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Linhardt had never wanted to be a captain. In fact, it was the last thing he ever wanted, even less than stubbing his toe on a slow-to-open door, or waking up perilously close to the ceiling duct because he’d accidentally turned his gravity off at night. It was worse than a thousand micro-Earth-spiders, and more terrible than the ship’s horrendous freeze-dried flan. Linhardt, with all of his heart and soul, never wanted to be a captain.
“Captain von Hevring,” Ashe said, looking over his shoulder, “awaiting your orders.”
Linhardt shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “Just pick a coordinate and go somewhere.”
Ashe’s face fell. Linhardt hated that look. He loathed that look. It was the look of someone who expected something of him, someone who -- somehow -- still hadn’t realized that expecting things out of him was a bad move. “Captain…”
“Ooh!” Caspar leapt over to Ashe’s side, his eyes peering at the screen. “I have an idea!”
Caspar should have been the captain, Linhardt thought. For starters, he wanted the job; at least, he would have wanted the job had he ever thought it was something he could want. Secondly, Caspar was a pro at… whatever it was that captains were supposed to do. Making decisions. Talking to people. Negotiating. Being nice. Caspar would have made a damn fine captain, and it was truly outrageous that he had to be a mere officer, simply because he had the bad fortune of being born second in his family.
Ashe looked at Caspar, the expression on his face slightly wary, before turning back to Linhardt. “Captain, your orders?”
Linhardt leaned back in his seat and grinned. “I don’t know. Ask Officer von Bergliez.”
Caspar flashed him a grin. The old Earth saying said something like a picture says a thousand words, but Linhardt wasn’t exactly sure what they meant by a picture . (Professor Hanneman once told him that it was like a hologram, but still, and flat, and that made Linhardt’s head hurt so much to imagine that he immediately gave up the task.) But Caspar’s grin, accompanied by no further sound, said a thousand -- no, a million words.
Sure, most of those words were “heck yeah, Linhardt!” repeated over and over ad infinitum, but they counted all the same.
Sitting at the terminal, Ashe sighed. “Okay,” he said, the resignation obvious in his voice, “what’s your idea, Officer von Bergliez?”
Caspar turned his attention back to Ashe’s screen and tapped a small dot in the corner with his index finger. “There’s a planet over here that my brother told me about,” he said. He didn’t flinch when mentioning his brother, which was weird; Linhardt would have to ask him about it later. Caspar continued. “He said he heard they were colonized by some old Leicasters a few hundred Earth-years ago, and that they had some old texts in their possession.”
Now this piqued Linhardt’s interest. “Old texts?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat. “Like… ones with pictures?”
Caspar blinked. Again, his one gesture said a thousand words, if by a thousand words, one meant a long, drawn out uhhh. “Um,” he said, scratching the back of his head with his hand, “I don’t know? Probably?” He paused. “What’s a picture?”
“I have no idea,” Linhardt said, and then reached over to pat the seat beside his. “Come, sit down. Ashe, set coordinates to wherever Caspar said.”
“Captain,” Caspar said, staring at his hand, “that’s Commander von Aegir’s chair.”
Linhardt shrugged. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a grin, and, to his glee, he saw said grin mirrored on Caspar’s face. “He’s not here, is he?” he said, patting the chair again. “Anyway, I’m the captain. Take a seat.”
“Yes sir,” Caspar said, sitting down in the seat next to Linhardt’s. If there had been anyone else on the bridge beside them and Ashe, someone might have noticed how Caspar’s hand rested on top of his captain’s. Someone especially shrewd -- like, say, Officer Gautier -- may have even caught the glance shared between them. But Navigation Officer Ubert was too preoccupied with determining the actual coordinates for the random spot on the map Caspar had just tapped, and, anyway, he wasn’t the sort to care about those sorts of things anyway. So even had he noticed, he wouldn’t have said a word.
But either way it did not matter, because they were discrete.
On a great big starship, like the Black Eagle, it would have taken one stimulated Earth cycle to arrive at the mysterious planet of pictures. But the Adrestian Cethleann was not that sort of ship. It was a slow, lumbering sort of thing, the kind of ship Commander von Aegir would call ‘retro’ while the Black Eagle’s Commander von Vestra would mutter ‘archaic.’ Linhardt thought that von Vestra was right. The ship was absolutely archaic, full of old technology, buggy and strange, and that was what he liked about it. His father had demanded he renovate the ship, or purchase a new one and pass down the name, but Linhardt had refused. If he had to be a captain, he was going to be a captain on the worst, most inefficient, most useless ship in the Empire.
Hence, the journey was set to take at least three cycles.
That was fine by Linhardt. The journey could even take a few more cycles if it wanted to, he thought, curled up on his bed next to Officer von Bergliez, his fingers absentmindedly combing through his mess of light blue chest hair. The journey could take forever and that would be fine.
Caspar chuckled, leaning down and planting a soft kiss onto the top of Linhardt’s head. “Thanks,” he said, “for going along with my stupid plan.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” Linhardt said instinctively, pressing his cheek against Caspar’s chest. Warm. Big. Nice. “It was better than my idea, at least.”
Caspar shifted against him, wrapping a bare arm around Linhardt’s waist. “What was your idea?”
“Do nothing, forever,” Linhardt said, peeking up at him with a smile. It was risky, what they were doing -- Linhardt was a captain, as he was so often reminded, and Caspar was beneath him in all but the most interesting of ways. It wasn’t explicitly unallowed, by which Linhardt meant there was not any specific code in the Adrestian Code of Ethics about such relationships, but it was still frowned upon, and while Linhardt did not care if his career got ruined, Caspar still had some sort of aspirations left. Or so Linhardt assumed. Why wouldn’t he? That was the sort of person Caspar was.
But oh, he didn’t like to think about that. He decided not to, resting his head back down to place his ear over Caspar’s heart. The sound was steady and soothing. He was grateful for it. “Is it true?” he asked, reaching for Caspar’s hand. “What your brother said?”
Caspar’s hand found his, and he laced their fingers together, his hand on the bottom, like Linhardt liked. “I have no idea,” he said. “It could be a trap. But I thought it would be fun either way.”
“Only you would find potentially running into a trap fun,” Linhardt groaned. His fingers danced between Caspar’s. “You don’t seem so irked with your brother right now. Have you two made up?”
Caspar chuckled. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “We spoke last time we were at Embarr.” Embarr was the home base of the Empire, the small, Earth-like planet that the ancient Adrestians had colonized once Earth had all gone to the flames. “He asked where we were, I gave him the coordinates, he told me about the planet. Said he’d heard about it from someone else. Thought you might like it.” He laughed. “I think he’s in over his head, honestly.”
“He is,” Linhardt said, without needing any additional proof. “He’s a terrible captain, even worse than me. I still say you should have…”
“Shh.” Caspar squeezed his hand, shifting just enough to leave another kiss on Linhardt’s crown. “I’m happy right where I am.”
“You’re so sappy,” Linhardt moaned.
Caspar chuckled. “You like it.”
“Shut up.”
“Nah.”
“Hey,” Linhardt said, peeking back up at him, “you gotta listen to me. I’m your captain, after all.”
Caspar snorted. “You know that doesn’t apply in bed, Linhardt.” He arched one eyebrow -- well, arched was a bit of a strong word, given his preference for leaving his brows as straight as possible. He lifted one eyebrow. “Unless you wanna top ton…”
“Never mind,” Linhardt said quickly, looking back down and burying a kiss in the mess of Caspar’s chest hair. “I’ll be your ensign in bed.”
Caspar laughed. “Whatever you say, Lin,” he said. “I prefer first mate, though.” He chuckled, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Cethleann, lights out, please.”
“You know you don’t have to say please to the computer, Caspar.”
The lights turned off. “THANK YOU, OFFICER VON BERGLIEZ.”
Even in the dark of the room, Linhardt could catch the flash of Caspar’s teeth curling into a grin. “See?” he said. “It doesn’t hurt to be nice.”
Linhardt frowned. “You could be nice to me instead.”
“I’m always nice to you,” Caspar said, and it was true; still, Linhardt liked to sulk, and Caspar liked to oblige, and the night portion of the first Earth cycle passed peacefully between them.
Commander von Aegir was feeling particularly animated the next (stimulated) day.
“The Leicestrians!” he shouted, practically collapsed in his chair, as if the emotion was so strong that he couldn’t bear to stand upright any longer. “So many of my beloved friends from Academy were from Leicester!”
“Name three of them,” Linhardt said. He was bored; the ship was moving in its direction, Caspar was off doing his (stimulated) combat training, and his options for company were either von Aegir or no one, as Officers Gauiter and Arnault were currently still on Embarr. Picking on Ferdinand von Aegir made a passable use of time, though; he was so, so easy to tease, and yet his feelings never seemed to get genuinely wounded. He liked that about him. He would never tell him that.
“Lorenz Hellman Gloucester,” Ferdinand said immediately, his chest puffed with pride.
“Those are indeed three names,” Linhardt said, a smile sneaking to his face, “but still one person. Name two of your other friends from the Alliance.”
Ferdinand paused. He looked deep in thought; Linhardt imagined a tiny hamster running on a wheel, like he’d seen in the old children’s holograms from his youth. He wondered, yet again, if hamsters were ever real. He could almost hear the sound of Ferdinand’s brain thinking, because everything about Ferdinand was loud.
“I once shared a meal with von Reigan,” he said, a long moment later.
“That doesn’t count,” Linhardt said, laughing. “It’s fine, Ferdinand. Your one beats my flat zero.”
“Nonsense,” Ferdinand said, shifting his body to sit more properly in his chair. (Caspar, Linhardt thought, had fit it better.) “What about Commander Edmund of the Golden Stag? I know you two were familiar with each other back in Academy.”
Linhardt froze for a moment. He was slightly impressed; he’d tried to keep his interactions with Marianne as secretive as possible, mostly for her sake. That was back when he’d still held out hope that he’d be allowed to be a simple medical officer. “We… were acquainted, yes,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “But I wouldn’t go as far as to say we were friends …”
“I believe you have more friends than you are aware of, Captain,” Ferdinand said.
“Impudence,” Linhardt said, rolling his eyes. “I could have you kicked off the ship for that.”
“For what?” Ferdinand blinked his large, comically golden eyes at him. “For claiming that people care about you?”
“Yes,” Linhardt said, letting out an indignant huff as he fell bonelessly into his chair. “It’s uncalled for.”
Ferdinand froze. “You… jest, do you not?”
Oh, this was more familiar. Linhardt rolled his head over to the side to look at him, a smile crossing his lips. “I jest, yes I do,” he said, chuckling. “Don’t worry, Ferdinand. Your dreams of taking over the Lady Aegir will not end with me.”
Ferdinand’s body relaxed immediately. “Good,” he said. “Say, on that topic, I have been considering it a great deal as of late…”
“As you have since the day you were born,” Linhardt said, nodding.
“Yes,” Ferdinand agreed. “And I am thinking, perhaps Officer von Bergliez would make an acceptable Commander when I finally do claim my father’s seat.”
Linhardt froze. “W… what do you mean?”
Ferdinand, thankfully, did not seem to notice his reaction. “Well,” he began, “while he is quite loud and distracting, he does truly possess some great ideas. For example, the way he handled the emergency on that Faerghus colony was extremely impressive. It would have never occurred to me to use those gourds in such a manner!”
“Um,” Linhardt said.
“Indeed,” Ferdinand said. He shook his head. “It is quite a shame that his station is so limited by the circumstances of his birth. While I could never picture him taking command of the Bergliez Brawler, I do think he would have excelled in perhaps a more minor leadership role…”
Linhardt shook his head. “He would have been a great captain,” he said. “And maybe he will, one day yet.”
Ferdinand froze. He looked over at Linhardt again, as if noticing him for the first time in minutes, and blinked -- once, twice, three times -- slowly. “Captain,” he said, quietly, “you know the rules…”
“The rules are wrong,” Linhardt said. He stood up and shook his head; it was all full of noise and trash and Ferdinand’s voice. Those were all, he decided, the same thing. “I’m going to retire to my chamber for a while. You have control of the bridge.”
“Captain,” Ferdinand said. “L… Linhardt. I did not upset you, did I?”
Linhardt groaned. “No,” he said, lying through his teeth. “I’m simply feeling under the weather today. Allow me to retire in peace, commander.”
Ferdinand’s eyes didn’t leave his face, but he, thankfully, nodded. “Of course, captain. Rest well.”
The instant Linhardt returned to his chamber, he collapsed on his bed, his face planting firmly into the pillow.
His thoughts were all over the place. Would Caspar want to be Ferdinand’s commander? It wasn’t captain, but it was one step below, and it was a few steps above where he currently was, and it was more than Linhardt could offer him for the foreseeable future. It would be a fantastic move for his career, and it would absolutely be closer to what he deserved than what he currently had.
But…
I don’t want him to go, Linhardt thought, wrapping his arms around the pillow and shoving his face deep within it. It still smelled like Caspar, and that was both comforting and not at the moment. He fought the simultaneous urge to both smile and frown, instead grimacing deeply into the pillow’s bulk.
They’d made a promise to stay together, hadn’t they? Linhardt moaned, closing his eyes. Of course they did. They’d made that promise as kids in the colony, skipping Earth rocks over the pools of waste water near the factories. They’d made the promise again in junior academy, when they began to understand the way society was structured, and how their places in it would not naturally line up. And they had made the same promise, yet again, in military academy, the same night that Linhardt found himself suddenly gripping to the sides of Caspar’s face, his mouth pressed against his so urgently that his teeth ached from the impact.
They’d made those promises, and Linhardt knew that Caspar would keep his end of the promise no matter what. But…
It’s not fair for you to keep him here, Linhardt thought, referring to himself in the second person, the way he always did when he needed some space from his awful, ugly thoughts. It’s selfish.
I love him, Linhardt thought back.
Your love is selfish , his mind immediately fired back.
That was enough. He couldn’t deal with anything more. “Cethleann,” he said, “release the lavender.”
“COMMENCING LAVENDER,” Cethleann said, and nearly immediately the air became filled with a scent that existed only in aromatherapy programs and ancient vials of essential oils discovered in excavations. Professor Hanneman had told him it was a plant that once grew naturally over the surface of the Earth. The idea that the Earth could ever house plants was borderline unbelievable. Still, the smell helped him sleep, and he needed to sleep, because sleeping meant he couldn’t think anymore.
Two (stimulated) Earth cycles later, the Adrestian Cethleann was nearing the odd planet’s orbit.
Ferdinand sat in the commander’s chair, his long hair pleated over his shoulder, his legs crossed at the knee, the very picture of a man who felt more in charge of a situation than he was. Linhardt sat on his chair, leaning forward slightly, taking in the view of the screen, while Ashe and Caspar attempted to open a communication channel.
“What are we going to say?” Ferdinand asked, peeking over at Linhardt through the corners of his eyes.
Linhardt bit his lip. Yeah, that was probably something he should have been thinking about, but… but he had been distracted, by thoughts of Ferdinand relying on Caspar for advice, and thoughts of Caspar laughing at Ferdinand’s stupid jokes, and thoughts of Caspar, handsome in the navy blue commander uniform, waving at him the other side of the communicaton screen. He’d been distracted by thoughts of selfish love and holding him back and what about his ambition? He’d been distracted by thoughts of thinking.
So, sure, yeah, he probably should have had some game plan for what to actually do once the ship found its way to the planet, but… he didn’t, and there was no changing that, so he could only move forward from there.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I thought you were the expert on Leiceister culture. Don’t you have any suggestions?”
Ferdinand opened his mouth to say something, but -- by the grace of the Saints and the Goddess -- Caspar interrupted.
“Li-- Captain,” he said, tapping his fingers on his screen, “something seems odd. I’m using all of the usual decoding protocols, but…”
“The Leicester ones?” Ferdinand said. “Not the Adrestian ones?”
Caspar rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot,” he said, causing Linhardt’s heart to beat a little faster with joy. He’d been trying to convince Caspar of that for years. “Yeah, I’m using all the Leicester ones, nothing is going through.”
“Odd,” Ferdinand said, frowning. “Perhaps we need to turn Cethleann off and let her reboot…”
“Ferdinand,” Linhardt groaned, standing up, “for the last time, that’s an old wives tale. It doesn’t actually do anything.” He stepped down onto the bridge, taking the spot next to Caspar’s side. “Mind if I look?”
Caspar laughed. “It’s your ship, Captain,” he said, moving over just enough to give Linhardt unblocked access to the terminal.
Linhardt had never wanted to be a captain. He’d wanted to be a medical officer, or, barring that, a communications officer. Something where he could solve problems within a pre-defined set of rules. Something he could do entirely on his own. He sat down in Caspar’s seat (rarely used, as Caspar preferred to remain standing) and began to tap his way through the menus.
Caspar was right. The encryption radiating around the planet was absolutely not Leiceister in nature. In fact…
“Caspar,” he said, his eyes going wide, “the planet is unmanned.”
“Captain,” Ashe said suddenly, his brow furrowed, eyes fixed on his screen, “we are receiving an incoming message.”
“What’s the encryption?” Caspar asked. Behind them, Ferdinand made some sort of affronted noise; it wasn’t proper protocol for a mere officer to respond to a statement posed to a captain, and Ferdinand was the sort of idiot who actually cared about that kind of thing. The kind of idiot I need to protect him from, Linhardt thought.
Ashe grit his teeth as he tapped his fingers on the screen a few more times; he suddenly stopped, his face shifting into one of confusion, and looked back at them. “Adrestian.”
Linhardt blinked. “Wha…?”
He couldn’t even get the entire sound out of his mouth before Caspar chuckled. He leaned over and tapped his terminal a few more times, opening some menu Linhardt had never seen and inputting some sort of code. The code, in the second Linhardt was allowed to see it, looked remarkably like the word FRIES. Then he nodded, putting his hand on Linhardt’s shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze before walking toward the center of the bridge. “Accept the message, Ashe,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Let me speak to my brother.”
Linhardt didn’t know what was going on. Neither did Ashe, apparently, nor Ferdinand, as they both made small, confused noises (or, in Ferdinand’s case, a large confused noise) at Caspar’s words. But Caspar was staring forward, his lips curled up in a tired sneer, and Linhardt nodded at Ashe to give him the permission to follow Caspar’s request, his own eyes fixed on the space-facing window.
A few seconds later, the view through the window shifted from a quiet, lifeless planet to the interior of the Bergliez Brawler.
It was a ship Linhardt knew well; his father had been beloved rivals with Caspar’s father for years, and they visited each other’s ships on frequent occasions -- usually to nitpick the other’s taste in upholstery or lighting programs. As a child, Linhardt had spent quite a lot of time on the deck of the Brawler, slumbering in Caspar’s father’s chair whle Caspar tried desperately to wake him up.
The ship looked so similar, but so, so different now. Gone was Caspar’s father; instead, sitting at the helm was Melchior von Bergliez.
(It was shocking, Linhardt always thought, how two men could look so similar and yet so different. Melchior shared Caspar’s bright blue hair and blue eyes, but there was a dullness in his complexion that always made Linhardt feel slightly repulsed, the way one feels when staring too long at an unnatural optical illusion. He was taller than Caspar -- which wasn’t hard, to be fair -- and stocky, and he knew, in a very academic sort of way, that he was handsome, but yet Linhardt never could tolerate the sight of him for too long, and hence seeng his image take over the large screen in his bridge make his stomach churn.)
“Hey Mel,” Caspar said. He leaned his head to the side, just slightly. “What’s up?”
“That’s Captain von Bergliez to you,” Melchior said. Even his voice was wrong, Linhardt thought. It too was so similar to Caspar’s, yet lacked any of the innate joy. He hated it. “In case you’ve forgotten.”
Caspar’s face twisted in confusion. “Uh?” he said, blinking at his brother’s image on the screen. “How would I forget something like that?”
“Shut up,” Melchior said. He stood up from his chair; even despite the physical distance and the barrier of space (and perhaps time) that hung between them, Caspar flinched.
Linhardt stepped forward. “Captain von Bergliez,” he said, “I will not allow you to speak to one of my officers in that manner.”
Linhardt didn’t expect Melchior to listen to him, but he really did not expect him to laugh.
“Oh, Captain von Hevring,” he said, shaking his head, a queasy smile on his lips. “How many people are aboard your ship, if you don’t mind me asking?” He straightened up, running his fingers through his short fringe as if to neaten his hairline. “It’s Imperial business.”
Linhardt frowned. The number of people on their ship was easy to find out. The whole question reeked of a trap. “I…”
“Four,” came a voice from behind him, and Linhardt internally groaned. Of course Ferdinand had to pipe in. “There are four of us currently aboard the great Adrestian Cethleann. Myself Captain von Hevring, Officer von Bergliez and Officer Ubert.” He cleared his throat. “Officers Gautier and Arnaut are currently back in Embarr, assisting with the repair of the Dragon Maw…”
Melchior nodded, that gross smile never leaving his lips. (Thin, weak lips, far less inviting than Caspar’s.) “Thank you, Commander von Aegir,” he said. “So no great losses.”
Caspar lurched forward, his eyes widening. “What are you talking about, Melchior?”
The smile faded from Melchior’s face, and his eyes narrowed. “Take that name out of your mouth, boy,” he spat, and there it was… the Melchior Linhardt was acquainted with, big and angry and ugly, his skin flushing an alarming red that clashed horribly with his hair, his eyes becoming small and beady. “I know what you’re up to!”
Caspar froze mid-movement. Linhardt looked at him -- was Caspar up to something, something he hadn’t told him?! -- but Caspar looked as confused as Linhardt felt, his weight falling back onto the heels of his feet, brow twisted in the universal sign of huh?
“What I’m up to?” he said. His voice sounded uncertain. Linhardt grasped onto it. “What are you even talking about?”
“You two,” Melchior said, gesturing between what Linhardt presumed to be Caspar and himself; the transmission was mirrored, however, and Melchior was simply gesturing into the empty air. “I know all about you two, and your ambitions .”
Linhardt’s breath caught in his throat, taking with it his voice. Thankfully, Caspar’s tongue still worked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “I don’t have any ambitions.”
“Horse shit,” Melchior said.
Caspar frowned. “You always say that, bro, but I have no idea what a whore’s shit has to do with anything…”
“It means you’re lying!” Melchior roared. Spit flew from his mouth and onto the camera, blurring parts of the screen. “I know you’re sleeping with von Hevring, and I know it’s so you can one day take my ship away from me!”
Linhardt froze. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, could barely think. How did Melchior know about them?! What was he…
Caspar merely frowned. “Melchior,” he said, “trust me, I have no desire for your ship.” He sighed. “Is that why you lured us over here? The only signs of life the computer is picking up in a light years’ distance are presumably yours and your crew.”
Melchior snorted. “You’re not going to deny that you’re sleeping with your superior officer?” he asked. “How sad, that you’re going to die with dishonorable charges on you.”
Caspar looked around the deck. How he had the ability to remain so calm and in control was beyond Linhardt’s comprehension; all he wanted to do was flee to his room, hide under his covers, douse himself with lavender and wait until this was all over. Caspar’s eyes moved to Ashe and Ferdinand. “Is it a surprise to either of you?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Ashe said.
“It has been quite obvious,” Ferdinand admitted.
Linhardt hated himself on a very deep and very flustered level.
Caspar, however, merely turned back to his brother and shrugged, a soft smile on his lips. “My colleagues don’t care. And Mel, come on. You’ve known me my entire life. You know why I’m involved with Linhardt.”
“So you don’t deny it?!” Melchior said.
Caspar laughed. “There’s no point,” he said, “especially since everyone seems to know.” Linhardt noticed that Caspar was not looking at him while he spoke, and there was a hardness to his jaw that Linhardt rarely saw. He hated it. Still, Caspar continued. “Can I ask how you know, though?”
Melchior huffed. He looked so proud of himself, Linhardt thought, his gut churning with disgust. He looked like a cat who had finally caught the mouse, except the mouse was already injured so it was never a fair fight. “The last time we were together,” he said, “I suggested you come here to find some old books.”
“Still not sure what a book is,” Caspar said, nodding. “But I remember. You said Linhardt would like it.”
“I’d always suspected the two of you,” Melchior said, bile in his voice. “Ever since you were kids, always running around together, causing problems…”
Caspar frowned. “I seem to remember you were the one always causing problems, Mel. Remember the mislaunch of the Indech Shell..?”
“That was an accident! ” Melchior said. Linhardt startled slightly; the Indech Shell had been a huge, expensive military endeavor spearheaded by Caspar’s father, involving a giant self-powered probe that would collect samples from nearby space debris to examine them for traces of foreign firepower. It was all the higher-ups in the Adrestian government could talk about for months , and then, on the day of its launch, the Shell exploded, causing the death of two engineers controlling its lift-off. Linhardt swallowed, his heart racing. What could Melchior have to do with that ?
“I’m sure it wasn’t on purpose,” Caspar said, his tone kind and steady. “I never thought it was. Still, it was a choice you made to tamper with it, especially after our father forbid you from touching it.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Melchior said.
Caspar nodded. “I know. I figure that’s the whole point of this, right?” He smiled. “Where are you, big bro? Your ship is around here somewhere. Are you cloaked?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “What a coward’s move.”
“I am not a coward !” Melchior shouted, and his image disappeared from the screen, replaced with the spacescape before them -- the empty planet, devoid of books (something Linhardt knew the meaning of, even if Caspar did not) and people, and, suddenly, the new addition of the Bergliez Brawler, its teal body occupying space that had previously been empty.
A lot happened at once. Caspar, still not looking at Linhardt, leapt back into his seat, taking it for once, pounding his fingers on the terminal as quickly as he could. He exchanged a quiet look with Ashe, who seemed, somehow, to understand, as he also began to tap. Their ship hummed beneath them, and Linhardt understood -- they’d put up their shields.
“Captain,” Ferdinand said. The sound startled him; Linhardt had almost forgotten Ferdinand was there. “Sit down, please.”
Caspar looked up from his seat, his eyes meeting Linhardt’s. “Yeah,” he said, softly, “please, Lin. Sit.”
If Ferdinand made any noise of indignation at Caspar referring to his commanding officer by a nickname, Linhardt paid no mind. For a single second, he held Caspar’s gaze, and he could read those blue eyes like a… well, like a book, probably, if he ever got his hands on one. He knew what Caspar was thinking because he was thinking the same.
I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll keep you safe.
Linhardt swallowed and nodded, walking back to his seat and sitting down.
Ferdinand’s eyes darted over him. Linhardt couldn’t speak -- he couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything, which is why he should have never been a captain in the first place. Ferdinand seemed to sense that, as he turned back toward Ashe and Caspar, a note of authority in his voice that Linhardt had never noticed before. “Report?”
“They’re readying their weapons,” Ashe said. His hands were trembling. “Commander, Captain, we can’t outpower them.”
“Don’t worry, Ashe,” Caspar said. His eyes were fixed on his terminal. “We’ll get out of this. You’ll be back with Miss Fuzzbutt in no time.”
Ferdinand made a very indelicate noise. “Miss Fuzzbutt?!”
Ashe sighed. His cheeks were going pink. He had freckles, Linhardt noticed. He’d never noticed that Ashe had freckles before. “The Earth cat I’m trying to adopt,” he said, shaking his head. “That is not her actual name.”
“No cat should be named Gertrude,” Caspar said. He tapped his screen a few more times. “Ashe, are their weapons trained on us yet?”
Ashe went back to his terminal. “Yes,” he said.
Caspar nodded. “Captain,” he said, “permission to open up one last line of communication?”
Ferdinand leaned forward. “What are you doing, Offic--?”
Linhardt waved a hand in the air, his usual signal for shut up, Ferdinand . “Permission granted,” he said. He smiled. “Cas.”
Caspar wasted no time. He tapped out the familiar code on the terminal, the tap-tap-tappity-tap that signaled a request for an open channel between Adrestian ships. For a long moment, there was no response. Caspar’s eyes were fixed to the screen, waiting. Then, finally, Melchior and his bridge appeared in view.
“What is it?!” he spat. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, kissing your captain goodbye or something?!”
“Nah,” Caspar said. His voice sounded… calm. Confident. Not like the voice of someone in an outdated ship that was about to be destroyed by his birth family’s much larger and more powerful one. It was odd. “I can do that later.”
Both Linhardt and Melchior seemed thrown off by this comment, although, Linhardt suspected, for very different reasons.
“Are you really this stupid?” Melchior said. He laughed, shaking his head. “Wait, forget I said that. I know you are. But do you really not realize what’s happening right now?”
“Spell it out for me,” Caspar said. “I’m dumb. Here I thought we were just talking.”
Melchior glimpsed to the side; Linhardt traced the his line of sight in his mind, and knew it was looking at one of the battle panels. “Your shields are up,” he said.
“Well, yeah,” Caspar replied. “I mean, that’s how just talking tends to go with you, big bro.”
Melchior had the nerve to look ruffled by this. “Don’t call me that.”
“Fair,” Caspar said, chuckling. “I hate when Medical Officer Arnaut calls me that. Anyway, Captain von Bergliez, what is happening here, if we’re not just talking?” He laughed. “You’re not honestly planning on attacking a fellow Adrestian ship, are you?”
Melchior’s shoulders tensed. “This is neutral space,” he said. “We’re outside of Adrestian surveillance.”
“We are,” Caspar said. Linhardt heard it now -- the slight waver in his voice, quiet behind the words. His eyes moved to Caspar’s hand; it was clenched tight, his thumb moving across his fingers like it always did when they held hands. He’s gambling, Linhardt thought.
“So,” Melchior said, “I’m tired of this. Any last words?”
Caspar smiled. “Yes, actually.” He tapped at his screen. “Before we opened communications the first time,” he said, “I began a relay down to the nearest Adrestian colony. So yes, the military will know of my involvement with my Captain now. But they also will know that you have threatened to kill four Adrestian officers, destroy a valuable ship, and also that you were responsible for the Indech Shell incident.” He looked up at the screen, his face oddly serene. “I still have the power to encrypt the message before it is received,” he continued, leaning back in his chair. “But I can’t do that if I’m dead, and, besides, wouldn’t that look even worse for you now? Your baby brother, dead, and all the evidence safe in Commander-in-Chief Hresvelg’s hands?”
Melchior’s mouth hung open wide. “You… you son of a bitch.”
“Don’t talk about Mom that way,” Caspar growled. He stood up. “Drop your weapons and leave and we will pretend this never happened.” Linhardt watched his face; his lips curled into a cocky smile, and if his body hadn’t been overwhelmed with adrenaline, it would have been overwhelmed with something quite different. “Okay, big bro?”
Melchior stared at him for a long moment. Then the screen blinked back to their view of space.
Caspar quickly looked over to the side. “Ashe?”
Ashe was rapidly typing on his terminal. His eyes -- what color even were they? Linhardt couldn’t recall -- glanced over the data, and his body suddenly relaxed, a long sigh escaping his throat. “They’ve disabled their weapons.”
“Keep the shields up,” Caspar said. “Just in case.”
The warning wasn’t necessary, however, as, a moment later, the Bergliez Brawler engaged their engines and flashed out of sight, leaving behind the telltale gas that signalled a warp escape and not mere shrouding.
The tension dropped out of Caspar’s shoulders -- Linhardn’t hadn’t even noticed it was here -- and he turned to face him. “Lin,” he said, “it’s up to you. Do you want me to encrypt the relay or not?”
Linhardt gaped. He knew what Caspar was asking. If they encrypted the stream before it was received, nobody would know of their relationship, and their jobs would be safe. But if they left it open, Melchior could be brought to some sort of justice.
“You won’t get his ship, though,” Linhardt said, frowning. “Even if he’s arrested. We’ll both be removed from our positions.”
Caspar laughed quietly. “I know,” he said. He lifted his eyes to meet his. Blue. So, so blue. “I’m okay with that, but are you?”
“Officer von Bergeliez,” Ferdinand cut in, “I must insist. You have a bright future in front of you. Please don’t throw it away.”
Caspar’s eyes flashed, and he turned his gaze to Ferdinand, frowning. “The only bright future I care about is… oh, Saints.” He groaned. His cheeks were turning a soft shade of red -- much more attractive than Melchior’s furious hue. “Don’t make me say it, it’s embarrassing. ”
“ Please don’t make him say it,” Ashe piped in. “It’s bad enough hearing it in the training room.”
Linhardt whipped his head around to face Caspar. “You talk about us in the training room?! ”
Caspar froze. “Uh…”
Stupid. It was all so stupid. Linhardt burst out laughing, shakng his head.
“Come here, baby,” he said, patting the arm of his seat. He let out a happy sigh. “We’ve got the rest of our civilian futures to plan.”
In the end, Melchior von Bergliez was charged with intentional tampering of a government device, threatening the lives of four fellow statesmen, and threatening to destroy a government ship. The helm of the Bergliez Brawler was passed on to he and Caspar’s uncle, Randolph, who was really quite the obvious choice.
Caspar and Linhardt were discharged from military service. Captain in Chief von Hresvelg attempted to have the charges against them dropped, but as neither Caspar nor Linhardt fought the decision, her hands were tied. The Adrestian Cethleann became a ship without a captain, and rumor said that von Hresvelg had offered it to the academy for research, a decision that seemed odd to everyone but Linhardt, who knew that Professor Hanneman had been dying for a chance to study its unique computer system for decades.
Commander von Aegir and Officer Ubert were charged with conspiracy for not disclosing the improper relationship between von Bergliez and von Hevring, but von Hresvelg, with help from her second-in-command, Commander von Vestra, had those charges successfully removed. Officer Ubert chose to resign from military service to take care of his beloved Earth cat, Gertrude von Nivelles, and Commander von Aegir transferred to his father’s ship, where he declared his plan to learn all he could about its operation.
Linhardt hummed against Caspar’s chest.
He had long stopped counting Earth cycles since they began their civilian lives. Honestly, it was bliss. The only decisions he had to make on a daily basis were whether or not to eat breakfast or brunch, and even that he could usually leave to Caspar to decide.
He loved it.
Caspar’s hand found its way to Linhardt’s back, and Linhardt closed his eyes as Caspar’s fingers began to move in small, tender circles against his skin. Bliss. Bliss. Civilian life was bliss.
“So, hey,” Caspar said, his voice as tender as his touch, “quick question.”
“No more powdered eggs,” Linhardt groaned. “I refuse.”
Caspar sighed. “But the protein…”
“I’d rather waste away.”
Caspar tensed for a moment, but only a moment. He chuckled, his fingertips stroking his skin.
“Okay,” he said, “we can take a break from the powdered eggs. But that’s not what I was gonna ask.” He took a deep breath. “Lin, I…”
Linhardt looked up at him. “Okay,” he said.
Caspar blinked. “Okay what? I haven’t even…”
Linhardt laughed, resting his head back down on the soft bed of Caspar’s chest. “Whatever you’re gonna ask. Okay. As long as it’s not powdered eggs, I’m okay with whatever.”
Caspar frowned. “It wasn’t about food.”
Linhardt smiled. “I know.”
Caspar’s hand trailed from Linhardt’s back to his side, holding him around the waist, close to his body. “So you’ll buy a private ship with me and travel the galaxy?”
Ah. There it was. Linhardt’s heart trembled. He could picture it so clearly -- the two of them, unbothered, untethered, moving freely in Fodlan’s territory, able to spend the rest of their lives exploring new planets and learning new things.
Perhaps, he thought, I might even find some real lavender. He blinked. Maybe even a book.
“I already said sure,” Linhardt said. He planted a soft kiss on Caspars’ chest and let out a soft, happy sigh. “Anywhere with you.”
“Just no powdered eggs?”
“Just no powdered eggs.” He looked up at him; Caspar’s image was blurry viewed through his eyelashes. “Let’s go find a ship later.” He yawned. “A nice, slow ship.”
Caspar smiled. “A nice, slow ship,” he agreed, reaching down and pulling the blanket up over them. “Get some rest, Lin.”
“Hey,” Linhardt groaned, “you can’t tell me what to do.”
Caspar laughed. “Sure I can. Rest well, Lin.”
Linhardt smiled against his chest. A nice, slow ship for a nice, slow life. He’d never wanted to be a captain, but he could sure get used to being a first mate.