Disclaimer: I don't own Disney's Treasure Planet, nor any of its related... things. So please don't sue. It's just a sandbox I'm playing in and I'll clean up when I leave. Promise.

Author's Note: whew, I'm back! Sorry it took a while for this chapter; I was distracted by the sandbox that is Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. But thank the friends that read this in its rough, hand-written form, because they threatened me within an inch of my life if I didn't write another chapter. So here it is! Enjoy!

A week passed without word from the Admiral. Jim didn't see or hear from Lieutenant Andrews at all; he kept his disgruntlement to himself. He did his work in the kitchens quickly and without much complaint -- there was no use in whining about it if it had to be done. He served quickly so that Smrott would send him out on errands; these outings were his chance to explore the city and get his bearings. By the end of his first week he knew every backstreet and alleyway in the innermost circles of the hill-city.

He talked with Konrade on occasion, though the guy rarely said much beyond how much the Academy was slipping in quality of food; Jim liked him, though -- he didn't give him the scathing looks the other cadets did. So he stuck around.

Finn ignored him; Jim didn't really hold her against her. Of course, he still wanted his letter back and she continued to deny its existence.

He asked Konrade once while he was serving lunch if she'd stole anything before. He had shrugged.

"Don't know. Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Jim rolled her eyes. "Yeah, too bad I've already tried that, genius."

Konrade glared at him. "Well I guess you'll just have to try something else."

Jim shook his head and picked up his tray. As he turned, he ran into something solid and he fell back. In slow-motion the tray went airborne, along with its contents of soup and sandwiches, and landed on whatever he'd run into. Dishes shattered on the floor; silverware bounced around and rung. He was incapable of saving anything. In helplessness he looked up and cursed under his breath. From his place on the floor Jim could see that the lunch had rained down on none other than the cadet that had been talking to Finn that first day and had given him the bird.

Oh shit.

There was a clatter and a thud; Jim had a feeling Konrade had finally toppled out of his precariously-perched chair, but he wasn't about to look. The kid in front of him was seething.

Jim scrambled to his feet and started picking up shattered pieces of china, dumping it on the tray. He could hear Konrade laughing uncontrollably. He'd kick his ass later.

"Sorry, man, I didn't see you there--"

The cadet wiped soup out of his eyes and glared down at him.

"You son of a bitch!"

Jim frowned and straightened. "Hey man, I said I was sorry--"

The cadet grabbed the front of Jim's shirt and pulled him forward, getting right in his face. "You're gonna pay for this--"

A hand appeared on the cadet's wrist just as Jim was about to reply with a few threats of his own. Konrade had stopped laughing and had gotten between them, his hazel eyes burning a hole into the cadet's face.

"Back off, Warren."

The cadet released Jim (who stumbled when his previously dangling feet hit the ground) only to shove Konrade in the chest.

"And what are you gonna do about it, Dtarn? Tell your daddy?" He pushed Konrade again. "Go on. Run to daddy and have him save your ass again."

By this time a crowd had developed around them; among them Jim recognized Warren's lackeys. All of them were cracking their knuckles and leering. Jim swallowed and grabbed Konrade's shoulder.

"C'mon man, he isn't worth it--"

Konrade shrugged him off, his jaw set and eyes blazing. Warren laughed.

"Yeah, Dtarn. Just walk aw--!"

It was over before Jim could really register what had happened. One second Warren was smirking, the next, his head was snapped to the side and a dark red and purple bruise was forming on his jaw. The sound on impact had been loud and cracking; Jim stared just as shocked as Warren -- and from a glance, Konrade -- were.

Warren slowly turned his head back to stare at Konrade. Jim stared with him. Konrade was red-faced and wide-eyed, and his fist was still half-raised. He looked like he didn't know what had just happened. And then Warren's fist collided with Konrade's face and the cadet was knocked flat on his ass.

Rage flared in Jim and he revved his fist back, but someone held him back; he didn't see who. He struggled and tried to break free, but the person holding him was too strong, so he resorted to shouting.

"You bastard! You just wait till I get my hands on you, you son of a bitch--!"

Warren's lackeys had taken hold of him by this point and were restraining him; the cadet wasn't struggling, but he was pissed and he was going to let Jim know it.

"Next time it'll be you on your ass," he hissed. "Nobody messes with Warren Kaysee and gets away with it." He stormed off; his friends hurried off after him.

Jim realized though the red haze that the person restraining him had let go. He glared a second at Warren's retreating, soup-soaked form, then turned and held out his hand to Konrade. He took it and hauled himself up, holding a hand over his left eye.

"Thanks," he mumbled. Jim shook his head.

"Sorry man. You okay?"

Konrade set his jaw. "I'll be fine."

But Jim could tell he was lying. Warren had let on that something like this had happened before; he made a note to ask him about it at a better time.

"Who was it that held me back?" he asked after looking around for a professor or an officer. He didn't see any.

Konrade shrugged and picked up his chair to set it upright. "Dunno. I didn't see." He glared at no one in particular.

Jim frowned, wondering who it had been.

"You better get back downstairs before you get in trouble."

He nodded absently, picking up the tray piled with broken dishes. He was in so much trouble…

"Go up to the infirmary or the sick bay or something," he told Konrade.

He repeated, "I'm fine." Then he left, too. Jim sighed and walked towards the kitchens, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"I won't tolerate fighting, Hawkins."

Jim finished dumping the last of the porcelain shards into the trash compacter, his shoulders slumped. He kept his mouth clamped shut; he didn't trust himself to say anything.

"Jim, did you hear me?"

He sighed and moved over to the sink to begin washing the silverware; his eyes were on the floor. He heard Smrott sigh.

"If I hear of another fight, Jim--"

He snapped.

"Look! It wasn't my fault, okay? That kid has it in for me, I don't know why, all right?!"

The two of them stared at each other; Jim was red in the face and breathing heavily, but the head cook was calm, his oil-slick eyes unreadable.

"Go cool off, Jim," he said after a while, turning away and going to the stove. His voice was low and steady. Jim gritted his teeth and went to his room to grab his jacket. He was outside and away from the Academy in minutes.

He would have given anything for a solar surfer in that moment, or at least the means to build one. Flying was the one thing that got his mind off the crap that went on on the ground.

Jim kicked a rock that was near his foot. That's what he'd do: he'd salvage the parts and find a place to keep them and build a surfer. Most of the stuff would be easy to find -- a couple of trips to the docks and he'd have eighty percent of it -- and tools could easily be stolen…

He stopped in the middle of the alley and sighed.

So much for having changed.

He slunk back into the shadows as the spacers walked by, holding his breath. When they'd passed he slid out and continued towards the stairs. If it was like any other regulation galleon, the extra canvas of solar sails would be stored in the lower hold near the bow. He crept through the lantern-lit darkness, silent as he could be with a pack full of tools slung over his back. The galleon was bigger than the frigates he was used to; it had more decks and therefore a longer way to go, but he managed. The further down he went, the less spacers there were. By the time he reached the hold, there was no one about, and he found the crate of sails easily enough.

"Perfect."

The usually-golden cells of refined Arcturian sura crystals lay translucent and shimmering in the folded fabric. Jim carefully reached in and pulled out some canvas, then rummaged in his pocket for his penknife. He knew how much he needed for the mainsail, how much for patched, how much for slack… he knew the exact measurements and he wouldn't take any more. Quickly and quietly he cut the fabric, wincing every time a poorly manufactured cell cracked or shattered under the weight of the knife. When he had what he needed he folded it up and tucked it inside his shirt. The cells felt cool and slippery against his skin, almost wet. When he knew the sail wouldn't slip out and catch the light and potentially give him away, he put the lid back on the crate and gathered his stuff.

As he stood and turned towards the exit -- a ladder built into the hull -- he heard a shout from above.

Someone was coming down.

Jim instantly ducked behind a crate of fuel cells just as a pair of booted feet appeared on the top rung of the ladder. He held his breath, watching the shadow on the wall. Whoever it was descending rapidly.

"Hurry up," hissed a low voice. "We only have a few minutes."

Another voice called out from the top of the ladder, "Shut up, it's impossible to move in this skirt."

Jim frowned, trying to place the voices. They were both so familiar-sounding…

"Ya shoulda changed then. I can't afford to have ya compromisin' the job--"

There was thud and the second person -- obviously female -- was no longer a visible shadow. They must have been too short.

"Look, Captain, if you're so worried about getting caught, why'd you beg for me to come along?"

Jim edged towards the corner of the crate, wanting to try and see who it was and if he'd be able to sneak around them. From where he was sitting, he couldn't see a thing.

"Damn."

The conversation stopped with a shush from the girl; Jim froze and tried to sink back into the shadows.

"What was it?"

"I heard something."

Jim held his breath as his heart sped. It was so loud in his ears he was sure whoever else was in the hold with him would hear.

"I think someone else is down here."

Jim slammed his eyes shut. Hey, it had worked when he was four, maybe it would work now…

He heard a plasma pistol being charged and his eyes flew open. Holy shit, he was gonna die…

"Careful, now. Don't go alertin' anyone to our presence."

"Shh."

Jim held as still as possible, waiting to be found. He knew now that there was no way he'd escape. He either had to be found or wait until they left.

He didn't like either option.

There was a scraping sound; someone was moving the crates, trying to scare him out. Jim looked to his right and saw a shadow growing on the wall.

He carefully began creeping to the left, away from that looming figure. He kept his eyes on the shadow, not blinking.

There was a soft 'click' behind him. Jim swallowed heavily and closed his eyes, then put his hands up.

"Look, don't shoot--"

And then he turned around and came face to face with none other than Finn. He couldn't help the sardonic smirk.

"Small world, isn't it?"

Her face was a mask of shock, but it quickly faded into a smirk, too, as she holstered the pistol in her belt.

"We just keep running into each other, don't we?"

Jim was about to reply when she called over his shoulder.

"Hey Captain? Look what I found."

Jim turned. He heard the gears and gyros turning before he saw them, could feel the red-gold pierce of that eye before he met it. It was like being knocked flat on your back, the shock and surprise and elation was that strong. He guessed it was the same for the cyborg staring open-mouthed back at him.

"Jimbo?"

Dear Jim,

Nice try, but I'm your mother, you can't fool to me. The Admiral just left the Inn. He and Amelia talked for about two hours -- I know it was about you. Mother's intuition.

So next time don't lie to me mister. Captain Amelia told me everything. Be polite to the cook, respect your elders. And Jim, please, don't go running around and getting into trouble.

Love,

Mom

PS: Your letter will be there soon. I love you!

(Author's Note: ooh. chiffhanger. please review!!)