Voltron: Defender of the Universe – Youth Will Be Served
[General Disclaimer: As always, the characters and ephemera of Voltron: Defender of the Universe, and of the entire Voltron franchise belong to the rightful owner(s). The use of those characters and context in the following work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only.]
[AN: The chapter text itself is less than 2,600 words – still an accomplishment for me. This may seem like a sappy or even cutesy chapter, but it finishes with a pivot because the story revealed its potential to be about more than just coming-of-age character development and bonding. Hopefully, moving forward, those themes provide some of the strength that will get Chip, Hawkins, and Newley through a much more intense experience than stuffy social negotiations. That – dare I say it – story arc begins in the next chapter. Until then, enjoy this offering. – BMillsWrites]
Chapter 5: Pride and Pressure
Normally, 12 year-old Ensign Chip Stoker of the Galaxy Alliance vessel Explorer did not procrastinate, either on or off duty. However, he would not have minded if this particular day's visit to the ship's barber station could have lasted a lot longer than it did. This was because his friend and Voltron Force Air Team colleague, Ginger, in overseeing the boy's preparation for a surprising diplomatic evening assignment, had obligated him to a spa session to immediately follow – insisting that he needed it to relax for the right frame of mind about the evening ahead.
There was only a temporary reprieve as they stopped by Chip's quarters to allow the boy to get his swimsuit. Ginger was cooperative enough to allow him to bring along the files that Commander Hawkins wanted him to review before the event. However, her cooperation did not extend to leaving them in Chip's custody. She took charge of them instead, brightly assuring that she would pace his absorption of the material during what she re-branded as his "revitalization". Their obvious leverage as blackmail to ensure the boy's ongoing compliance went unspoken as they headed for the onboard Fitness Center.
The only other female members of the Vehicle Voltron Force, Cinda of the Land Team and the Sea Team's Lisa, were on hand to help. Chip openly groaned, increasingly sure that this experience would soon be known in full by all three teams – not to mention the entire ship. All three young women smilingly assured him that he was their "client" and they would keep the details of his "appointment" to themselves. As Ginger walked him over to a changing room, she confided that neither Lisa nor Cinda knew about his actual assignment. She had only told them that Chip was interested in becoming a future diplomat, and this treatment was her idea to get across the importance of a relaxed, well-groomed appearance in first impressions. The boy nodded, sighed and locked the changing room's door behind him. Ginger did not need to tell him that the lock would not survive if he was not changed and out in a timely manner.
A get-this-part-over-with resignation was enough motivation for Chip to promptly emerge practically swallowed in a fluffy white robe worn over his plain black trunks. He presented himself to Ginger and the others, who immediately critiqued his posture before having him sit on a stretching table cushioned with an exercise mat. He was reminded not to slouch. Their "assessment" of the boy's limbs resulted in a "Tsk, tsk." estimation of his rudimentary nail grooming that "probably wasn't half bad for a boy on his own." Now, like it or not, he had the advantage of their attention. At first, Chip thought that he'd be overwhelmed by the sense of awkwardness in having to watch them "work" on him. However, Ginger distracted him from that in two ways. First, she started playing an audio file of music from some kind of reed instrument at a barely audible volume. Second and most importantly, she began to present content of the protocol materials that the boy was supposed to study. They reviewed in a methodical structure, but at an intentionally relaxed pace. Ginger thought of this approach as layering the experience, but for Chip it became a way to compartmentalize. The physical interaction by the female Voltron contingent was conceptually wedged between his awareness of the serene music and his concentration on putting the diplomatic information into practice. He closed his eyes, as he did sometimes when he concentrated intensely, but now he also laid back comfortably. Ginger smiled and adjusted to reading material to Chip while getting his responses to scenarios from it. She dismissed any idea that he could be tempted into sleeping for beneficial rest. She could tell he was visualizing. Indeed, Chip was seeing himself carrying out all the things he was processing for attending the assigned event. The relaxed way he was taking in the information only added to the youngster's genius-level retention.
His sense of satisfaction lasted only as long as Ginger had material to cover for him. Chip was so into the mental rhythm he'd fostered from the ambiance that he was completely startled when the music stopped playing. Lisa, Cinda, and Ginger were all smiling at him and prompting him to acknowledge the improvement in both his grooming and his mood. He blushed, then sheepishly granted that, "It wasn't so bad, and it didn't take too long." Nobody stopped him from getting off the table, but all three young women blocked his path to the changing room. Ginger told him he'd reached the second and final phase of his relaxation therapy – a thirty standard minute stint in a sauna environment. They had already had the automated system begin the process of steaming up the men's shower room – which Chip would have all to himself. He was insistently required to hand over both his glasses and his white robe. Before he was allowed to enter the shower area alone, they wanted him to role play greeting them as if he were making his way among guests at an event. At the end of the sauna time they'd also want him to politely take leave of the guests as well. Chip objected about having to do either while only wearing a swimsuit, but Ginger suggested that there was probably no better practice for developing an inner sense of poise that didn't rely on external appearance. Cinda and Lisa wholeheartedly agreed, so his objection was overruled.
If the purpose of the sauna visit was immersion in an environment that cleared one's mind, Chip quickly realized it was effective. The steamy heat was intense. It certainly relaxed the boy's muscles, but enduring all the way through the imposed standard half hour monopolized his thinking. He stubbornly intended to show Ginger, Cinda and Lisa, that he could handle anything they made him deal with. No problem! No big deal! Only … a headache began to throb at his temples, He'd found a corner to sit down in when his empty stomach growled, then wondered if he'd have the strength necessary to get back up again. An analytical inference that, for some reason the heat and the pressure were becoming physically problematic, was put off by a repeated choice to stay just a little longer. Each time he made that choice, Chip knew he had to be getting close to the time set for him. Finally the synthesized voice for the automated system announced that all shower room occupants should exit before the decontamination and cooling procedures initiated. Chip got up and sluggishly moved toward the door. It felt like his arms and legs had absorbed a lot of the steam's water weight. Strangely for such a moist atmosphere, his mouth and throat were really dry. He made himself focus on completing the role play of making a gracious exit from a formal gathering. The boy hoped some fresh air would help him do that without telegraphing any problem. In a detached way, Chip knew there was a connection between the overly hot sauna and exposure to much cooler air that he should be making – but wasn't.
The answer literally hit him as he stepped across the opening separating the men's shower area into the Fitness Center's common room, simultaneously passing through a vapor barrier between two relatively extreme temperature differences. The disorientation and lightheaded feeling took a moment to overwhelm him. In that moment, it wasn't Ginger, Lisa or Cinda rushing toward him. It was Commander Hawkins instead. The Commander was reaching out to him, but not in a way that looked like wanting to shake hands. Just before the imposing man reached him, Chip made the connection he'd overlooked, "Oh right …," he rasped, "… it's blood pressure." The youngster collapsed in an unconscious heap.
Chip came to even as strong arms lifted and carried him over to the stretching table, still cushioned with an exercise mat.. A rush of activity brought Chip back up to speed with the world around him. A second mat, kept rolled up, was placed to elevate the boy's feet above the level of his head. A delicate pair of hands quickly attached an adhesive health sensor to his chest, then felt for injuries from his fall. Large towels dampened with cold water were draped over his torso and legs. Voices in crisis mode gave directions, responses, and relayed information. When the embarrassed youngster tried to turn his head to simultaneously apologize and express thanks, large hands carefully braced against the turn, and a deep voice instructed, "Keep your head still, Chip, lie completely still."
"Commander, what are you doing here?" The youngster's voice was brittle.
"Ginger, please get him some cold water to drink." Hawkins requested first. He then answered Chip, "I heard you and Ginger likely skipped lunch. I was going to confirm that, and have you join me for mine. It took some time to track you down here, but I'm glad I did. Be honest with me Ensign, did you skip your breakfast too?"
The round face quivered when the boy admitted, "Yes, sir." The stare substituting for an eye roll made Chip want to explain, "I was real nervous about getting called in to meet with you this morning, which I thought was about … something else – so I decided to eat later. I meant to, honest, but I've been everywhere except the dining area since then."
Ginger scolded and regretted all at once. "Oh Chip, you should have told me that you hadn't eaten – and I should have guessed to ask. I never would have suggested getting a heavy snack after this spa time rather than lunch." Chip risked a prone shrug and reminded her that she hadn't forced him to do anything he wasn't eventually willing to do – brow-beat, cajoled, and blackmailed maybe – but not forced. Ginger laughed at his I'm-OK-don't-worry teasing, but not without "accidentally" squirting cold water in his face from the large bottle she held down to him. She silenced Chip with the bottle's over-sized flexible straw and the demand to drink it all down slowly.
By now, Cinda and Lisa knew that there was a lot more going on than just using practice role play as a means of playfully refining their youngest Voltron teammate. Fortunately, both were discretely capable of understanding that if they hadn't been informed about the full situation, it was for good and official reasons. Lisa reported good news from sensor data. Chip's skin temperature, oxygen, and blood pressure were returning to the normal range. Cinda asked the Commander about requesting a hover-gurney to transport Chip to the Medical unit. As they expected, Chip groaned at the idea, but it was a mandatory protocol for any crew member that lost consciousness. However, they were both surprised when Hawkins said not to – taking full responsibility for keeping this incident unreported. The Commander explained that he couldn't go into all the details but that confidentially, Chip was a necessary part of a select duty this evening, so Hawkins would impose an alternative to any overnight observation. Since the spa time was obviously over, Lisa and Cinda returned to their duties. They went with the thanks of their Voltron teammates and the Commander's own appreciation for their cooperation.
Commander Hawkins then spelled out exactly what he wanted done. It was 13:50 hours now. Chip was to continue lying still right where he was for the next ten standard minutes. After that, he could carefully change back into his regular Air Team uniform, while remaining in constant conversation through any closed door as a trade-off for not being visually supervised. Then Ginger could walk Chip back to his quarters as if he'd slightly overdid a fitness workout. Food would be sent to them there. Once Chip had eaten, he was to rest in his own bed from at least 15:00 to 16:30. With a not-too-hot shower and his dress uniform, he'd be ready for departure at 18:00 hrs. Both Chip and Ginger nodded in obedient agreement.
"I'll see you both later," Hawkins said, continuing after a brief sigh, "Please try not to overdo anything else in prep today – unconsciousness is too extreme as relaxation." His subordinates smiled and nodded again."
"Commander..." Chip called out as the man started to step away.
"Need something, Chip?" Hawkins asked in reply returning to the boy's side
The boy's voice wrenched with emotion, "Just to say thank you. Thanks for not giving up on taking me along tonight after this happened. I really will make the Explorer proud. I'll make you proud, sir – I promise."
Commander Hawkins patted the young Ensign's nearest shoulder through the moist towel covering it. "You already do, Chip, you already do." Ginger teasingly suggested that the radiant blush on the boy's face as the man left was about overheating again.
After the mandated immobile convalescence, the chance to get dressed again awkwardly slowed with are-you-OK-yes-I'm-OK exchanges. Ginger also took the opportunity to apologetically explain that both the sauna temperature and the duration had been over-estimated, given the boy's smaller size. Commander Hawkins brought up these concerns once he located them in the Fitness Center – just before Chip emerged in obvious physical distress. The youngster pointed to his own foolish stubbornness in skipping meals and not leaving a harmful environment sooner. Chip was actually as glad to have Ginger help him back to his quarters as she was to get him there. They both knew from training that passing out could lead to boomeranging fatigue, and he needed the insisted rest period that loomed beyond food. Ginger just hoped she could keep him awake long enough to eat something.
She didn't need to worry. The boy was famished, and he used the remaining energy he had to eat everything on the plate sent for him from Dining. Ginger, admitting to herself that she was hungry too, joined the repast with a plate of her own. To their credit, they still used the meal as a way of practicing table manners and polite eating. They ate in refined silence until Ginger heard the clink of Chip's fork on his plate. No sooner had he swallowed the last bite of food when he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. His older teammate smirked. She set her own food aside, then gently draping his nearest arm around her shoulder and putting her arm around his waist, Ginger walked Chip over to his bed. She easily maneuvered him into a prone position atop the bed. With the exception of removing his glasses to his nightstand, Ginger let him sleep as is. The clock on his wall read 14:45. It hardly surprise her that Chip had managed to work ahead of an expected schedule. She sat down to quietly finish her own lunch and, of course, keep an eye on him. Neither she nor the sleeping boy could know that his schedule was about to accelerate again.