Warnings: Mild Language
Six long hours after he first stepped foot in the San Diego Shatterdome, Jack finally found peace. His assigned quarters stood stark and empty, devoid of any personal touch. A metal frame bunk sat in one corner, opposite a sheet-metal work table for a desk. The bare stone walls were plain, but dry, and when he turned on the lamp the hazy half-burned out light gave the room an almost cozy feel. He hoped it would be a home for him, at least for a little while. If it was, it would mean his dream of piloting a Jaeger had finally become reality. All he ever wanted sat at his fingertips. All he had to do was hold his tongue and not screw it up.
Jack glanced briefly at the neatly folded bedding sitting on the industrial mattress, but all thoughts of a nap evaporated when his fingers brushed the small square of plastic still hiding in his pocket. Belladonna Banshee's manual, bestowed upon him by Samantha Carter herself. He scrubbed a hand over his face, ashamed that he'd spent so long talking with her without realizing who she was. She probably thought he was some kind of idiot. Still, there had been a moment while they were talking, just a heartbeat, when they had almost connected.
When another quick scan of the room didn't reveal a computer terminal, Jack groaned. Jonas never gave him a chance to ask where requisitions was, let alone how long it would take to get a datapad. An increasingly familiar irritation crept up his spine, fraying exhausted nerves. Now requisitions would be closed, even if he managed to locate it on his own. He eyed his bed again, but suddenly the thought of sleep wasn't so appealing as it'd been a minute ago. The memory card burned in his palm, begging to be read. Banshee's secrets wanted to be known. He might not learn them tonight, but while he wondered, sleep would elude him. The exhaustion melted away in an instant, leaving him wired and wound tighter than a spring. He quickly dumped his seabag on the desk and tucked the datachip into the front pocket of his blouse.
Jack took the long away out of the barracks, hoping that detouring past the head wouldn't raise too many eyebrows. The quickest way to Bay 3 cut past Hanson's bunk. He hoped Hanson wasnt the kind of guy to press his nose against the hatch to spy on passersby, but knowing his luck today, Jack as sure he'd be spotted simply by chance if anywhere in Hanson's general vicinity. He shuddered to think how Jonas would react if he found out Jack made a late-night visit to Banshee. In the end, his efforts were rewarded by an unaccosted journey to the main corridor, where he then followed the easily recognized black and purple stripe to Banshee's bay.
The tension of the day bled away when Jack laid eyes on the Jaeger once more. Her chest plates winged outwards now, exposing her double reactor core. Warm floodlights bathed her in a hazy glow, more than enough for a crew to work by. Most of the bodies swarming her used Decks 8 & 9 to access her core, but Jack spotted a few people on the far side of the bay on Deck 7, and headed that way. As he coursed his way around the circumference of the chamber, he kept his eyes on Banshee, mesmerized by the way the light shifted and shone on of her hull. In the areas where the darkest shadows gathered, he lost track of her outline. Her form became indistinct, and with a small thrill of excitement, he imagined her on the seas at night- in the dark, a kaiju might just lose track of her.
Jack paced across Deck 6 before climbing the stairs and slowly making his way across 7. He made a note of some of the faces and nametags he could see, but most of the technicians along the way didn't give him a second glance, focused and intent on their work. He abandoned any thought he had to stoll down the catwalk to actually touch Banshee's hull when he saw the small shapes of corpsmen already hard at work. They might allow a fanboy wannabe pilot his whimsy, but Jack didn't have the energy to insert himself among so many people, not even for a touch of Banshee. He paused at the steps up to Deck 8, and craned his neck to peer up to Banshee's helm. A sigh caught in his chest. Without Banshee's stats, he couldn't be sure of her exact height, but any perspective he got earlier that afternoon from across the way meant nothing. From here, she was simply beyond comprehension. Her sheer size shrank him down to the tiniest ant, and absurdly, he wondered if that was how the Kaiju saw them- as insects, tiny and inconsequential. The idea made him smirk. If ants could create human-sized killer robots, humanity would have run for the hills. Soon, the Kaiju would be no different.
His self-guided tour continued another two decks. Halfway through scanning the faces passing he realized that each one left him feeling more and more disappointed. In that moment he realized he'd scanned each face in search of one in particular. Jack drifted to a stop. Idiot. Carter wouldn't be working the night shift if she'd spent the day assisting the Marshal. That didn't stop him from reaching out to the next technician who passed, touching the arm of a young hispanic woman with a long braid tucked into the back of her coveralls.
"Is Dr. Carter here?" he blurted before he could think better of it. The woman paused, scanning him briefly.
"You came too far," she returned in a lightly accented voice. "Deck 5."
"Seriously?" He'd climbed all the way up here and she'd been at the very start? Deck 5 had been pretty sparse. He would have seen Carter if she'd been there. "You're sure?"
Dark eyebrows lifted dangerously. "You asked, I answered."
"Right, sorry," Jack followed up quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bite your head off."
His benefactor smirked. Her nametape read Soto. "Hey, I get it. It's a lot of stairs." Jack nodded, relieved he'd rescued the situation. "Imagine working here," Soto quipped, still smirking as she took several backwards steps as she got back on her way.
Jack grinned sheepishly and offered a wave. "Thank you."
"Uh huh." Then Soto was back on her way, leaving Jack standing dumbly on the catwalk.
"Way to go, O'Neill," he grumbled as he retraced his steps down the stairs. He continued down them until he hit Deck 5. Just like before, the space was sparse of people. He set his sights on one unfamiliar face and wasted no time in asking after Dr. Carter.
The bespectacled man didn't even look up from the electrical panel lying open before him, and motioned towards the far end of the catwalk with the overlarge wrench in his hand. Jack stepped back to avoid the waving bludgeon, and cast a glance over to find nothing but Banshee's hull. Inhaling deeply, he kept the remains of his Hanson-fueled temper tamped down. "You sure?" he asked.
"Yup," the technician responded, then quickly hefted the huge wrench back onto his shoulder. Before Jack could ask again the man collected his bag and left. Reluctantly, Jack slowly ambled towards Banshee, acutely aware that he was probably being punked. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he squashed it. He only expected that because of Hanson, who had helpfully directed him to go the wrong way through the food line while he and Manhattan's team found a table. He'd almost made it through without realizing his error, until a group of Motor-T guys came in the right way and politely told him to fuck off.
Jonas' smirk when he joined them at the table still burned in his mind. He would be damned if he gave Hanson the satisfaction of altering his assumptions about other people on base. Luckily, his faith in the wrench-wielder's intentions paid off when he shifted his path slightly, approaching the hull at an angle to discover Banshee's odd coloring had disguised a paneled section propped open to create an access point.
A narrow grate extended into the Jaeger. Jack paused at the threshold, placing a reverent hand on Banshee's hull. He imagined it hummed under his touch, the vibrations of the workmen's efforts within tickling his palm. The metal was warm to the touch, more than he thought it would be. Using his hand to brace himself, he leaned his head inside. A cacophony of whirring drills and snapping sparks assaulted him from a dozen directions, their sources all out of sight.
"Hello?" The din overwhelmed Jack's call, quickly swallowing it in the avalanche of sound. When he pounded his fist against the hull, it sounded little more than dull thuds. "HELLOOOOO!"
For a long moment, Jack thought he'd gone unheard again, until one drill suddenly stopped. It seemed to be the closest, and the absence of it gave Jack some room to breathe. "What?" a muffled voice responded, sounding even nearer than he anticipated. He craned his neck, but the speaker remained stubbornly out of sight.
"I'm looking for Dr. Carter!" Jack shouted louder. "Is she here?"
"WHAT?!"
"DOCTOR CARTER!" He bellowed.
"Hold on! I can't hear you!" He heard a clank and the sound of something sliding before a head dropped down in front of his nose, dangling from a ledge over his head he hadn't noticed. It took him a moment to recognize the upside down face as the one he was looking for.
"Oh," Dr. Carter said, recognizing him instantly. "O'Neill. What can I do for you?"
Disheartened by her lack of enthusiasm, Jack cleared his throat. "You said you'd be able to answer some questions?" He waved to the machine around them. "About Banshee."
Her brow furrowed. "Now? It's nearly midnight."
Jack shrugged. "We're both up."
"And I'm busy. Have you read the manual?"
"Ah, no," Jack responded truthfully. Carter rolled her eyes, and looked ready to disappear back into Banshee when Jack continued quickly. "Look, I was planning on reading the manual- I still am! I don't have a datapad and I have no idea where requisitions is, and I could ask Hanson but I only just shook him, so I was hoping NOT to hear his speech about 'Academy mo-tards' again tonight."
Carter didn't look impressed, exactly. But Jack could swear she softened some. "And you can't wait until morning because…"
"Because…" Jack scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Ah, hell. "I can't get her out of my head. I had the chip in my pocket and I couldn't stop thinking about it-about her. I was just gonna come out and take a look, and then… Look, I knew it was a long shot, finding you here this late, but if I ask anyone else they'll just point me to Hanson, and I can't guarantee he won't feed me bullshit just to confuse the noob."
His skin heated under her stare. It wasn't a good sign he was already looking for ways to avoid his copilot, especially one who was the big man on base. Jack hid his disgust in front of Hanson himself- not a hard thing to do, when Jonas talked so much Jack could keep his mouth shut and his head down. The man required little input from his audience. After seeing Carter's disgust earlier that afternoon, it was harder to hide his feelings in front of fellow sufferer. Or maybe he just talked to keep himself from staring at her as her face flushed rapidly from the blood rushing to her still dangling head.
"Hanson must have said half a million words today," he cringed, "but he didn't once mention Banshee. And after what you hinted about her improvements, I can't figure out how he could talk about anything else." Carter didn't respond. "I'm sorry. I know it's an imposition. It's late, you have work to do, and holding my hand is probably the last thing you thought would be on your schedule tonight, but- I'm still asking. I can't not ask."
A harrowing moment passed when Carter stared at him. Jack suffered it willingly, biting his tongue to keep from backing down. Finally, Carter caved. "Fine. Give me a second."
She disappeared again briefly, and when she reappeared she passed him a wide, sectioned canvas bag. Jack accepted it, and promptly fumbled it, not expecting the considerable weight. He glanced inside it as he hoisted it onto his shoulder, and found the weight was the result of organized chaos, dozens of tools and meters neatly squared away in the many pockets that lined the bag. He expected Carter to slide down feet first, but to his surprise she instead grabbed the lip on the underside of the ledge. He stared as she smoothly brought her legs down, unfurling her body until she hung by her fingertips. She dropped nimbly to her feet and turned to reclaim her toolbag. He blinked.
"What?" she demanded.
"You're an engineer?" He never imagined an engineer would have the core or upper body strength for that kind of dismount.
"You're a Ranger?" Carter parroted, mimicking his dubious tone. When he didn't respond, one imperious eyebrow lifted. "What, are we not doing that thing where we both incredulously state known facts to each other?"
Jack felt his cheeks heat again in the face of her irritation. "Sorry," he offered, and meant it. He should have learned his lesson on the roof about trying to guess anything about her. With a roll of her eyes, Dr. Carter slung the tool bag across her shoulders with practiced ease. It pressed heavily against her hip as she led him back across the catwalk. "And, thanks. I… also wanted to apologize. For earlier, with Hanson."
Carter shrugged, casting her gaze over the edge of the railing. "No one is responsible for Hanson but Hanson."
"Yeah. But I should have spoken up. I didn't like how he spoke to you, and I should have said so."
Carter's brow wrinkled, unsure what to make of the apology he offered. She didn't seem to know quite what to make of him. "Thanks, I guess..."
Eager to prove he was in earnest, Jack plowed ahead. "Look, I know Banshee doesn't work without the help of a lot of people, and the engineering team is a huge part of keeping her operational. I plan on reminding Jonas of that the next-"
"Save your breath." Carter tugged the strap of her tool bag higher on her shoulder, leading the way down the gangway. "He's heard it before. He doesn't care."
Jack shoved his hands in his pockets, following Carter's steps closely as they neared the intersecting corridor. Military bearing urged him to keep his misgivings about his copilot to himself, but here was the one person on the base who didn't seem to be completely under his thrall. Maybe, just maybe, she'd understand where he was coming from, and could validate the concerns he had about piloting with Hanson.
"To be completely honest…" Jack thought better of it before he could finish his sentence. Blue eyes glanced at him, and he found himself continuing. "I just… I don't know how they expect me to be to drift-compatible with someone like him. I can barely stand to be in the same room with him. I don't know if I should be offended that they think I could drift with him-"
"Hold up," Carter interrupted, her voice clipped. She paused at the end of the catwalk, then made a hard right towards a shadowed alcove near the next intersection. The cut out seemed out of place in a Shatterdome engineered for efficiency. It was too narrow to store equipment and led nowhere. Judging by the rust circles on the deck it looked like may have housed a mop bucket for some time, but it got them out of the traffic lanes and gave them some modicum of privacy. Between the shadows and the hour, the few technicians passing them gave them little notice.
Carter turned to face him, leaning back against the wall behind her. "Compatibility with Jonas wasn't a factor when the Marshal selected you."
It may have been what he wanted to hear, but still Jack's heart sank as the words hit home. The disappointment touched all the little suspicions he'd had since the Marshal found him at the Academy. No one expected him to succeed. deep, finding the hidden suspicions he'd had since the Marshal had found him at the Academy. They needed a warm body, prove to the brass that they were actively trying to find someone. Maybe a stunt to entice more funding out of the Joint Chiefs. The why didn't mattered. The bottom line remained that without compatibility, there was no piloting. No Banshee. Jack left the Academy for nothing. Resentment crawled up his esophagus, threatening to strangle him. The Marshal made no secret that there was no guarantee of compatibility, but now it felt like Pentecost deliberately misled him and that burned like fire.
"Then why the hell am I here?" he demanded.
"We need to get Banshee moving," Carter replied. "You wanted to learn about the changes we made, but what you really need to know is what we've been trying to achieve by making them."
"Providing pilots with the best weapons possible, I know," he spat. "I remember."
Carter didn't rise to the goading, instead regarding him with empathetic understanding. "Okay, cool it. I'm trying to explain." She waited until he nodded and sank back against the wall. "For the past six months I've been redesigning Banshee's neural interface to reduce the drift quotient required for her to function."
Jack blinked. "Oh." He paused to think about it, then shook his head. "What?"
"Every Jaeger needs a certain amount of neural input from their pilots in order to move. The neural load required to control the Jaeger is too much for any one pilot to bear alone, which is why each Jaeger is assigned two or more pilots to share the load. Right?"
"Right," Jack confirmed. He learned that in Jaeger History 101; every pilot candidate who stepped foot in the Academy learned it.
"What we know as drift compatibility is a measure of how well two pilots can distribute the load evenly. The higher degree of compatibility pilots share, the easier it is to manipulate the Jaeger. That compatibility, against the neural load of the Jaeger, generates the drift quotient." Carter's hands gestured as she spoke, illustrating the principle she was trying to explain. "Now, there are two ways to reduce the drift quotient. The easiest way is to have higher compatibility. The second, more difficult option is to reduce the Jaeger's neural load."
"I thought they tried that," Jack pointed out. "They went through half a dozen recruits before Dr. Lightcap used the pons bridge to join her mind with Sergio D'Onofrio's and they found that two pilots fixed the certain-death issue. They were never able to lower the quotient further."
Carter shifted, relaxing against the bulkhead behind her. "They didn't have me."
Jack's eyebrows lifted sharply, surprised to hear her confidence. "Really? That's…"
"Well-earned bravado," Carter finished for him. "And it wasn't that they couldn't. They had a war to fight and an ample supply of pilots with sufficient compatibility. Why chase a lower quotient when they could simply roll out 30 Mark 1's instead?"
Jack paused. It made sense. Still, if it were as easy as she made it sound, why had it taken so long to get it done?
"The weapons upgrades were easy, and the re-armoring was done over a year ago. But Hanson struck out with every prospective pilot they put in front of him, and with personnel resources dwindling, we had to pursue option number two. Over the past twelve months I have reduced Banshee's neural load by 46 percent."
Jack's eyes widened. "Whoa." The corner of Carter's mouth crept upwards. Her bravado was well-earned, apparently. "Hard to believe you'd even need to bother with a second pilot with numbers like that."
Carter shook her head. "Our simulations show that we'd have to reduce the quotient an additional 24 percent to guarantee the survival of a single pilot. At this point, we've hit a plateau. To pursue the reduction any further is prohibitive to the resources available, so the Marshal started the search for a copilot."
Jack crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "So why me? Hell, why Hanson? Why not just remove him and get two new pilots altogether?"
"There aren't many Mark 2 pilots left, O'Neill. Those that remain are already paired with compatible partners. And for all his talk, Hanson really is good- one of the best. You were at the Academy when they phased in Mark 3 Jaegers, so you've had some training on both systems. The Marshal recruited you because your academy sim scores are off the charts. When compatibility isn't strong between pilots, we've found that greater technical ability can make it easier to maintain control of the Jaeger. That's why the Marshal selected you."
Jack waited a long moment, absorbing the information. It occurred to him briefly that Carter only told him what he wanted to hear- whatever it took to keep him motivated and committed. But an instant later he dismissed it. This woman of well-earned bravado didn't seem the type for platitudes or false promises. He wasn't expected to drift with Hanson. He wasn't expected to be compatible in any way shape or form. Thank god.
At the same time, a part of him ached. The hope of experiencing true drift extinguished itself in the space of a breath. His sessions with Simms had taught him what it felt like to move a Jaeger, but the Drift… no computer could simulate true drift. Some pilots claimed to know what the other was thinking before their copilot even formed the thought. Others reported that initiating the neural handshake led to shared memories. Some of the greatest pilots in history were family, or partners in life. Jack had neither, but he'd always wondered what it would be like to experience it for himself. Coming here with Pentecost had been his Hail Mary. Now- now, he knew that it had never really been on the table in the first place. His hope dwindled to nothing but a sharp ache in the hollow left behind.
"Sounds like you've been a big part of all this," he said finally. Carter nodded. "You proposed the list of candidates for the Marshal to review?" Another nod. "You said my scores were why Pentecost selected me. Why did you recommend me?"
Carter smiled gently. "Because you were the last one at the Academy."
"Great," Jack muttered. He hadn't been the top choice after all. He'd been the only choice.
"Let me finish," Carter insisted, sensing his disappointment. "You stayed behind after all the other Ranger candidates had moved on. You continued to train, even with the writing on the wall. Why?"
Jack eyed her warily. "I wasn't ready to give up."
"You have hope," Carter interpreted. "That's a quality the program needs, and it's what Bella responds to best. That's why I recommended you, above all the others on the list."
Jack blinked. She had recommended him specifically, after inferring all that from his linger at the Academy and some test scores. And the Marshal listened. A small voice in the back of his mind wondered if there wasn't some truth to what Jonas had claimed earlier. Unlike Hanson, however, Jack sure as hell didn't mind.
"Bella?" He not-so-subtly attempted to divert the course of the conversation away from himself.
Carter's cheeks flushed. "Banshee," she corrected. "It's- I call her that. Sometimes. We've... been through a lot together." He'd flustered her, and Jack felt himself relaxing in response.
"No, I like it," Jack said quickly. He did. "Would you prefer if I called her that too?"
"You shouldn't. Hanson doesn't like anything that makes his Jaeger sound like a teenage romance."
Jack smirked. "I'm getting the impression that it's not his Jaeger," he confided, earning himself another small smile. They stood there in the shadow of Belladonna Banshee, sparks dancing off her hull as workers soldered and welded. The quiet moment ended when someone hurried past them towards the gangway, unaware of their presence but a reminder that the world continued around them.
"Look, you're going to be evaluated in the kwoon tomorrow, just like any other prospective pilot. Even though the scores don't matter, you should do your best to find compatibility. Banshee may not need it, but she'll always respond better to drift-compatible pilots. The only thing that's different between this evaluation and any other is that you won't get dismissed. The seat is yours, so don't let nerves hold you back. Try to make it work, okay?"
Jack nodded. "Okay. Thanks." He sighed. "I wish they'd told me all this before. I was… I was really worried for minute there."
Carter smirked. "Well, they can't have you getting cocky now, can they?"
"I don't think Bella could handle that much ego," Jack joked right back. Carter laughed lightly.
She extended her hand, which Jack grasped firmly. Her fingers were long and rough, their pads thick with calluses. They were warm, and just a little gritty. Not entirely unpleasant. "Good luck tomorrow," she offered.
"Even if I don't need it?"
"Especially because you don't need it." Carter hefted her tool bag higher on her shoulder and sidled around Jack, heading back towards her crawlspace. "Catch you later, O'Neill."
"Yeah, you too." He watched her go, then slowly headed back towards his bunk, his step light. His earlier dread no longer dogged his footsteps- instead he felt almost light. Tomorrow guaranteed he would have to endure more of Jonas Hanson, but maybe- just maybe, he'd have a chance to talk to Dr. Carter again.