Author's Note:
Alright guys, serious talk for a minute here, please bear with me. My dad died this past weekend. On top of the emotional blow this has dealt, my siblings and I are going to have to prepare the house for sale (it's going to be a lot of work) and I need to figure out where I'm going to live after it's sold. This is all on top of my full-time job.
What does that mean for this fic? Well, for starters, I'm cutting chapter 9 short. More stuff was supposed to happen in this chapter to move the timeline forward to where it needs to be in the next chapter. That's being postponed until the next chapter, where we'll probably pick things up with a bit of a time skip courtesy of some epic telling not showing. This is all in service of getting a new chapter to you now instead of who knows when, since you've already been waiting over a month for new content. So, if you get to the end of this chapter and feel like more was meant to have happened? You're right!
Chapter 9 is also getting nothing but some quick and dirty editing. If you find any glaring mistakes…c'est la vie.
As for chapter 10…be prepared for a long wait, I'm afraid. I'm not going to go so far as to say that this fic is going on temporary hiatus, but you can imagine how low on the priority list writing is going to be for me in the coming weeks/months. And y'all know I was already a slow writer to begin with. I just want to manage expectations here.
I love this story. I love writing this story. I will continue to write this story. But life is kicking my butt right now.
Anyway, enough of this depressing nonsense! Go read the chapter!
"You can drop the act now," she said once they were out of earshot of the Storm Hawks. She glanced at Mr. Moss to gauge his reaction and didn't like the cruel smile that greeted her.
"It's no act," he told her. "And you will address me as 'Mr. Moss', 'Warden', or 'Sir' when you talk to me."
She clenched her jaw and shifted her gaze to the other guards. Perhaps he wasn't comfortable speaking freely in their presence. One of them, at least, must be Atmosian. She wouldn't be surprised if the Atmosian guards served a dual purpose here, acting as the Sky Knight Council's eyes and ears to spy on both the Cyclonian guards and prisoners.
"Is there somewhere we can speak privately, Warden?"
"There is, but we ain't gonna. Now I figured this would've been drummed into your head by now, but apparently, I was mistaken. You're not the Master of Cyclonia anymore. Even if you were, Zartacla's not a part of the Empire anymore, so you're not the Master here either way."
"I am aware of that, but-"
"But nothing. Your former title and blue blood don't mean a damn thing 'round these parts now. If you think you're gonna get any special treatment here, or that I'll let you lord over me or any of my boys, you're gonna learn real quick that you're wrong. One way or another," he finished, his hand dropping to the coiled whip at his belt.
She sneered at the implied threat, looking him dead in the eye. "You wouldn't dare."
His answering grin showed too many teeth. "Try me."
She looked to Ace for backup, but he just gave her a cautionary shake of the head, urging her to back down. She spent the rest of the trek to processing silently fuming.
Once there, they were taken separate ways to begin the intake process. She was searched, given a quick evaluation by medical, and told that her hair was too long and that regulation demanded it not fall past the shoulders. She didn't disagree. It had been allowed to grow longer than she cared for over the past few months, so she was okay with it being cut back to its usual length. She was given a new uniform to change into, a dark red jumpsuit with hook-and-loop fastener strips sewn into the left breast to secure the two name tapes she was issued. The top tape listed her name as C.L. Cyclonis, while the bottom tape displayed her identification number as 19591122.
Afterward, she was issued two more sets of clothes, a bedroll, a bag of toiletries, and a handbook she was advised to read and memorize within the first week, as ignorance of the rules would not be accepted as an excuse for any infractions. She was ushered back into the hallway and reunited with Ace, who looked angrier than she had seen him in a while. She didn't blame him.
"What did they do to you?" she blurted out, gawking at him.
"They're bloody butchers," he said with a scowl. His hair had been trimmed into a crew cut, and while the top wasn't terribly short, it was still shorter than she could ever remember seeing it before. And they had shaved off his sideburns entirely. "I look like I'm sixteen again!"
"Well-" she began skeptically, and he turned his glare on her. She decided not to finish her original sentence. "It'll grow out," she said instead, hoping she sounded encouraging.
"That's enough chit-chatting," one of the guards said. Mr. Moss had left at the start of intake, taking his red-haired assistant with him, leaving the last two guards behind to finish up. "Time for your bunk assignments."
They were led deeper into the building and up to its third and highest level. The report detailing the Storm Hawks' mass prison break had mentioned that Aerrow had escaped by tunnelling his way out. It seemed Mr. Moss was trying to avoid her and Ace copying that idea. Smart. Unfortunate for them, but smart.
They were placed in adjacent cells, which surprised her. They couldn't see each other, but they could communicate easily enough through their shared wall. Mr. Moss must be confident about his new and improved security if he wasn't keeping them separated as the Stockade had done after their escape attempt.
Before they were locked in, the guards gave them a rundown of the information they needed for the rest of the day.
"Y'all missed supper. A sack lunch will be brought up to you later. Lights out is at 22:00. Reveille is at 6:00. You have ten minutes to get up, get dressed, make your rack to standard, and be standing in the middle of your cell, at attention, in time for count and room inspection. All your gear must be stored in your footlocker when not used. Anything left out during inspection will be considered trash and thrown away accordingly. Any questions?"
A plan began to form in her mind.
"Yes. I was under the impression that I was being sent to prison, not joining the army. Has there been a mixup?"
The guard who had been giving the instructions snorted in amusement, while the other gave both her and his companion a belligerent frown. She glanced at their badges and began a mental list of people who might prove themselves useful if she played her cards right. The first guard, Officer Pip, went onto the list. The more hostile guard, Officer Courser, was discarded as a potential ally.
Pip shrugged. "That's just how things are, now. The routine isn't really all that different from when Zartacla was…well, you know. But with Sections B and C being built as disciplinary barracks, it's easier to standardize processes across the entire prison in a way that makes the most sense. Especially since you're our only civilian inmate so far."
"Got any non-smartass questions?" Courser asked, nearly talking over his fellow guard.
"No," she said, and Dark Ace echoed her response.
He stepped forward and unlocked her handcuffs before gesturing to the cell behind her. "Then get in."
She hesitated only a moment before stepping into her cell, and the door was unceremoniously closed and locked behind her.
The following day, she was jolted awake by a bugle blaring over the loudspeaker. Yawning, she rubbed her eyes and dragged herself out of bed. The night had been far from restful, and she felt a stab of resentment at being forced to be up at dawn. For what? To get an early start on her busy day of doing nothing? She didn't even have access to her radio yet. It was being held back at processing so it could be inspected for contraband.
She turned her attention to the bed, straightening out the sheets and blankets and tucking the overhang neatly under the edges of the mattress despite her irritation. With that done, she brushed her teeth, washed her face, combed her hair, and then made sure everything was stored in her locker before standing in the center of the room.
The jangle of keys announced the presence of a guard outside, and after a moment, the door to her cell swung open. But then the guard who unlocked the door stepped aside, and in walked Mr. Moss. She sighed inwardly. Did he seriously not have anything better to do with his time?
Without so much as a greeting, he inspected the cell with a critical eye. When his gaze fell upon the bed, he put his hands on his hips and turned to look at her. "Didn't I already tell you that you aren't above the rules?"
"You did, Warden," she answered warily, unsure about what had upset him.
"And weren't you also told that your bed needs to be made to standard every morning before count?"
"The bed is made."
"Did I ask you to argue with me? No, I asked you a question!" he snapped.
"Yes, Warden," she said, tamping down her anger and irritation. He was clearly trying to pick a fight, and she knew it'd be stupid to take the bait.
He pointed to the bed. "Does this look like it was made right to you?"
She wanted to answer that yes, it looked acceptable to her, but it was clear that that wasn't the answer he was looking for. "No?"
"You don't sound real sure of yourself. What's wrong with it?"
She didn't have an answer for that, which he quickly jumped on. "Well?"
"I don't know," she admitted.
"Then it does look right to you?"
"Yes."
"So you lied to me just now?"
Again, she didn't answer, and he got very close and very loud very quickly. "Never lie to me again!" he yelled, emphasizing each syllable. "And if you don't know how to do something, ask! Now strip the mattress!"
Grinding her teeth to keep herself from saying something that would make him scream in her face some more, she did as he instructed. While she was doing that, he turned and shouted for the guard who had unlocked the door.
"Canard!"
The man appeared in the doorway immediately. "Sir!"
"Show this inmate how to properly make a rack," Mr. Moss ordered. Then, to her, "Watch closely; you're only going to be shown once."
Canard got straight to the task, talking through each stage of the process as he worked, emphasizing the importance of the 45-degree corner and smoothing out each and every wrinkle. He even folded the extra bit of pillowcase under the pillow when he laid it at the head of the bed.
"Damn fine job, Canard!" Mr. Moss praised him. "Now get out."
Canard snapped off a salute and went back out to the hall.
"Strip the mattress," Mr. Moss ordered once he was gone. "Then show me what you've learned."
He watched her as she made the bed the way Canard had demonstrated. When she was done, he nodded. "Better. Still terrible, but better. Canard!"
The guard popped back into view. "Sir?"
"The inmate has volunteered to skip breakfast so she can spend all morning practicing the new skill she's learned. Supervise her. And if she gives you any trouble, I wanna know about it."
"Aye, sir!"
"You can't be serious, Moss! I'm not doing that," she blurted out without thinking. Moving with a quickness that belied his more cumbersome build, he grabbed her by the front of her jumpsuit and slammed her against the wall, holding her there.
'You'll do what I tell you to do. Girl, you act like you ain't never been here before when I know that you've personally inspected operations near a half dozen times. What happens to unruly inmates?"
"They get sent to solitary," she answered. And if memory served, how long they stayed there was up to the warden's discretion. There were no regulations on that front like there were at the Stockade.
"But first?" he prompted.
She frowned.
"The Courtyard."
"That's right."
Surely Atmosia, in all its moralistic glory, would have insisted on dismantling that?
"I don't think the Council would approve of-"
"The Council? This is my prison! I run it how I see fit! Do you really think they care what happens here? To Cyclonians? I'd love to see you, of all people, run crying to the Council about it so I can watch 'em laugh in your face when you tell 'em you suddenly object to the way things are done around here."
He paused to give her a moment to think that over.
"Now then, let's try this again. When I say that you're going to spend the morning practicing making your bed, you say?"
"Yes, Warden," she answered bitterly.
"That's better," he said, letting her go. With a smirk, he added, "Have fun."
She glared at his back as he left until Canard snapped, "What are you waiting for? Strip the mattress and start again!"
She did not have fun.
She must have made and unmade the bed fifty times before she was allowed to quit. Canard was not shy about criticizing her work when he thought she was doing a shoddy job. On three occasions, he had deemed the finished product so unacceptable that he had overturned the entire mattress, and she had had to drag it back onto its frame before continuing.
She came dangerously close to losing her temper the first time he did that. If it wasn't for her constantly reminding herself of what would happen if she did and utilizing the breathing exercise Captain Swift had taught her, she would have.
Around noon, Canard left, and she was allowed lunch. She ate quickly, grabbed her handbook and sat on the floor with her back against the wall she shared with Ace.
'I hate this place,' she tapped out in dot-dash code against the wall to get his attention.
Ace laughed humorlessly.
"Unfortunately for you, you're both a threat and an opportunity to Moss," he told her, his words muffled but distinct enough to understand. "He's going to keep looking for ways to make an example out of you until he thinks he's broken you down enough that no one questions his loyalty or authority."
She sighed. What he said made sense. She hadn't done herself any favours yesterday, assuming Mr. Moss was still on her side. She had just been so hopeful when she saw him; it was like they were finally catching the break that had eluded them since the fall of Cyclonia. Now that she knew she was mistaken, she realized she had put a target on her back by acting arrogantly. She wished she could go back and do the entire evening over again.
"What do I do?"
"The only smart thing you can do. Keep your head down and weather the storm. The only words that should come from your mouth around him are, 'Yes, sir,' and, 'No, sir.' And whatever you do, do not lose your temper."
"I'm not calling him 'sir,'" she said with an involuntary sneer.
"Lark!" he said, and there was nothing muffled about the sharpness of his tone. "Is that a joke? Because if it is, it's a bad one. You asked me what you should do, and I'm telling you. You should not only call him 'sir' but also sound sufficiently respectful when you do. You know what kind of man he is. Swallow your pride and save yourself unnecessary pain."
She heaved another frustrated sigh. "Fine. You're right."
"Good. Are you reading the handbook? It'll help you have fewer repeats of this morning."
"I'm just about to," she said as she opened it to page one.
"Good to see you made it back home without incident," Starling said as she strode briskly onto the bridge of the Condor. "I have news."
Her young friends appeared to be in good spirits as they greeted her. All except Aerrow, who stood gazing out the windshield with his arms crossed, radiating discontent. She could imagine seeing a tiny cartoon stormcloud hanging above his head.
She sidled up to Piper, the most likely amongst them to know what was bothering him.
"What's wrong with Aerrow?"
"It's Sunday," Piper said as if those words alone explained everything. "What news?"
"It can wait. I'm going to need a little more clarification on the 'it's Sunday' thing."
"The Sky Knight Council won't meet with him on Sunday."
"Still lost, I'm afraid."
"He's upset that Mr. Moss is still the warden of Zartacla and wants to petition the Council to have him removed."
"It may be too late for that. For all we know, he could have already let Cyclonis and the Dark Ace go," Stork suggested. "Actually, no. I bet he's waiting until Ravess and Snipe get there. That way, they can escape en masse."
"Wait, is that your news, Starling? Did Ravess and Snipe take the deal?" Piper asked, ignoring Stork's pessimism.
"Yes, it is, and yes, they did. Their formal sentencing is scheduled for Wednesday," she told them. "But back up a moment. The warden of Zartacla now is the same man who was warden under Cyclonia?"
"Yep," Aerrow said as he walked over to join them. "You didn't know?"
She frowned, slightly hurt by how his question sounded more like an accusation. "Aerrow, if I had known, the least I would have done is warn you in advance, not let you be blindsided."
"Sorry," Aerrow sighed. "I just figured that you'd know since you're on the tribunal and working so closely with the Council."
"No, we know very little that you don't. We're not honorary Councilmembers. That said, I do not believe the Chairman would send Cyclonis to Zartacla if he thought it wasn't secure."
"Yeah, I spoke with one of the Councilmembers over the radio before we left," Aerrow said and proceeded to fill her in on the conversation they had.
Once he had finished his story, she took a moment to think it over. "I guess the question I have for you is this: Are you upset because you're truly concerned about security at Zartacla, or are you upset because you dislike Mr. Moss and dislike even more that he was able to weasel his way out of trouble and keep his position?"
"Both?" Aerrow answered wryly.
"Fair enough. Next question. Would you like me to accompany you when you speak to the Council tomorrow? It wouldn't hurt to have a neutral party there to help keep things in perspective for everyone."
"Actually…yeah. That'd be great," he smiled.
"If it makes you feel any better, I still don't believe the Chairman would have sent Cyclonis to Zartacla if he had any concerns about the security there," Starling told him as he trudged out of the Council Hall in defeat.
"No offence, but it doesn't."
"None taken."
"He also believed Carver when he said he had been mind-controlled by Cyclonis, and look how that turned out."
"Yes, the Chairman didn't look very pleased when you threw that in his face."
"I didn't throw it in his face! I was very polite when I mentioned it."
She laughed, and he ducked his head to hide his own smirk. Okay, maybe 'polite' was an overstatement. But he could have been a lot ruder about it, too, and he thought it counted as a point in his favour that he hadn't been.
"I'm just saying, if Carver could fool them, then Mr. Moss could be fooling them. He's better at pretending to be nice than Carver is."
"Or he could be telling the truth. Is it that hard to believe that he cares more about himself and that prison than about politics?"
"It's possible," he admitted grudgingly.
"Isn't it also possible that he feels betrayed and sold out by Cyclonis for signing the treaty that gave away Zartacla?"
"I…huh. I hadn't thought of that."
"You did say that he was short with her. You could be right that it was just an act, or it could have been an indication of how he really feels."
"I guess."
"I assume you'll want to be the one to take Ravess and Snipe to Zartacla when the time comes?"
"That's the plan. It'll give Piper the chance to check in on Cyclonis, too."
"I'll go with you if you don't mind. I'd like to meet this Mr. Moss for myself."
"You know I don't mind," he told her, and they walked the rest of the way to the Condor in companionable silence.
Canard must have given Mr. Moss pointers on how best to annoy her because the following morning at inspection, he accused her of not centering her pillow correctly at the head of the bed and immediately overturned the mattress. She had had to remake the bed with him watching, arms crossed, tsking about how he expected better after all the practice she had gotten yesterday.
"What, no arguments this time?" he asked her when she had finished.
"No, sir," she said in as neutral a tone as she could muster.
He cocked his head, rubbing his chin as he studied her as if trying to figure out what she was up to.
"Well, since it seems like you need more practice, I reckon I won't get any arguments from you if I said you'll be spending the rest of your morning making and remaking your bed. Again."
Her fingers twitched, itching to ball into fists, but she restrained herself. "No, sir."
He smirked.
"Y'know, you sound real polite, but your eyes are telling a different story. Hamish!"
"Yessir, Mr. Moss?" the young man piped up from where he stood just outside the door.
"Since the inmate still hasn't mastered the art and science of making her bed properly, you get to supervise her as she gets more practice."
"But it looks fine to me, Mr. Moss," Hamish said as he came closer, sounding confused.
"Boy, did I ask your opinion?" Mr. Moss asked, smacking Hamish upside the head. "I swear…." Turning back to her, he said, "Well, hop to it!"
She did, expecting him to leave right away as he had the day before. Instead, he stuck around for a while and continued making needling comments. And while she managed to keep her mouth shut, she couldn't stop herself from glaring at him when he accused her of moving too slowly and threatened to overturn the mattress again if she couldn't complete the task in under three minutes.
"You best wipe that look off your face before I do it for you," he warned her.
With effort, she schooled her features into some semblance of neutrality and got back to work.
"That looked like it was hard for you. Can't say I'm surprised, though, you being the spit 'n' image of your meemaw, after all. Now there's a woman who always looked like she could chew up steel beams and spit out nails."
"I thought the phrase was chewing nails and spitting tacks," Hamish said.
"You're not wrong, son, but if you had ever had the opportunity to meet her, you'd understand."
When he didn't get the rise out of her that he had hoped for, he harrumphed and announced, "Well, I'll leave you to it." She smirked when she heard him walk away. Really, what had he expected? For her to not know how severe a woman her grandmother had been? As if her grandmother hadn't taken pride in that fact? Why should she take offence when someone else pointed it out?
Unfortunately, her sense of victory quickly evaporated when she remembered that she still had hours of tedious make-work ahead of her.
And so it went for the rest of that first week. Mr. Moss would come in during count, find something about her or her cell to nitpick and assign some mind-numbingly dull task.
Like on the third day, when he decided he didn't like how she stood at attention. Apparently, the solution was to have her stand at attention for an hour. Which wouldn't be too bad, she had to admit, except that the guard assigned to watch her tacked on an extra fifteen minutes every time he felt that her posture slipped even a little. That one hour turned into the better part of the day, with only a few five-minute breaks throughout to serve as a brief reprieve.
Or on the fifth day, when he claimed that her cell looked a little too dingy for his liking and that the solution would be for her to scrub every inch of it with a toothbrush. To add insult to injury, he had demanded her effulgent thanks for not requiring her to use her own toothbrush for the task.
So it was a surprise when, on the seventh day, he didn't have a single critique. She must have looked as surprised as she felt because he laughed. "I have more pressing matters to attend to today," he told her. "This unit is about to get two new residents. And you have your first visit with the Storm Hawks scheduled for this afternoon."
Two new residents and the Storm Hawks? Oh no….
"Ravess and Snipe?"
"The very same."
Great. She could barely tolerate them when she only had to deal with them in small doses. Now they were going to be living together? Things just kept getting better and better…
"You seem to be in a good mood," Piper commented warily.
She and Aerrow sat across a table from Cyclonis, one of several that dotted the otherwise nondescript, windowless, downright dreary visiting room.
The whole time she had been inspecting the cuffs to rule out any tampering, Cyclonis hadn't said anything negative or sarcastic. Well, really, she hadn't said much of anything, but her entire demeanour was relaxed and lacking hostility.
She could tell it bothered Aerrow, and she wondered if that was why Cyclonis was acting the way she was. Because if it wasn't an act, and she really was this chipper (comparative to her usual self), then Aerrow may have been right to be concerned all this time.
"Why wouldn't I be? I'm getting to visit with my best friend forever, and I've heard that you've brought Ravess and Snipe along with you. The gang's all back together!"
Okay, so the lack of sarcasm couldn't last forever, but despite the ribbing, she remained pretty laid back. She hadn't seen her like this since their conversation on day one of the trial. And that's what clinched it for her. There was something just a little too manufactured about her attitude that made Piper sure that she was being manipulated.
She had fallen for it hook, line and sinker the first time, not suspecting a thing until Captain Swift had pointed out the discrepancies in her story. She wasn't going to be suckered again. Plus, if she could expose her as a big ole faker, it might make Aerrow feel better about the whole Mr. Moss situation.
"I'm just surprised, is all. You're not having a rough time adjusting?"
"I'm not going to sit here and lie to you," Cyclonis lied. "The first day was a little rough, but that's to be expected with any new situation."
"I can imagine. Mr. Moss wasn't very nice to you onboard the Condor. You seemed surprised."
Cyclonis shrugged. "He was having an off day. It happens to the best of us. He and I have always had a respectful working relationship. It wasn't difficult to sort things out." She glanced at Aerrow. "You've been awfully quiet this whole time."
"I'm just here to support Piper and make sure you've stayed put."
"We're glad to hear you worked things out with Mr. Moss. How'd you manage that?" Piper said, redirecting the conversation in the hope that if she gave Cyclonis enough rope, she'd go ahead and hang herself with it.
"He just needed to remember who's really in charge around here," Cyclonis said, grinning at Aerrow, who frowned back at her. It couldn't be more apparent at this point that she was antagonizing him.
"You mean you?"
"Naturally."
"I'm not sure he agrees," Piper said, looking over Cyclonis' shoulder and adopting the dismayed expression of someone who's been caught doing something they shouldn't.
A look of pure panic crossed the other girl's face as she spun around in her chair to look behind her, and Piper cracked up laughing. "Oh, I think you and Mr. Moss have come to an understanding, alright. Just not the one you hoped for."
The glare Cyclonis sent her way when she turned back around was a much more familiar expression. "Real funny. If you knew I was lying, would it have killed you to just play along?"
"Yes. And besides, I didn't know, I suspected."
"I was just trying to make the best of a bad situation," she sighed. If she was looking for sympathy, she was going to be disappointed.
"No, you were trying to have a laugh at our expense because you knew we had concerns about Mr. Moss. Well, turnabout's fair play."
Cyclonis scoffed.
"Now we can have an honest conversation."
"No, you've done what you came here to do," Cyclonis replied. "This visit's over."
"Great," Aerrow said, standing. "See you in two weeks, then."
"Can't wait."
Piper playfully nudged Aerrow with her shoulder as they walked back to the Condor. "Well? Feeling any better about things?"
"Kinda. I'm willing to accept that Mr. Moss isn't going to just let them escape. But Piper, he's not a good man. It still doesn't feel right that he's in charge here."
"Five minutes ago, you were worried about Cyclonis, and now you're worried for her?"
"I'm not sure I'd go that far," he said with a wry smile.
"You know what I think? I think you're bored now that you don't have any Cyclonians to fight. It's making you restless. When we get back to Atmosia, we should finally start cataloging all that stuff we salvaged from Cyclonia. That'll take your mind off things."
"Fun," he snarked.
"It will be if you find any cool new weapons in one of those crates."
"There's only one weapon I had any interest in salvaging, and it's long gone."
She frowned. "I know. I know it's not the same, but I wish I had thought to grab Cyclonis' staff. I'd have loved to get the chance to study it. But I was more interested in keeping it away from her at the time."
"You got something better, though."
"Access to her lab! I know! We really lucked out that it wasn't completely destroyed in the fall."
"Why do I get the feeling that once we get back to Atmosia, you're gonna disappear into your room and not be seen again for at least a week?" he half-joked.
"It's not my fault that there are so many crystals and books and notes to study," she shrugged, smiling.
"Well, at least one of us will be having a good time," he laughed.
They met up with Starling and Mr. Moss just outside the Condor. Aerrow's smile disappeared, and his posture stiffened, but he nodded politely and said, "Well, Warden, we're ready to be underway."
"Of course, son, of course. I hope Cyclonis didn't give you any trouble."
"Not at all."
"Good. Well, I won't keep you here any longer than necessary," he said jovially. "Y'all have a safe trip back to Atmosia."
"Thank you again for the tour, Warden," Starling chimed in.
"The pleasure was all mine," he answered with a smile.
Once they were back on board the Condor and the bay doors had closed behind them, Starling said, "I see what you mean. Behind the veneer of good-ole-boy charm, there's something off about that man."
"I told you! He's a bad guy!"
"I never doubted you on that front, Aerrow. But the way he spoke about the prison as he showed me around was like listening to Stork wax poetic about this ship. He may be a bad guy, but I don't doubt his dedication to doing his job."
"Funnily enough, I don't think we do anymore, either," she said.
"Really?" Starling asked in surprise, looking to Aerrow for confirmation.
"Yeah," he said reluctantly.
"Cyclonis tried taunting us, playing off of our fears that the prison wasn't secure. At least until I figured out what she was doing and pretended that Mr. Moss was behind her listening to everything she said," she explained.
"She looked scared spitless," Aerrow finished the story. "I get the feeling that he's gone out of his way this week to prove to everyone, Cyclonis included, that he's not one of her lackeys anymore."
"Well, it certainly sounds like he succeeded. Will you stop worrying now?"
"Not completely, but I'll do my best," he promised.
In the morning, Cyclonis was granted a reprieve from whatever punishing task Mr. Moss had dreamt up for her for the day, and it was all thanks to Snipe's slovenly tendencies.
"Why isn't your rack made?" she heard him yell, for once not at her.
"Why should it be?" Snipe yelled back, not out of anger but because he only had one volume setting.
"Because those are the rules!"
"Well, it's a stupid rule! Are we gonna be locked in here all day?"
"Yes, this unit is on lockdown until y'all have settled in here, learned to follow the rules, and earned yourselves the privilege of going to the chow hall and out to the yard."
"Then what's the point? I'm just gonna go back to sleep and mess it up again after breakfast."
She had to give him credit; that was the most coherent argument she'd ever heard him make.
"There won't be breakfast if you don't make your rack!"
"WHAT?! Snipe needs five high-protein meals a day!"
The resultant laughter from Mr. Moss started as a chuckle but quickly grew into full-blown hilarity. "Well, if Snipe's lucky, he'll get three meals a day. But only if he does exactly what I tell him to do," he said after he got his laughter under control.
"Fine!"
A few minutes passed, then Mr. Moss spoke again. "Well, colour me surprised; I didn't think you actually knew how to do that. Was it really so hard?"
Snipe's response was little more than a grunt.
"Good," Mr. Moss said amicably, taking the grunt as a no. "Then you won't have any trouble doing it fifty more times!" he yelled. "When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it the first time! You think I'm just gonna let you sleep the day away? After you stood here and argued with me? Boy, you're out your damn mind! What you're gonna do, today and for as many days as it takes until the lesson sticks, is learn you some discipline!"
The rest of the day was filled with Snipe complaining. He spent the morning complaining about the task he had been assigned. He spent the afternoon complaining that the handbook had too many words and not enough pictures. And he spent the evening complaining about the state of dinner.
"I'm still hungry!"
"Will you quit your whining!" Ace finally snapped at him. "We're all still hungry!"
"Yeah, well, I'm hungriest!"
"The Dark Ace deigns to speak to us at last," Ravess chimed in. "We've been here a full day, and we don't get so much as a simple hello? Has captivity destroyed what manners you had?"
"Good evening, Ravess. How are you? Well, I hope?" he responded with a hint of sarcasm.
She huffed a short laugh. "I've been better if I'm being honest. What of the brat? Is she here, too, or do they have her holed up somewhere else? Preferably in an actual hole."
"I'm here, too," she said, choosing not to engage with the insult. It hardly surprised her that Ravess had dropped any pretense of respect for her.
"How unfortunate for the rest of us."
"Watch your tongue, Ravess!"
"Still acting as her lapdog, Ace?"
"I'm no one's lapdog; there's just no need for pettiness."
"It's hardly pettiness when her incompetence is why we're all here. I tried to warn you all that she didn't know what she was doing. I knew she'd lead Cyclonia to ruin. But did anyone listen?"
Okay. That hurt. It was getting harder to be the bigger person here.
"I think you have your own incompetence to thank for your being here," she said. "You want to talk about leading Cyclonia to ruin? You jeopardized the entire future of the Empire when you chose to break the treaty!"
"What future? That treaty is a slap in the face to the Empire, and you're weak for signing it!"
"I did what I thought was best."
"That much is clear," Ravess said scathingly.
She scoffed and went to lie on her bed, crossing her arms. She didn't need to justify her actions to Ravess, of all people.
"That's it?" Ravess asked after a moment's silence. "You're not even going to try to defend yourself further? Maybe you need Ace to fight your battles for you, after all."
"Lay off, Ravess," Ace warned her in his most no-nonsense tone. It did the trick of shutting her up, and blissful silence reigned for several long minutes.
"I'm so hungry," Snipe complained, breaking the brief peace.
"Shut up, Snipe!" Ravess and Ace yelled in unison.
After that, no one spoke for the rest of the night.
"Hey Piper, finally taking a break from studying Dr. Creepy's Laboratory of Terror, huh?" Finn asked as she walked into the kitchen, a notebook tucked under her arm.
"We got chips," Aerrow said, holding out the bag of chips he was holding to her invitingly.
"And dip," Finn pointed out.
"How long have you been thinking that one up, Finn?" she asked with a smirk, taking one of the offered chips.
"I thought it up this afternoon."
"When he pried open a crate he hoped was full of crossbow bolts."
"But it was really just full of socks."
"And he started ranting about how you were probably having more fun than us, playing with crystals and looking at schematics of doomsday weapons."
"How…wouldn't a crate full of socks weight less than a crate full of crossbow bolts? Why would you think it was full of crossbow bolts?"
"He hopes every crate he opens is full of crossbow bolts."
"And also it was a lot of socks, okay? It was an easier mistake to make than you think! Anyway, everyone's getting a week's worth of new socks."
"With plenty left over to donate to the closest refugee camp."
"That's great; they can use all the help we can give them. Speaking of!"
She held up the notebook, excited. "There's so much cool stuff in these notebooks!"
"What does that have to do with the camps? You wanna fight the refugees?" Finn asked, confused.
"What? No! There's more than just schematics of doomsday weapons here. She wasn't thinking of conquest and warfare all the time. There're all sorts of ideas for crystals and machines that, if they work, could actually help people! Some of them are just vague ideas, but some of them are complete or nearly complete plans. They would just need to be built and tested."
"Like what?"
She flipped through the notebook she held until she came to one of the projects she found the most compelling, albeit one still in its infancy. She turned it around to show them.
They both peered at the sketch for a moment, but Finn was the first to speak. "A…generator? Piper, have you slept at all since we got back? Those already exist."
"I know they already exist," she said, exasperated. "But the ones that exist now are powered by energy crystals. If you'd pay attention to what's right in front of you, you'd see that this one is powered by?"
"The Wastelands?" Aerrow answered hesitantly.
"So?"
"So! Energy crystals need to be mined, they need to be refined, they get used up and have to be disposed of, and eventually we're going to run out of them completely. But do you know what we're never going to run out of? Lava. And I think Cyclonis is right that it can be used the same way we use energy crystals now!"
"That's actually really cool!" Aerrow said.
"I know! It's kind of a pipe dream right now, but there's a bunch of other stuff here that's a lot closer to being made reality. Stuff that, as I said, could do a lot of good."
"That's awesome," Aerrow smiled. "I'm glad we were able to recover this stuff."
"Me, too. But there's one thing we recovered that's bothering me," she confessed, reaching into one of her pockets and pulling out a turquoise crystal that fit snugly in the palm of her hand.
"What is that?" Finn asked.
"I don't know. Well, I do know. It's a memory crystal. But I don't know what's on it. And that's what's bothering me!"
"Why?"
She reached into that same pocket and pulled out a smaller, green crystal.
"Is that Gundstaff's Nil crystal?" Aerrow asked.
"Yep."
"I don't get it," Finn admitted.
"This crystal," she said, holding up the memory crystal. "Was repaired using this Nil crystal. I can tell because the Nil crystal leaves behind a faint energy signature on anything it fixes. This means that this is it! Aerrow, this is what she went through the trouble of attacking the Condor over when you were hurt! Whatever is stored on this crystal must be really important. And I wanna know what it is!"
"Well, can't you just, I dunno…" Finn, at a loss for words, wiggled his fingers. "Abracadabra it or whatever?"
"I tried that. It didn't work."
"Oh. Well, that sucks."
"It does suck. With all the neat stuff she wrote about openly in these notebooks, I can hardly imagine what she considered classified enough to keep locked up tight in this crystal."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Aerrow said encouragingly. "You always do!"
"Thanks, I intend to."
