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January 2512.
The nights were cold now on Dangun, and the two young men were bundled up, holding big, warm bowls of ramyeon in their hands. The improvised firepit helped keep the chill off where they sat on the tar and gravel roof of their run-down apartment building, eating their noodles in big, slurpy bites.
Namjoon swallowed and set down his bowl to tap at the clunky, industrial-looking tablet that sat on a cardboard box between him and Yoongi.
A promising image popped up on the screen and Namjoon hummed, drawing Yoongi’s attention, the elder turning his gaze to the tablet.
“No,” Yoongi answered after swallowing. He shook his head. “First gen Komodos are no good--break down all the time and you can’t find the parts for them anymore.”
Namjoon nodded and tapped again at the screen. “Okay, so how about the third gen Komodos? It’ll cost more, but the parts are readily available.”
“Maybe, but I still think it’s too small.”
Too small? Namjoon wondered. “Firefly class?”
“Still too small.”
Namjoon sighed, rubbing at his forehead with the heels of his hands. They’d been at this for a while, and Namjoon was beginning to think he and Yoongi were not quite on the same page. “How big do you think we need it to be, hyung?”
Yoongi answered without pause. “Mid to large -size bulk transport, reliable engine, up to eight crew and fifteen passengers. Two or three shuttles.”
Fuck. “That’s . . a lot bigger than we talked about.” And a lot more expensive, Namjoon left unsaid. Yoongi was aware of this as well, Namjoon knew.
“Well.” Yoongi shrugged. “The dream got bigger.”
The dream. It had started as a vague, amorphous thing, a general sense that they could not give up the fight, even though the war was over--just because the Alliance had beaten them didn’t mean they were wrong. Yoongi and Namjoon had known each other before the war and had fought as Browncoats side by side, leading their own squad with Namjoon at the helm, Yoongi as his second-in-command. A bunch of fucking teenagers trying to take down a force that was better-trained, better-equipped, and relentless. Of their platoon, only the two of them had survived.
Once the initial shock, the overwhelming grief had passed, had dulled into a bass note in the background, the two had gradually but inevitably felt the need to continue, to raise something meaningful from the ashes of the war. It had started as a simple plan for their own independence, carving out a business for themselves on the edges of what the Alliance would allow. But the more they talked, the more they realized; this wasn’t just about them.
“Yeah,” Namjoon said, solemn. “Yeah. I guess it did.”
They continued eating in silence a moment, letting the slippery noodles and hot broth fill their bellies, a rare feeling these days since they were saving every penny up for the cost of a ship.
As usual, Yoongi sensed Namjoon’s mood, and said softly, “We got the coin now, Namjoon-ah.” And Namjoon knew what Yoongi was going to say next even before he said it. “Who knows what’ll happen later.”
He nodded, thoughts heavy with the lesson learned from the war. None of them knew how much time they had left. He remained still a moment, thinking about a ship big enough to hold the dream. He looked over to Yoongi.
“What you’re talking about is Whale class.”
Yoongi stared into the fire before answering. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He looked over to Namjoon. “Compact design, versatile cargo section, two full-size shuttles. And near indestructible. Almost keeps itself in the air.”
“What do I need you for, then?” Namjoon asked, unable to resist the easy jibe.
But Yoongi was just as quick. “To keep your head out of the clouds.”
Namjoon gave him a look--the whole point was to get into the clouds, wasn’t it?--and Yoongi realized what he’d said. He tilted his head.
“Metaphorically speaking.”
Namjoon smiled and went back to tapping at the tablet, pausing now and then for another huge bite of ramyeon, his mind filled with the image of a whale swimming through the stars.
Late January 2515.
At the northeast outskirts of New Cardiff, the largest city on the Core planet of Londinium, the shipyards were a sort of controlled chaos, noisy and bustling, but with an underlying order. The market sat at the north end, transports for hire in the middle, ships for sale at the south.
The ship seller stood at the bottom of the Whale class ship’s loading ramp, her attention split between the bustle outside and the two customers up in the main cargo hold.
Yoongi stood in the center of the main deck, Namjoon next to him. The hold was immense, the walls high and round, like the inside of the belly of a metal whale. The ship was not in terrible shape, but had definitely seen better days, Yoongi thought, as he looked over the dingy walls, the big, round, filthy skylight at the apex of the hold. But the bones were good. It wouldn’t take too much to get her into shape.
Namjoon stared up at the skylight. “Damn.”
Yoongi, for all his skepticism, was equally awed. “Yeah. In concept, Whales seem impossible, really bulky and weird, but in person, they’re so efficiently designed, so--”
“Elegant,” Namjoon said, reverent.
Yoongi smirked. “Only you would call a Whale ‘elegant’.”
“But look at it!”
Yoongi crossed his arms and tried to seem unimpressed. “I’m looking.”
Namjoon was possibly not buying it, but began to argue his point anyway. He walked forward slowly, raising an open hand to point out the various features of the ship as he talked, and Yoongi followed behind.
“So big, but sleek! So open, and so much light!”
Yoongi flung his hand up, mocking Namjoon. “And so much rust!”
Namjoon turned and frowned at him. “Hyung. You gotta open your eyes to her potential. This ship was born to swim among the stars!”
Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Oh my God, you are such a fucking romantic.”
The frown deepened, and Namjoon crossed his arms. “Fine. What do you see?”
“I see an idealist who can’t see the dilapidated bucket in front of him.”
Namjoon’s frown remained. “ Hyung. You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that,” he deadpanned.
Yoongi deadpanned right back. “Fuck you.”
At that, Namjoon’s feigned stern demeanor cracked and he started laughing, Yoongi just shaking his head as they both walked towards the stairs leading to the upper deck.
“Seriously,” Namjoon said. “How’d the engine look to you?”
Yoongi, overcoming his reluctance, answered, “It’s good.”
Predictably, excitement took over Namjoon’s features. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” Yoongi allowed, avoiding Namjoon’s eyes.
And then Namjoon actually jumped a little and grabbed Yoongi’s arm. “That’s your official, professional, cynical engineer opinion?”
Yoongi let out an enormous sigh. “Yes.”
The little jump became little bounces, and Namjoon beamed at him.
Yoongi glanced back at the seller. “Namjoon-ah! Calm down. Stop smiling. What kind of captain behavior is this?”
Namjoon calmed down instantly. “Sorry, hyung.” He stood up straight, smoothing the front of his coat. “You’re absolutely right.”
“We can hardly haggle with the seller with you grinning like an idiot.”
He nodded, but Yoongi could tell, Namjoon was only one second from breaking into a grin, his eyes sparkling, his lips pressed together in an attempt to suppress a smile.
Yoongi grunted. “I’ll do the talking.”
Early February 2512.
The Whale was no small thing, and Yoongi had never felt more like an engineer and less like a pilot as he attempted to land the ship back at the small port on Dangun.
Namjoon sat, white-knuckled, in the co-pilot seat next to him, and Yoongi could tell he was trying to hide it, but he looked slightly terrified nonetheless.
The ship wobbled, and Yoongi overcorrected, landing with a harsh thump on the dock beneath them.
Fuck. That was rough, and that was just a simple, short flight to get the ship back home from Londinium.
Namjoon tried to be supportive. “That was . . .” His voice trailed off a bit weakly. “That was good, hyung.”
Yoongi frowned at himself. “No, it wasn’t.”
A moment passed, both of them sitting in silence, appreciating being on solid ground again as Yoongi began the shut-down sequence, flipping switches, taking off his headset.
There was no avoiding the obvious. Yoongi began, “Eventually . . .”
He didn’t even have to say it; Namjoon was already nodding.
They would need to hire a pilot.
“Eventually,” Namjoon finished. “For now, let’s just focus on getting her cleaned up.”
Yoongi nodded. “Aye, aye, Captain Kim,” he said, gently teasing, and Namjoon winced.
“Yah! That sounds like a, like a cheesy pirate villain from some kid’s show or something!” he objected, brow furrowed and lips pressed out.
Yoongi agreed completely, giggling in response to Namjoon’s pouting.
March 2512.
A few weeks of hard work and the ship was transformed, the cargo bay free of rust, the metal hull gleaming again. They had both put in hours upon hours of physical labor, cleaning and hauling, replacing the few parts that needed replacing, and, for Yoongi, upgrading the engine itself. At one point, having found Yoongi slumped against the engine room wall, dead asleep with a wrench still in his hand, Namjoon moved a cot down there, long since having given up on getting Yoongi to get his ass upstairs to his quarters to sleep in a proper bed.
As for Namjoon, he had dragged himself to bed exhausted every night, and every morning was a lesson in soreness, his muscles complaining at their overuse the day before.
But this morning, as he walked from the galley down to the main deck, his step was lighter. He hummed a tune around the protein bar he held between his teeth as he shrugged into his coat, a light brown duster that he’d had for years, with the stains and patches to prove it. He retrieved his dark red beanie from the pocket, settling it on his head, and then returned to the task of wolfing down the protein bar as he walked to the Mule.
The small vehicle--basically an ATV buggy with a flatbed--was invaluable for short cargo runs, and he planned to fill it to the brim on his trip to the markets today. Now that the plant habitat was nearly complete, Yoongi had finally given him the green light to buy the plants they wanted to grow inside the ship.
Namjoon glanced up towards the suspended deck they’d customized into a greenhouse. It lay about ten meters below the skylight with raised beds arranged in concentric circles and broad-spectrum LED lights to induce photosynthesis on days without sunlight. Najmoon grinned just looking at it. It was an impressive engineering feat, of course, but he couldn’t wait to get to the market, to sort through the rectangular “pillows” filled with specialized soil and fertilizer, the seedlings rising up through their designated openings.
He hopped into the seat of the Mule, downright giddy with anticipation.
Yoongi was almost invisible, only his head and shoulders poking out from under the cargo deck. He bent down, his body now mostly hidden in the lower compartment, and worked silently on replacing the last of the old wiring.
A good thing, too. They were almost out of money.
They had scrimped and saved their coin for so long, it had felt surreal to actually spend it; and spend it they had--on the ship itself, on parts, on the greenhouse and the upgraded communications boards and the endless wires.
Namjoon was about to spend the last of it they could afford to spend on the plants, plants carefully chosen to produce the best return on their investment.
And then, back to scrimping and saving.
They barely had enough left to hire a pilot and become a proper transport ship, hauling cargo or shuttling passengers for coin.
Yoongi’s thoughts were interrupted by the crackle of the CB radio perched up on the deck, and he popped up, grabbing the mouthpiece.
“Yeah?” he answered flatly, his deep voice sounding grumpier than he actually felt.
Namjoon’s voice came over the radio. “You’re so rude, hyung.”
Yoongi just rolled his eyes and waited.
“I’m five minutes out,” Namjoon continued. “How’s it going?”
What kind of question is that? Yoongi thought, but he knew Namjoon was just excited to tell him about what plants he bought. Nothing better than a little nature to get Namjoon waxing poetic, but Yoongi would rather hear it in person.
Yoongi smirked. “See for yourself in five minutes,” he replied, putting the mouthpiece back down and laughing to himself as Namjoon spluttered over the radio, calling Yoongi a rude name.
Satisfied with the wiring job, Yoongi braced his hands on the edge of the cargo deck and hoisted himself easily out of the hidden space, his arm strength having grown substantially from all the hard labor they’d put into renovating the ship. He slid the panel back into place and retrieved his tools, taking the tool box and the radio back over to where they belonged on the port side wall, near the loading ramp.
He heard the rumble of the Mule’s engine and walked down the ramp to meet Namjoon as he parked outside. The captain hopped down from the driver’s seat, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze a bit. Yoongi looked over to the merchandise in the flatbed of the Mule, suspicious.
There were some basic supplies, sacks of beans and rice, and the plants they had agreed on--many vegetables, some fruits, a couple of edible flowers--but also a very large plant that looked suspiciously like a tree.
Yoongi whipped his head back to where Namjoon stood, still avoiding his gaze.
“A tree, Namjoon-ah? An actual, fucking tree?”
Namjoon finally looked up, eyes steady, as though he was now ready to defend himself.
“Look. We’re trying to say something here. This isn’t just a ship, this is our message.”
“Our message is a tree?”
Namjoon ignored him. “And it’s dwarf size, so it’ll only get to like twelve feet, fifteen tops--”
Yoongi’s jaw actually dropped. “Fifteen!”
The more gobsmacked Yoongi was, the calmer Namjoon seemed to become. “It’s gonna be amazing, hyung. Why are you complaining so much anyways? You love cherries.”
Yoongi hesitated. He did love cherries. “That’s not the point,” he barrelled on, but then paused. “What kind?”
“Golden Sweet.”
Goddamnit. “Hmph,” was all he said, but it was obvious to both of them that he had been swayed. He frowned, just for appearances, and started looking through the other plants and shopping bags, ignoring the smile of victory on Namjoon’s face.
Something smelled delicious, and Yoongi zeroed in on a small, grease-stained bag, picking it up.
“What’s this?”
Namjoon grinned. “ Yangkkochi.”
Yoongi’s eyes widened and he plopped the bag onto the hood of the Mule, ripping it open along the seam. “How much did that cost?” He held up a hand. “Nevermind. Don’t tell me.”
He spread the bag open so it functioned like a tablecloth, revealing two lamb skewers. He picked one up and tried to hand it to Namjoon.
“No, they’re for you--”
Yoongi just shook it insistently at him. “I forgive you for the tree. Eat.”
Namjoon smiled and took it, not needing to be asked twice, and for a solid minute they just ate without talking. The flavors hitting Yoongi’s tastebuds caused an occasional moan of joy to escape his lips because he loved lamb skewers so very much, and it had been a long time since he’d had one.
After a while, Yoongi’s gaze drifted from the plants to the ship, eyes moving over the hold, and Namjoon nodded, almost as if he could read Yoongi’s thoughts.
“Yeah,” Namjoon began, swallowing around a bite of food. “I’ve been thinking about the name. What about something related to spring?”
Yeah, I thought you’d pick something like that, Yoongi thought to himself. He cocked his head as he considered. “Mmm. Hope. Renewal. A little obvious, maybe.”
Namjoon frowned at him. “Do you mean ‘clear’?”
Yoongi chucked at him and Namjoon smiled, and they both kept eating, pondering.
“Needs something,” Yoongi said after a while. “Something edgier, tougher. Springtime is like . . . baby bunnies and delicate blossoms. Not exactly our message.”
Namjoon nodded, taking the feedback in stride, as he always did.
“Something strong,” he said. “Protective. Like a shield or something.”
It was Yoongi’s turn to nod.
“We could mix it together. Something spring-related but tough,” Namjoon suggested, and then his face lit up with sudden inspiration. “Metal Blossom!”
Yoongi made a face.
Undeterred, Namjoon tried again. "Spring Shield?”
“Sounds like something you bounce on.”
“Eternal Springtime?”
But Yoongi had flipped through his own catalog of ideas and had settled on one. “Bulletproof.”
Namjoon’s ears perked up. “Ooh.”
“Bulletproof Spring. Or Springtime.”
“Springtime,” Namjoon decided. “Not bouncy. And in Korean--”
“Bangtan Bom,” they said together.
“Nice ring to it, alliteration and everything,” Namjoon said, nodding. “I like it. ‘A hope that cannot die.’”
Yoongi, so pleased with the idea that he refrained from commenting on Namjoon’s romantic summation, just smiled. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
Yoongi nodded, and Namjoon looked over at the nascent cherry tree.
“Bangtan Bom. ‘Bebe’ for short.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows rose. “Did you just call our space ship ‘baby’?”
“No!” Namjoon barked, completely caught out, and Yoongi dissolved into giggles.
“Oh my God, you’re so cheesy!”
Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, like I don’t know your grumpy exterior is just a front to hide your soft, squishy center--”
Yoongi couldn’t let that stand and said imperiously, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Namjoon dropped his chin and stared up at Yoongi. “You’re already calling her Bebe in your head.”
Fuck. Yoongi frowned and waved a hand at Namjoon, who snickered.
He put on his grumpiest expression and growled, “Be quiet. Eat your meat.”