dogfight gives me the chills."

"So where are you now, Maverick?" she asked the files before her. "Oh, seems like you got kicked out for a disciplinary infraction." Little Icarus flew too close to the sun, most likely. But she couldn't confirm her suspicions, that record was locked down. As in super-locked-down, encrypted, not-even-going-to-reveal-its-actual-location. She was logged in as a sys admin for crying out loud. Then she looked up the file's time stamp, and really did feel a chill. It was created two weeks after Kerberos went dark. Here was her out-of-place detail, her way in past the facade.

Unfortunately, Kogane turned out to be his own collection of dead ends. He hadn't left a forwarding address and wasn't on any social network accounts, nor, with the exception of Shirogane, did he have any friends to tag him in photos. She couldn't even find a high school record.

She hacked into the garrison's admissions records and pulled up his application. His emergency contact was some woman, Kate Sanders.

"Nice name, and she's a … social worker?" So Kogane was a foster kid. No mother listed, and his father's last address was a correctional facility.

There was a Pandora's Box vibe to Kogane's foster care records, so of course Pidge was going to open them.

Here at last was an electronic paper trail: grades, health reports, schedules, behavioral analysis, twice-yearly mental evaluations, progress reports and a fair number of disciplinary write ups – was he a delinquent after all? But no, seems his social worker got an official notice every time Kogane was in the same room as some other kid causing trouble, and his group home had been a happening place.

Lots of fights, cursing out staff, destruction of property and indecent exposure. Kogane had defended himself in fights, but otherwise mostly kept his nose clean. One night saw seven boys run away and Kogane was written up for not informing the staff directly. Another time a kid pulled a cutting knife on the staff and Kogane had disarmed him.

"Okay, I'm impressed, mullet head." Mullet Head! That's where she heard his name. He was the frenemy Lance was always ragging on. The irritation of my irritations is my, what? The way Lance went on, she's assumed that "arrogant, thinks-he's-better-than-everyone, dropout Keith" was a rich, spoiled, over-privileged hothead. She wondered if Lance knew Kogane's real story.

She'd bet money that his only real human connection was to Shirogane. She could totally see him losing it on some conceited instructor going on about pilot error being the reason behind the shuttle's destruction. It was certainly what Katie wanted to do.

Kogane. Keith. He was like her, someone who'd lost family in an accident that everyone knew about but no one seemed to care about. No need to snoop any more … except.

"Just one quick look about where he lived before foster care. Just an address to see if he's there," she pulled up his placement file and it opened to a police report.

Katie stared at the photograph of the kid, bloody and swollen, she read the officer's notes and the doctor's evaluation. She closed the computer down and took deep breaths until she stopped shaking.

"WTF. How does some adult do that to a kid? To his own son?"

She logged back into her computer, trashed the file and deleted it. Not cool, Katie.

"I shouldn't have looked," said Pidge, "I'm sorry. Really, really sorry."

They were sitting now, leaning up against the black lion. Keith's expression hadn't changed since she started her story, not that he had the widest emotional range to begin with. He gave her a shrug.

"You were trying to find your family and I was a lead. I'd have done the same."

It was an effective way to shut down the conversation. But Pidge had been carrying around this guilty secret since meeting Keith, and she wasn't ready to let it go just yet.

"Lance, Hunk and me, we go on about our families a lot. Is that difficult for you?" She thought she saw Keith's back tense. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, I'm too-"

"It doesn't bother me, talking about it. I got pretty good at it when I was in therapy." He paused and glanced furtively at Pidge. "I didn't need it, I mean," he was agitated, "I was never diagnosed with anything. It's just, you know, one of the perks of being in a group home - home visits by shrinks and the latest in psychotropic drugs." Pidge kept a neutral look on her face, but it just made Keith more nervous. "Not that I've been medicated, hardly at all, just …" Pidge had never seen the Red Paladin so visibly flustered, even with Lance. "Arrgh, I don't know how to talk about this stuff with normal people without seeming like I want you to feel sorry for me."

"What happened to you was pretty horrible," she said as gently as she could, "not just your father, but not having a family, having a lousy childhood."

"Yeah, but so what? It's not like it's some psychological scar that haunts me. It doesn't bother me," he protested, perhaps a bit too much, "it just bothers other people. That's why it's easier not to say anything."

"Lance and Hunk notice that you don't talk about yourself or your past, Keith. They've come up with some pretty outlandish theories about you," raised by top secret government agency or wolves were her favorites. "Even Coran and Allura have wondered about you."

Keith didn't respond, so Pidge tried another approach, "When I was hiding my identity, I never felt comfortable around you guys. But afterwards, when I didn't have to guard what I said, things got better, easier and even kind of fun, when we weren't fighting for lives, that is."

Still silence. "You know, we kind of already know your deepest, darkest secret. If we're cool with that, what do you think you could tell us that would disturb us?"

That earned her a smile. "You've got a point there. Okay, ask me anything about my past."

"Was it rough? Losing your home and getting put in foster care?"

Keith thought for a moment. "I missed the freedom. Being able to go out and walk or bike as far as I wanted to. In group, they tracked where you went at all times. But most things were actually better in foster care. There was always enough food, always someone in charge of cooking, the walls didn't have holes in them and there were people to talk to. If you think I'm antisocial now, you should have seen me as a kid. There were a few boys in group who were really bad, but most of them were mostly okay. And it was never boring. I used to wish that they had taken custody away from my father earlier, back when I was young and cute. That way I'd have ended up in foster home, in a regular house with parents and siblings. They might even have adopted me. I would have liked to have a family who cared about me, Shiro was the only one who did."

"There was your social worker, Kate," said Pidge, "You probably don't know what she did for you."

It had been a week since she deleted Keith's files.

A week with zero new leads.

A week with putting up with Lance's mental chaff of non-stop chatter, and Hunk's increasingly pointed questions. He wanted to know about her family, about her friends, about how she was getting along at the garrison, about the times she'd almost decked an upperclassman who was going on about how if only he had been the pilot for the Kerberos mission, the team would have returned for a hero's welcome. Hunks attention was irritating because he was a sweet dork, just like Matt. Katie had a soft spot in her heart for dorks.

Tonight, she promised herself, was the night to make progress, otherwise she might as well be a girl crossdressing in some Asian romcom. She pulled up Keith's application. He'd listed Shiro and his social worker, Kate, as character references, with their emails and phone numbers.

On a hunch, she copied Kate's email and looked it up in the state system. Now this site was insecure. She ran a search for any emails and pulled up an impressive list. Most of them started about a week before Keith's write up date.

She started with the earliest. It was a letter from Kate to Galaxy Garrison's office, explaining that she had received a call from some woman who hadn't given her name but said she was from the garrison. The woman had demanded confidential information about Keith, which Kate had refused. Kate wanted to know if this was a legit inquiry and why, when she'd called Keith's number, his roommate said he hadn't seen him since the previous afternoon.

Kate was none too happy with the garrison's response and she'd started a blitzkrieg of emails and phone calls. And in each email, she listed her previous phone and email attempts, with their dates and times. By the day of Keith's official write up, there were nearly 60 entries in her log. Her log! Katie knew a useful data set when she saw one.

Katie pulled up a schematic of the base's buildings – because spreadsheets were for unimaginative clods – and mapped everyone's assigned office along with their landlines and cell numbers. A while ago, she'd located a database of phone calls, which included durations and any call transfers. There weren't any recordings or transcripts, but Katie didn't need to know what they were saying, she just needed to find out who was talking to who.

The state government had some legacy system that routed all outgoing calls as coming from a set of 45 numbers, but knowing the timing of Kate's calls meant Katie could pick them out from the total incoming calls and track where they went. Each call then lit up a corresponding phone number in blue. Most were to the Cadets' office or the base communications department. But that was fine because she was interested in who the recipients called next. She extended the range of her query for half an hour after each of Katie's calls, limited to internal calls only. The results scattered dots everywhere, but some places got pinged several times. She grabbed these and did another round of queries with her algorithm. This time far fewer phones lit up; they were converging.

With then next iteration she had it down to four numbers, and two belonged to the same woman. Reversing the call log she saw the phone sent outgoing calls to the White House, the UN Headquarters in New York City, the EU in Brussels and all major research radiotelescopes. And she found one call, the day after Keith went missing, to Kate the social worker. These numbers belong to the person Katie had been searching for – Major Reah Gabris, Military Intelligence Officer.

Almost the first thing Katie saw when she hacked into Gabris's computer was a folder labeled "cadet_kagone." She opened it and scanned the files.

"Looks like I wasn't only one dipping into your emails, Kate." Gabris had a record of pretty much everything Katie had found, along with one labeled, "off_the_case."

It was from Kate's supervisor who was, it appeared, very apologetic. He was sorry, once again, that he had given her the wrong pickup location and so she had missed Keith when the garrison released him. He was sorry that after a month, they hadn't been able to locate him. And he was sorry that, given Keith was less than a year from aging out of foster care, they had decided not to devote any more resources to his case. They were officially removing him from the system. Finally, he was "genuinely" sorry that it had ended this way. "I know Keith was one of your success stories," he'd written. "Regardless of the outcome, you were really there for him and it showed."

Kate had sent a follow up response, acknowledging the email and adding: "Don't count Keith Kogone out just yet. He's going to do great things, somewhere. I'll bet a lunch on it."

"Wow," said Keith, "I didn't realize she'd even known I was gone. I should have gotten in contact with her."

"Do it when we get back to Earth, Keith. I think she won her bet."

"Yeah," Keith smiled, "I could show up flying in on the Red Lion."

"Or the Black Lion?" asked Pidge.

"No," Keith was back to his serious self, "I'm not going-"

"Keith, we need someone to lead the team. And you're that person. I know Hunk agrees with me and, since you can pilot the Black Lion, Allura can't object.

"And Lance?"

"We'll crack that nut-head when we need to," said Pidge. "But it's not just us, it's what Shiro wanted."

"Did he tell you?" Keith's voice was less shocked than anxious.

"He didn't need to, it was obvious. The way he treated you, you were his second. I'd have been jealous, but you proved him right on several occasions."

"Being impulsive is different that being a leader," Keith insisted, "You saw my misconduct file."

"Not much of it, actually. It was a grainy PDF of the paper version, and someone had taken a sharpie to most of it. It did have the charges: breaking and entering, theft, espionage, property damage, assaulting an officer, that one was repeated at least three times, battery, and behavior unbecoming of a cadet."

"Not leadership material," said Keith.

"Are you kidding, I had a total Lance-envy moment. Here I was, super-hacker infiltrator, and I find out that by the time I had become mildly suspicious of the military's story, you'd already physically broken into the intelligence complex and found evidence."

"And got caught," Keith added, "It was stupid, what I did. You found out tons more sitting up on that roof than I did by getting caught."

"Haven't you been listening? I found a crack because you'd already smashed the door," codes to access classified radio telescope transmission, the alien communication frequencies, NSA analysis of threat level: The data and links had all been in Gabris's files. "What exactly did you do? I never figured that part of it out."

For a moment, Keith was silent, then he shrugged. "Well, like you said, you already know I'm part Galra."

Keith stood in front of Lieutenant Hamid's apartment door and took a deep breath. This was the turning point. Once he knocked, he was committed.

He knocked. The door opened to reveal a slight young man, with close-cropped black hair and a sparse but determined mustache and gotee that failed to make him look distinguished. He seemed puzzled, but his face warmed when he saw who it was.

"Keith. Hey, man, come on in."

The quarters had the same layout as Shiro's, standard issue for recent cadet graduates.

"Sit down," Hamid gestured to the couch. On the end-table there was a flattish bowl containing coins, a set of keys and a photo ID. "Can I get you anything to drink, a … well you're still underage, so maybe a tea or a soda?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

Hamid got a concerned look on his face. "I'm still reeling from it. The news reports … I just can't believe Shiro is gone.

Keith nodded. For this to work, he needed to appear sad and vulnerable, not angry.

"How are you holding up? I know Shiro was like family to you."

"I'm okay," said Keith without any conviction, "Everything they're saying …"

"We only have the initial reports," said Hamid, "There's still the final report due out, I'm sure they'll have a more complete story."

Keith's ears perked up. "You're in intelligence, Hamid. Are you saying you've heard something?" Maybe he'd get his information another way, maybe he wouldn't have to go through with his plan.

"I …" Hamid was now avoiding Keith's eyes, "No. Listen, if I knew anything, I'd break regs and tell you. But I'm pretty low in the organization. I'm in charge of analyzing transportation systems. Major Gabris is in charge of the Kerberos investigation, and she mostly keeps to her office these days. I know because my cubicle's just down the hall from hers."

Keith had been at the upperclassmen's party where they opened their assignments. Everyone had burst out laughing when Hamid, of all people, was assigned to intelligence, not because he wasn't smart enough, but because he was too honest. Shiro's opinion was it was good to have honest people in there and Keith felt a momentary pang considering what he was planning.

"And it's been busy in there recently. All sorts of people, important generals and even politicians have been going in and out nonstop. I'm sure it means there's more data and they're looking at revising the report."

Keith wanted to say that if there were new technical findings, then it should have been scientists and engineers stopping by, not politicians. Instead he prodded a bit more, "They're saying Shiro misjudged the entry. But you know he practiced in the simulator until he could do it blindfolded. It was an experimental aircraft. Could they be covering up for a design flaw or manufacturing defect?"

Hamid raised his hands, "I honestly don't know any more than you. But in the end, does it matter? I mean, Shiro's gone and whatever the truth is, it's not going to bring him back." Keith nodded, not so much in agreement, but because he needed to be done with this conversation. He was going to have to go through with his original plan.

Hamid rested a hand on Keith's shoulder, like Shiro used to do. "If you need to talk to someone … me, or Chris, or Lana, any of the old gang, we'd all be glad to. I know we treated you like the kid back in our garrison days, but we're your friends. We're all here for you. Oh," he stood up, "that reminds me." He walked out of the room.

Now was his chance. Keith hesitated a moment. Hamid was right about Shiro being gone. But the truth did matter. He took a deep breath and pocketed Hamid's badge, that had been sitting out on the table.

Hamid came back with a framed photo. "Lana got this framed and I was supposed to bring it to Shiro's going away party. But I was a goof and misplaced it. Anyway, I'm sure Shiro would have wanted you to have it."

It was from the graduation ceremony, with them all in their dress uniforms and everyone but Keith clutching diplomas. Keith was wearing Shiro's hand-me-downs and his jacket was super wide in the shoulders. He was smiling as big as any of them, happy to be part of Shiro's group.

"Thanks," said Keith, and he meant it. Hamid gave him an awkward male hug. Keith returned it with the knowledge that, given what he was about to do, Hamid would probably want nothing to do with him after tonight.

The intelligence building was at the edge of the base. The outside fence was heavily fortified, with barbed wire and security cameras. Keith had planned out his morning jogs to scout it out. There was one stretch of fence where the cameras were further apart and it was here that he dropped the wire cutters.

In his best case scenario, where he found proof and made it out before security caught him, he might use them. He hadn't planned any further than that, mostly because he doubted he'd get that far.

After the drop, Keith strolled leisurely down the sidewalk. There weren't any lights in the windows and no guards stationed at the gatehouse. He glanced around once more and dashed towards the front doors.

This time there was no hesitation. He'd committed to this mission and had no self-doubt. Keith held Hamid's card up to the security pad. He heard a faint beep and a click as the door unlocked. Keith slipped in, closing the door softly behind him.

Once inside, he kept his body low and scuttled to the corner, right below the door camera and hopefully out of range. For all he knew, some human monitoring a bank of screens was calling in an intruder. But if he was lucky, maybe they were looking the other way just then.

It was dark in the hallway. Keith, grateful for whatever lucky gene had given him such good night vision, crept along the hallways. When Hamid had gotten his assignment, he'd given Shiro and Keith a tour, under the premise that Keith might be interested in a desk job. In actuality, he wanted to show off his cubicle and his fancy computer set up. Keith remembered the location and saw the hallway Hamid had mentioned. He found the major's office and was pleased to see standard key locks.

Keith pulled out a worn leather pouch with a small set of rods. A former group home roommate named Dante had shown Keith the basics of lock picking and with practice, Keith had gotten quite good. He heard the pins line up and turned the handle. No cameras in this room. Keith walked over to the large desk and turned on his red-filter flashlight.

Major Gabris kept a neat, organized desk. Her drawers held office supplies, tissues, and three bags of chocolate. The lowest, and largest door was locked, which was even easier to pick. Inside, it was stacked with folders and the one on top was labeled Kerberos.

Flashlight in mouth, Keith paged through it. The first sheets were an authorization for Gabris to manage the investigation. Then came page after page of technical reports. But not on the spacecraft or the decent. One was a spectral analysis of not only Kerberos and Pluto, but also other planets and moons in the solar system. Another seemed to be a bunch of plotted trajectories near Pluto, but going out into deeper space. And there was a sheet on gravitational fields. It didn't make sense.

Then he found the photos. 8x10 glossy black and white shots that had been magnified several times so that they were starting to pixilate. But he could clearly make out three figures in space suits around some sort of drilling device. They were like the three bears: small, medium, and large with broad shoulders – that one had to be Shiro.

This was proof that Shiro had successfully landed the craft. But there was no documentation on the photo to prove it wasn't fake, just a time stamp. And anyway, if they'd made it to the surface, why the cover-up about the landing error?

There were more photos. The second one had been taken a few minutes later and must have been overexposed in the middle. It was almost like there was a beam of light captured in it. Shiro's head was raised upwards as if looking at something.

The next photo clearly showed a beam, whiting out nearly everything in the center except the three figures. They were several feet off the ground, their arms and legs flailing. Something was sucking them up into the sky. Abducted, that was the word.

"Aliens?" Keith said the word aloud. Could the military be covering up evidence of actual aliens? In all the scenarios he'd dreamed up, he'd never imagined it would involve extra-terrestrials.

There was one final photo, a continuation of the light beam, but higher up. Probably from the top shuttle camera. Against the milky way was a dark outline, taller than it was wide with purple highlights. A spaceship. No, a warship.

A cold shudder ran down Keith's spine. This wasn't just about Shiro or the garrison. This was about the survival of the Earth, of humanity. He didn't know why he was so certain, he just was.

But what could he do about it? Post the photos on some conspiracy web site? Confront the military about what he knew? Either way, he needed more evidence.

Just as he reached back in the drawer, he heard faint footsteps. Several people were coming his way. They were starting and stopping, so not a cleaning crew or roaming security guard.

Keith's heart was racing and yet he felt calmer than he had all night. It was out of his hands now. He'd surrender and deal with the consequences. Part of him hadn't expected to get even this far before getting caught.

A bright light shone through the glass door. "Whoever is there, stand up slowly and raise your hands in the air."

Keith started to straighten up, but even as he moved, he heard a crash and a thud as a small grey canister landed about a foot away from him. It started hissing and spilling out a yellow gas. The smell was noxious and Keith's eyes began to water.

He looked up to see a figure in a face mask moving through the now empty door frame. There was a gun in his hands. Suddenly a court martial no longer seemed like the worst-case scenario.

A feeling of clarity came to Keith and his body reacted. He ducked, rolled to the side of the desk, and before the man could react, Keith's leg shot out, sweeping away the soldier's legs out from under him. At the same time, Keith reached for the still-hissing canister and lobbed it as hard as he could back out through the door frame. Outside, it collided with another figure, knocking it backwards.

Keith leaped over the sprawled figures and out of the room. There was a soft pop of bullets and bits of plaster flew off the wall behind him. He counted four more soldiers, two of them rushing him. Keith dodged the first punch but the other grabbed his arms and waist. Keith twisted, driving his elbow just below the man's ribcage. The grip lessened but before Keith could twist away completely, he caught a shadow in his peripheral vision. Before he could react, a fist made contact with the side of his head.

His vision blacked out and a roar filled his head. The next thing he knew, he was laying on the floor. He tried to lift himself up but something prodded the back of his head and with a click, every nerve went tingly, then numb. And that's when he passed out.

He awoke in a small cell with metal walls, a cold metal floor, and a solid metal door with two closed metal slots, one at eye level and another at the base. The only two items in the cell were a thin, mildewy-smelling mattress pad and a metal toilet. Above him, protected behind a metal grate, a long fluorescent tube cast greenish yellow light over the room.

He'd been dumped on the floor. Keith lay still, listening. There were occasional clanking sounds, otherwise everything was quiet. He rolled himself onto the mattress, his body aching and head pounding.

He'd never fought like that, never for his life. At the group home, he'd established himself as fast, able to dodge punches and, if things got bad, use his opponent's own momentum to throw them to the ground. It had never gone further than that, and soon his reputation kept the others at bay. More recently, he'd practiced judo with some classmates, but that was a controlled situation.

The attacking guards and the bullets, that had been real. And his responses had been real too. He had to admit it, he liked that.

Everything was different now. He was a criminal. Aliens were out there. Shiro … Shiro could still be alive. He'd never dared hope that Shiro could have been rescued – Kerberos was so remote, even the journey out there had taken over nine months. But now, he could hope. Keith let that single pleasant thought carry him to sleep.

He awoke disoriented. The light was still on and he was alone. There was no food, but he wasn't yet hungry. He waited for what seemed like a long time. He couldn't be sure how long, they'd taken his watch. Eventually, his stomach began to make gurgling sounds.

He imagined he was back at the group home, during lockdown, when he'd spend hours being bored. But then he still had access to books and the exercise equipment. Here there was just silence. He refused to let his mind wander into speculation, he had to stay focused. It got harder as time stretched on.

Finally, he gave in and shouted: "Hey, is anyone out there? Do I get some food? Or water?" Silence.

It occurred to him they were keeping him in solitary to soften him up. He didn't feel any softer, so he could expect more waiting. He tried meditating. It didn't help. Meditating always made time seem slower and that wasn't what he needed in this place.

About the time he started getting seriously hungry, they shoved a tray of food with a bottle of water through the hole at the bottom of the door, which slammed shut before he could see anything through it. The water tasted metallic and the ration bars were like chewy sawdust. There was an apple too, the bright red sort with no taste. He ate quickly, aware how desperate it made him look.

Then he tried to sleep, but neither the lamp or his body would let him fall asleep. He tried counting his breaths, tried counting the occasional metal pings. He did exercises: sit-ups, push-ups, squats and stretches until he was physically worn out and had worked up a sweat.

He lay back down and let his mind wander to Shiro and what they would do if he made it back to Earth. They wouldn't be pilots together. Or perhaps, if the aliens invaded, this arrest wouldn't matter. He thought about all the movie aliens he knew. The ones that implanted themselves in your stomach, the ones that hunted humans for sport, a comedy where they kept repeating "we come in peace" even as they mowed down the humans around them. He must have fallen asleep because he awoke certain that there had been a film where the aliens had been purple and furry, with yellow eyes.

A second ration tray with the same fine dining selection as the first one appeared. After he finished, a male voice said, "Send both trays back through the opening." Keith did as he was told, but when the slot closed, his resolve broke and he started talking.

"How long are you going to keep me in here? What's going on? I have a right to a lawyer or something. I know what I saw. Are you just trying to erase me like you did Shiro?"

Silence.

"It's not going to work. I have people who know where I am," he lied, "they'll know something's up if I don't check in."

Keith craned his ears, trying to make out breathing or any indication that there was someone on the other side of the door.

"Aren't you even going to interrogate me? I'm worth keeping locked up but not enough to get answers out of? I know you can't keep me in here, it's against Geneva conventions or something. Come on, just say something!"

He was shouting and it felt good. But only for the moment. And then there was the silence and the yellow green light and his ragged breathing. Nothing had changed.

He lost track of things after that – the number of times things happened and the order they happened in. He exercised, he ate, he slept, or tried to, he yelled, he replayed memories in his head to distract himself but the ones that came to mind were rarely pleasant.

When the upper slit finally opened, he felt good and softened.

"Turn to the wall and put your hands against it," came a male voice, "Spread your feet. Do not move. Any sudden movement and we will tase you."

He complied. They fastened manacles on his ankles and cuffed his hands behind his back. Once secure, they led him through several turns of hallways to an interrogation chamber. It was just like police dramas with a large smoky glass mirror on one wall and a narrow table with two chairs. They put Keith in the one facing the glass and secured his leg chain to the ground. There were three large guards, two by the glass, and one by the door.

No one spoke or moved for several minutes. Finally, a woman came in. She was in military uniform and Keith could see her major's stripes. She wore glasses but no other adornments. She sat down across from him and looked him squarely in the eyes.

"Hello Keith," she didn't wait for him to respond, "tell us who recruited you."

"Recruited?" he hadn't expected this question, "no one, no one recruited me."

"You expect us to believe you planned and executed this act all on your own? We're going to find out. We've collected blood and hair samples. We're running the analysis now."

Keith tried to follow her logic. Did they think he was on drugs? And then it clicked. "You think I'm an alien?" he found himself laughing hoarsely, "like the ones who took Shiro?"

The woman didn't react, perhaps she looked mildly surprised.

"I know about them," Keith pressed, "I saw the pictures. You can't keep this hidden. The world needs to know."

"Aliens?" She said at last, examining him as if he had a head injury. "I'm not sure what you found from your break-in, but … aliens?" she gave a small laugh. "Who helped you plan? Was it a news organization? An internet group? Tell me now. Nothing changes until you do." Her voice was flat, but menacing.

"I …" he took a breath, "I did this on my own. I just wanted to find out what happened to Shiro."

The woman signed and stood up. "Take him away," she said over her shoulder as she left the room.

His protests and pleas were met with silence as the guards returned him to his cell. One held the Taser by his neck while the other unlocked him and quickly moved him out of the room. There was another tray of rations on the floor of his cell.

Keith slammed the metal tray against the door. He howled and shouted and managed to keep himself from crying. There was no response.

They didn't make him wait as long for the second interrogation, he counted only 5 food trays. He'd started counting time by that, ripping a ration bar wrapper to make counting shreds. It was the same routine as before, except this time a man came in. He didn't sit but stood instead, holding a sheet of paper he occasionally glanced at.

"We have determined that you are an impulsive young man whose foolish and reckless actions will have adverse consequences for the rest of your life. It's a shame, because you were such a promising cadet. You are hereby expelled from you class and dismissed from Galaxy Garrison. Once you have been released, you are neither to return to or have contact with any of your former classmates. Slip up and we'll have you officially charged."

"I'm being released?" asked Keith, confused.

"Sign here." The man shoved the paper and a pen into Keith's hands. "As a private citizen, we cannot directly stop you from talking to a lawyer or the press. But between our findings on your current bad judgement as well as your state records, we have more than enough to thoroughly discredit you. So, keep that in mind, son."

Keith tried to read the paragraphs of text on the sheet but he couldn't concentrate enough to make it through a complete sentence. Once he signed, they'd let him go. Keith signed the paper.

They unlocked his legs, but kept his hands cuffed. The guards walked him up a stairwell, at least two flights, and out into the bright desert sunshine. He was at a part of the base with boring blocks of buildings that he'd always assumed were for paper pushers or equipment storage.

There was an open gate and beyond that was parked his hover bike – the one Shiro had gotten for a graduation gift and lent to him while he was gone for the Kerberos mission. A guard unlocked the handcuffs while another kept a firm grip on his shoulder.

Finally, someone shoved two duffle bags of stuff into his hands. Keith looked up to see Commander Iverson, his face an even more unpleasant expression than usual.

"That's all your roommate said you had," He said. "Be grateful for what's there and don't be making a fuss over what's not. That's my advice."

"Yes sir," Keith's response was automatic.

Iverson snarled, "I pegged you as smarter than this. Congratulations on proving me wrong."

"I…" Keith had no response.

"The things you saw," Iverson continued, "they're real. And someday soon your fellow cadets, and everyone on this base, is going to be called on to do their duty, to protect the planet. We could have used a pilot of your caliber in that fight. Damn waste is what it is."

He turned away, leaving Keith and his bags. The soldiers gave him a rough shove and they closed the gate after him. Under their watchful eyes, Keith drove away.

"That last part was the worst. Everything after I got caught was pretty awful, but Iverson made it clear what a hot-headed, irresponsible idiot I was. And he was right."

"Iverson's a jerk." And a bully, and an egomaniac, thought Pidge. But to those carrying a Y chromosome, that John Wayne routine was the ultimate in alpha male signaling. Keith obviously lapped it up. "Besides, I think you're doing your part to protect Earth."

"Not that he has any idea," Keith gave a rare smile and the somber mood of his story was broken.

"So," said Pidge, "did you get the lone-action-star crazy solo mission stuff out of your system?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're not going to ride off on the Red Lion and go looking for Shiro on your own," said Pidge.

"No. Why would I do something so stupid?" Keith asked incredulously. "Just me and Red wouldn't have a chance to find Shiro. Even if we can't form Voltron, four lions can take on anything short of one of Zarkon's Robeasts. And we need Allura and Coran's knowledge about the universe. And we need your brains, and Hunk's engineering, and Lance's … many fine qualities that are hard to sum up in a single word."

Not only was that one of the longest things she'd ever heard Keith say about his teammates, it was one of the least Keith-like things he'd ever said to boot.

"Look," Keith said, "when Shiro disappeared before, I was completely alone. You must have felt the same way about your father and brother. This time it's different. We're a team, we're together on this."

"I didn't know you felt that way, about us."

"What do you mean?" this sounded more like the Keith she knew, "I hang out with you guys all the time."

"You hang out in the same room as us," Pidge countered, "and you're usually making a mopey face."

"But isn't that what hanging out is, being in the same room? And what do you mean by mopey face?"

Before Pidge could demonstrate, Lance's voice came in over the intercom.

"Attention everyone. Slav says he knows where Shiro is—"

"That is absolutely not what I said," Slav's sing-song voice cut in. "I said that probabilistically the-"

"Yeah, yeah," Lance butted back in, "save the class lecture for when everyone can enjoy it. We're meeting in the dining room, wait till you see what Slav's done to the place. There's been a lot of math happening."