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Lockon's been on this high tech, super secret space station for exactly three days.
Truth be told, he's still getting used to calling himself Lockon. It's the most ridiculous codename he's ever heard—even taking into account those over the top action movies Lyle used to love—but his boss and his fellow pilot told him that Lockon Stratos is to be the name of their sniper, and… Well, he figures it's something he can deal with, if it means he gets to kill terrorists. He just has to make sure he doesn't screw up and accidentally introduce himself as Neil to someone on base.
(He's known Tieria Erde for less than three days, but he knows he'll absolutely be murdered in his sleep if he does.)
Tieria's the only coworker he can recognize on sight so far, mostly because of his violently purple hair. That is, until the chatty comms operator drags a kid with fluorescent pink pigtails into the mess hall during dinner, and Lockon stares as the two of them grab meals before sitting with the big Russian guy who talks in a near-indecipherable accent.
"That's Feldt Grace," Tieria says from beside him, and Lockon twitches, glancing over to him. "She will be working opposite Christina Sierra on the bridge."
Lockon stares. "What is she, ten?" he demands, and Tieria glares at him disapprovingly.
"That's classified," he snaps, and oh yeah, apparently knowing who's legal and who's bending international liquor laws to drink on their off shift is top-secret information. He still doesn't really get why. "She's perfectly capable of performing her job duties, and has been approved by Veda."
And, well, even Lockon knows that that's high praise, coming from this guy. So he wisely shuts up, and shovels more gross astronaut food into his mouth, and tries to ignore the pit in his gut that says that girl is definitely younger than Amy was.
It's weeks later when he's finally allowed into the hangar to do more than look. One of the techs brought him a dozen Irish green flight suits, this morning, saying that the Meisters get their stuff special-issue. And sure, that's cool as hell, but Lockon can pick out half a dozen security concerns should any of them ever be caught outside their Gundams. He's a little worried that no one thought this through, all the way.
Except, well, it's awesome, and he's honestly impressed they got Tieria's suits to match the exact shade of his hair, and he figures trying to argue it will just result in a lecture best avoided. So, he changes into one awkwardly, and grabs his helmet, and makes his way toward (what he hopes is) the hangar.
Apparently his luck holds out, because a middle aged guy with oil smeared on his cheek is waiting to greet him. Lockon's pretty sure he's seen him around, but he has no idea what his name is. "Ian Vashti," he says with a grin, and oh, yeah, that sounds familiar. He pulls off a work glove and reaches to shake Lockon's hand. "Chief of engineering, I'll be stationed on the Ptolemy to clean up any messes you Meisters make of my masterpieces."
"Nice to meet you," Lockon says, and reaches to put his hands in his pockets once they let go. Except, these suits don't have any, so he just kind of awkwardly wipes them on his hips, instead. "Uh, I'm Lockon Stratos."
"I'd hope so," Ian says with a grin, and then he waves Lockon behind him as they move across the gigantic room. "So, you're probably not gonna believe me, but we picked the color scheme way before your face popped on our radar. Maybe even before you hit puberty," he adds, staring thoughtfully up at him for a moment. "So, uh, guess you can take the bonus points to your national pride, or whatever."
"I thought our pasts were supposed to be secret," Lockon says doubtfully, and Ian laughs at him.
"That's the thickest Irish brogue I've ever heard, boy," he says, and he lets his own accent grow more pronounced. Italian, Lockon would guess, though he's never spent much time in the country. "You wanna convince anyone you're American, or something, you'd better train that away real quick."
"Point taken," Lockon says with a grin, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. Then, they're standing at the foot of a mobile suit, and he's staring up and up and up at it. Fuck, he's never seen them up close like this before.
"You ever piloted?" Ian asks, and Lockon blinks, shakes his head.
"Just my guns," he says, and Ian claps him on the shoulder.
"We'll train you up just fine," he says cheerfully. "Even managed to get you a sniping module rigged up, since Sumeragi said you'd be more comfortable that way. And we're gonna need you at peak performance on the battlefield, yeah?"
He frowns, a little, wondering if this is a test or a jab, but then Ian's laughing at him again. "We recruited the best sniper this side of the moon, that's what she said," he says, conspiratorial. "Don't tell him I told you, but even Tieria was impressed by your specs. I wouldn't worry about disappointing anyone."
This is…more reassuring than Lockon's expecting, to be honest. And, well, he guesses this is his life now—trying to live up to his purple-haired, cardigan wearing, homicidal co-worker's unrealistic expectations. "Let's see it, then," he says cheerfully, and Ian laughs, pulling him up by the hand in the null g toward the cockpit.
Well, Lockon's been sufficiently cowed by the literally hundreds of switches and buttons and levers and throttles and—whatever the hell that is—in his new cockpit; Ian’s probably not done laughing at him, but he's keeping it under control for now. The two of them are back on the ground an hour later, and Ian's brought over one of the little robots that Lockon took for droids.
"This is Orange Haro, he'll be your partner in piloting," he says, by way of introduction. "I'd say take care of him, but he's pretty impossible to break. He'll even show you around base until you learn your way—they're useful little buggers."
He pushes off with a laugh and a wave, leaving Lockon staring at the little orange ball in his hands. It's a fucking basketball, he thinks idly, his brain still half-mush from the crash course he just finished. Then, the thing's—eyes?—light up.
"Nice to meet you! Nice to meet you!" it says, flapping its (wings? ears??), and Lockon stares.
He's the best sniper on the planet. He took down dozens of marks before he'd ever heard the word Gundam. He is Lockon Stratos, and goddamnit, if this isn't the cutest fucking basketball he's ever seen in his life.
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Lasse’s been on this high tech, super secret space station for almost six months, and he thinks he’s finally comfortable speaking in English to just about everyone on base.
It’s not that he didn’t know any, before, but...well, he guesses that’s kind of the truth. A low level mook in the mafiya like him never would’ve dealt with international deals, so it’s not like he really needed to know anything besides Russian and Mandarin.
Miss Sumeragi assured him that he isn’t the only one who had to learn it on the fly, though (her own Spanish accent’s a testament to that), so he tries not to worry about it too much. He’s a smart guy; he was recruited for a reason. He’ll be fine.
He knows, vaguely, that they’ve finally hired another pilot, but the only thought he really has is that he hopes they’re nicer than Tieria. He knows the guy speaks with the most neutral English accent known to mankind, and he’d be the best one to practice conversation with, but—
Well, Chris hushed him when he suggested it, her eyes going a little wide. The more he learns about Tieria, the more he realizes that she’s very, very correct. (Luckily, Feldt’s accent is mostly the same, and she’s more than happy to let him talk at her.)
He starts seeing an unfamiliar guy running with Tieria, as the days go by. He’s white, scrawny, and tall, and Lasse surmises quickly that this must be their sniper; he’s never seen a guy less suited to close combat in his life. He’s pretty sure even Feldt could pin him, in the training room—at least, based on what he’s seen of her in her off hours.
It’s only a matter of time before they’re assigned simulations together, once the guy’s finally allowed in Dynames. And, if nothing else, Lasse’s seen him smile in the hallways or the mess, and that already gives him a lead on Tieria.
“All right, Lockon,” Ian says into their comm. “You’re working with Lasse today—not sure if you’ve met, he’s our helmsman and backup gunner. He’s gonna pilot the Arms too, assuming Sumeragi ever gives me the chance to finish it.”
“Cool,” the guy says, and Lasse blinks. “Nice to meet you, yeah?”
Except—he’s only maybe sixty percent sure that’s what he said, because he talks fast, and with a different cadence to the words, and Lasse’s never heard anyone speak like this in his life. “Yeah, you too,” he says, and hopes it’s the right response.
It only gets worse, though, as they stumble through the simulation. Lockon’s clearly still learning Dynames’ controls, and Lasse’s having to try and parse every word he throws at him, and Ian’s laughing at them both as they emerge from the simulators. They’re both flushed with embarrassment, but at least Lockon has a reason—he definitely just sent his obscenely expensive Gundam crashing into the side of a mountain.
“Hey, it wasn’t bad for a first try,” Ian says, reaching up to clap Lockon on the shoulder. “Take a break, then we’ll have another go, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Lockon says, and it’s basically the only thing Lasse’s understood out of his mouth this whole time. He turns to Lasse with something of a rueful grin, and says something—but damnit, Lasse’s brain is a little mushy, and he’s tired, and he doesn’t have the patience to figure out what he’s saying right now.
“Lasse?” Lockon asks, his brows furrowing after he doesn’t reply for several seconds, and he shakes his head.
“I know you’re not allowed to tell me what kind of accent that is,” he says, and Lockon blinks, “but I’ve only been speaking English for six months, so you’re gonna have to slow down.”
“Oh,” he says, his face falling, and he reaches up to scratch the back of his head. The Haro under his arm blinks cheerfully at Lasse. “Uh, sorry about that. Ian’s been giving me shit for it, too.”
He’s indeed speaking slower, but it does nothing for the accent itself, and Lasse’s still using way too much brainpower to try and figure out what he’s saying. “And, uh, anyone who speaks English as a first language knows what my accent is, so I don’t think that’s top-secret,” he continues. “If you’re curious, it’s Irish.”
His first thought is the small, fat, green men whose English name he doesn’t know, and then his second thought is the holiday in March that his superiors in Russia always used as an excuse to get completely smashed. “Huh,” he says, intelligently, and now Lockon’s grinning again.
“You’re pretty good, for only speaking it six months,” he says, canting his head. “I took a few years of French, when I was still in school, but the only thing I know anymore is bonjour.”
Lasse doesn’t even know that much French. He shrugs. “Didn’t have a choice,” he points out, and Lockon shrugs back. “So, does everyone in Ireland talk as fast as you?”
Lockon’s grin grows a little wicked. “I got called laid-back, in school,” he says. “Good thing you’re not meeting any Irish women—they’re way worse.”
Lasse finds this difficult to imagine, but he doesn’t doubt it—and Lockon laughs at him as Ian comes back, yelling for them to get ready for the next round.
Lockon joins him and Chris in the mess hall, that night. “You’re a lot friendlier than Tieria,” he points out, when Lasse slants him a skeptical look, which—well, it’s true, and he can’t really argue with that. It’s not like the guy seems to mind being abandoned for the Fun Table; he’s holed up in a corner of the mess hall, scarfing down dinner and staring intently at his terminal.
“I’m Christina,” she tells Lockon brightly. “We got introduced when you first showed up, but I know you’ve met a lot of people since then, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, looking a little apologetic. “Nice to meet you. You’re—comms, right?”
“Way to say it in the most boring way possible,” she says, rolling her eyes, and Lasse watches as Lockon blanches, a little bit, “but technically correct. I prefer best hacker in orbit, but Feldt’s already giving me a run for my money, so…who knows how long that’ll hold up?”
She shrugs expansively and sighs, and Lockon blinks at her. “I thought Feldt was that kid with the pink hair,” he says, unsure, and Chris nods.
“From what she’s told me, it sounds like she grew up on station,” she says conspiratorially, leaning forward a little. “She’s probably been programming since she learned to read.”
“Fuck,” Lockon says, eloquently, and Chris nods again. She looks a little amused, but Lasse thinks the look on Lockon’s face is actually distressed. “Is she—okay? Like, she’s just a kid—”
“If she grew up here, it’s not like there’s really anywhere else she can go,” she points out, and Lockon’s face twists. “She hasn’t mentioned parents, so…”
She trails off, and Lockon’s clenching his jaw. Lasse jumps in without even thinking, trying to do damage control. “So, did you hear we’re gonna get our other helmsman? Ian was saying he’s going to Earth to pick them up, soon.”
Chris jumps on this conversation change quickly, her face lighting up. Lockon joins in just as easily, but Lasse’s long learned to read body language as an occupational hazard. The guy’s shoulders don’t loosen up again for the entire time they’re in the mess hall.
At some point, Lasse thinks to question why Lockon gets his own Haro.
The things are invaluable in the hangar, and they'll be even more important once they debut and repairs will need to happen after every sortie. He doesn't know why they'd give one up to a pilot, who should be able to fly just fine without a computer's help.
(Maybe he's jealous. Just a little. And he knows he can't tell another soul, because he'd never hear the end of it.)
(They're just so goddamned cute—)
He asks Lockon, one day, on a break between simulations, after Tieria stormed off because Lockon mixed up formations November-five and November-six. "Y'know, I'm not sure?" Lockon says, tilting his head thoughtfully at Orange Haro as it chats with some of its fellows. "The only thing really is, Ian said he'll take care of flying and defense when I'm using my sniping module."
He shrugs. Lasse wonders if he's not the only one to get attached to these little robots, if Lockon's invested enough to gender it. "I guess that makes sense," Lasse says with a little frown. "But Tieria doesn't have one."
"Tieria's practically his own robot, though," Lockon says with a grin, and Lasse can't help but laugh. "But Ian hasn't said anything about Haros assigned to Kyrios or Exia, so…"
He trails off, catching Orange Haro as it—he—propels himself back toward them. "Lasse and I were wondering," Lockon says, staring down at it thoughtfully. "Why did I luck out and get my very own Haro?"
"Sniping support! Sniping support!" Haro says, flapping his ears a little, and Lockon grins, looking back up to Lasse.
"Well, there you go," he says, and stows Haro under one arm as Ian yells for them. He pushes off toward Dynames' cockpit again, and Lasse's left with a slightly ridiculous amount of jealousy growing in his chest.
(He'd like a blue one, he thinks. Maybe, if he picks up sniping too—)
Next week in the hangar, Lasse hears Lockon yell (shriek, he'll say later, even if Lockon will always deny it), almost deafeningly into the short range comms. The string of words that follow should be decipherable to Lasse, since swearing was practically the first thing he learned in English. But Lockon's not toning down his accent, or slowing his speech—
Except the meaning is clear enough, anyhow, and he shoves off toward Dynames, his pulse pounding as Lockon continues to yell—"Ian! Ian, help—"
Lasse finally gets enough height to see Lockon clearly, and he's—he's okay. He's not missing any limbs, or caught in his Gundam's joint, or bleeding, or even acting like he's in pain. He's just floating by the cockpit, practically vibrating with panic as Ian and Tieria come rushing toward him as well.
"What's wrong?" Ian asks sharply, as soon as he's near enough to see. "What happened?"
"I—" he chokes. "I was leaving the cockpit, and I thought Haro was closer behind me but he wasn't and then when the hatch closed he was still—he was in the way and something crunched and—"
Tieria rolls his eyes, turning right back around toward Virtue without a word. Lasse's heart is in his throat as he stares at Ian, at the half-closed cockpit hatch, and wonders whether there's such a thing as a robot surgeon that could—
Except Ian is laughing, propelling closer to Lockon and reaching into the hatch, pulling something until it springs open again. "I thought I told you, when you first showed up," he says, slapping the top of the cockpit. "The Haros are tough little assholes—it'll take more than that to break them. The only thing you have to worry about is pissing me off, once I have a chance to see what damage it did to Dynames."
As if on cue, Orange Haro pops out of the cockpit and into Lockon's shaking hands, beeping cheerfully. Lasse promises, silently, that he won't tell a soul about the way Lockon sobs, so long as Lockon does the same for him.
"Are you okay?" Lockon asks Haro, a little desperately, and Haro razzes, propelling himself up to bonk him gently on the forehead.
"Tough, Haro, tough!"
Ian laughs at them again before going back to his own work, so it's just the three of them floating sixty feet in the air, staring at each other and trying to calm their racing hearts.
If he had eyeballs, Haro would be rolling them. "Maintenance! Maintenance!" it says after several seconds of silence, and bops them both in the chest before flying to join his fellows back by the solar reactor. Lockon watches him go blankly before turning to Lasse, looking a little lost and still half-terrified.
Lasse doesn't blame him. It's another hour before he gets his hands to stop shaking.
“I’m sorry,” Lockon says for about the twentieth time, several days later, as they hover behind Ian as he works on Dynames’ cockpit. “Are you sure it didn’t—”
“I told you, boy,” Ian says, for the eighth time in the last hour—and no one in Celestial Being has ever been called patient. “It’ll take more than that to even put a scratch on a Haro. You really think I’d build something that wouldn’t survive a nasty mobile suit battle?”
“Yeah, but—”
“It’s fine,” Ian says again, and reaches back blindly for a soldering iron that Lasse hastily hands to him. “You should be apologizing for fucking up the seal, here—we’ll need to get some new parts printed, and that isn’t cheap—”
Lasse peers in over Ian’s shoulder carefully, and sure enough, part of the airlock seal in the closing mechanism has a round, suspiciously Haro-shaped dent in the wall. “I thought we basically didn’t have a budget up here,” he asks, cautiously, and even without seeing his face, Lasse knows Ian’s rolling his eyes.
“Doesn’t mean money grows on trees, idiot,” he says, grunting and leaning further into the cockpit. “Now, are you two gonna help me, or just stand back there bitching while I do all the work?”
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Lockon’s taken to carrying Haro around with him even when he’s not training in the hangar. He will deny to his dying day that it’s because he’s terrified something will happen to him when he’s not looking.
It’s not always possible, obviously—and when Haro’s needed in the hangar, he lets him go willingly. It’s just—it’s ridiculous. He’s twenty years old, but having his little robot friend with him feels kind of like a security blanket.
(He’s very glad Lyle isn’t here to laugh his ass off about it—because even if he can bluff his way through this crew, his brother would see through him like glass.)
He’s not the only one who’s attached to Haro, though—he doesn’t miss the envious looks Lasse shoots his way, when he thinks he isn’t looking. Feldt spends way more time in the hangar than he thinks is probably rational or safe, when she’s still so fucking small, and as a comms operator, she’d have no reason to be in here in the first place—
But he’s seen her chatting with the Haros for minutes on end, when getting her to talk otherwise is like pulling teeth. Huh. Well, if this is how she deals with growing up with a terrorist organization...Lockon guesses he can’t fault her for it.
He doesn’t miss the way Lasse’s planning to swipe Orange Haro, but he’s grown to like the guy, anyway. He’s still making educated guesses at what he means, sometimes, when he garbles his English particularly badly—but he supposes that fair’s fair. After all, when he’s distracted or tired or hungry or—anything, really, he doesn’t work so hard at dampening his own accent or slowing down.
Heh, two guys who can barely understand each other, tasked with keeping each other alive while they fight the entire world. That’s gonna work out great.
Lasse’s English is getting better, though, as Lockon spends more and more time with him and Chris on their off shifts. They’re both chatty and friendly, and it’s been since before the bomb that Lockon actually had anyone he’d call a friend. But, he supposes, this is probably as close as he’s ever gonna get again. And they’re not bad guys to spend his time with, all things considered. He thinks, maybe, that he could get used to this.
“So Lasse says Haro’s indestructible,” Chris says thoughtfully over dinner, one night, as the aforementioned basketball rolls around beside their trays. “What’d you do to figure that out?”
“Tried to close the cockpit on him,” Lockon says guiltily, and it’s been a couple weeks, now, but the horror’s still heavy in his gut every time he remembers the way something in that mechanism crunched. “Ian’s been bitching me out—he's been rebuilding the whole hatch because Haro broke it.”
Her eyebrows fly high, at that, and she turns consideringly toward Haro. “So what would break you?” she asks, tilting her head. “I mean, those walls are reinforced steel, right? Some of the strongest stuff out there!”
Haro blinks for several seconds, like he's processing, before sitting upright and flapping his ears. “Nuclear strike! Nuclear strike!”
Lockon stares at him. “You’re joking,” Lasse says, his voice pitching up a little. “You’re built to be stronger than the Gundams?”
“Information security! Information security!” he says cheerfully, rolling around a little, and Lockon—well, that makes sense, he guesses, because a Haro would be significantly easier to steal than a whole-ass mobile suit, but—
“I mean,” Lasse splutters, and Lockon can’t tell if he’s struggling with the language or with this new, earth-shattering revelation. “Did you guys test that? Do we have nukes sitting around up here?”
Haro razzes, a little. “Theoretical,” he says, almost reassuring. (Fuck, maybe this little guy’s getting to his head more than he thought.) “Theoretical.”
“Well, that’s something, at least,” Lasse says, but runs a hand through his hair anyway, his face screwed up as he looks back to Lockon. “Sounds like this thing’ll survive you, even, yeah?”
Well, Lockon’s always taken that as a given. He didn’t exactly expect to retire peacefully from Gundam piloting. “Better get myself a life insurance policy,” he says with a grin. “Make sure he’s well taken care of, once I’m gone.”
Haro razzes again, and bops him hard in the forehead, and Lockon thinks the laugh that bursts from his mouth is more real than it has been in a very long time.
It’s nagging at the back of his mind, though, the way no one’s actually tested these supposedly indestructible little guys.
“Veda’s calculations are infallible,” Tieria tells him imperiously, when he asks. “If it says the Haros will not break, short of a nuclear strike, then they will not.”
“Are you questioning my skills, boy?” Ian asks, a frown growing on his face as he crosses his arms. “I’ve been an engineer since before you were born—”
“Ideally, we won’t ever have to find out,” Miss Sumeragi tells him, raising her tumbler in something of a toast before taking a deep swig. “But yes, I trust that Veda is right about that. Basically, it's a black box for your Gundam, right? Designed to survive anything the world can throw at it, and retain your flight data.”
Except—sure, that’s all well and good in theory, but what if they're wrong? What if—god forbid—a Haro falls into the wrong hands, and they were able to break open the casing? Interface with its on-board storage? Hack into Krung Thep?
(And yeah, okay, Chris would never let that happen, but what if—)
He asks Haro one day, sitting together in his cabin and picking at the wool of his vest. "Don't you think someone should test your limits?" he asks, and Haro beeps questioningly at him. "I mean—don't tell Tieria I said this—but what if Veda's wrong? Our information could be compromised, the world could find out all our secrets—"
Haro beeps for a few seconds, rocking back and forth on his desk. "Testing? Testing?" he asks eventually, and Lockon nods.
"Yeah, not like—like actual nukes or anything, but—I dunno, has anyone ever tried to pry one of you guys open with a crowbar? Or shoot you, to break apart your casing?"
Haro responds in the negative, tilting a little, like he's considering Lockon thoughtfully. "Try it, try it," he says, after a little while, and Lockon looks up.
"Me?" he asks skeptically, sitting back a little on his bed. "I'm not a scientist—"
But Haro's beeping about science now, decidedly cheerful and maybe even excited, and—
Now, let it be known that Lockon Stratos never liked science class, and he never actually finished high school. But, he remembers enough of it to know that you're not supposed to accept something as fact without scientific proof. If there isn't any proof...then, well, you'd better find it yourself, right? And even if he's a tenth-grade drop out, furthering scientific discovery has to be a noble cause.
"For science," he agrees with a grin, reaching for a fist bump. Haro's happy beeps grow louder as he propels up to return it with two hands.
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Lasse is mildly terrified when Lockon approaches him the next day, in the hangar. He's got Haro under one arm, a long-ass crowbar in his opposite hand, and a wide, shit-eating grin on his face.
Fuck, does Lockon know about his plans to steal Haro? Is he here for pre-emptive revenge? He's been way too obvious, and he's just imagining how the business end of the crowbar will feel on his skull when Lockon stops a few feet from him, and leans it against his shoulder, and grins even wider.
"How do you feel about Science?" Lockon asks him, and Lasse blinks. That sure isn't the beginning of a conversation that's gonna end in a fist fight.
"Uh," he starts, unsure, "we do it here? Sometimes?"
"Sure," Lockon agrees with a nod. "You wanna pitch in?"
He's only growing more confused. "I didn't even finish school," he points out. "I don't think I'm gonna be much help, yeah?"
"Me neither!" Lockon says cheerfully, and holds up Haro between them. "Luckily, we've got our buddy here to help us out."
Haro beeps cheerfully at Lasse, and fuck but the little guy is cute. And, he supposes, if anyone were to be an expert in Science, it would be an AI robot on the most advanced space station known to mankind.
"What kind of Science are we talking about?" he asks, and Haro beeps before propelling up until he's next to the crowbar.
"The break shit kind," Lockon says, and Lasse is a little terrified to see his smile grow even wider. "Haro wants me to test his limits. Says it's a challenge. He even said he thought I couldn't break him."
Maybe he should have a different reaction to this. Five seconds ago, the idea of trying to hurt Haro would’ve turned his stomach. But the little guy looks so goddamn excited about the idea, bouncing in mid-air, and Lockon’s obviously gotten over his own hang-ups, and—
And something switches over, in Lasse's brain. Maybe it's a really, really stupid carry-over from his time with the mafiya, but he's never once stepped down from a challenge. "Oh, yeah?" he asks, squinting at Haro for a couple seconds longer. Then, he looks back at Lockon with a grin of his own. "Count me in."
They start small, all things considered.
Lasse’s a little too relieved that the crowbar was meant to be used as a lever to pry open the arm and mouth interfaces. He wisely keeps his mouth shut even as Lockon starts debating the best way to try it when they’re restricted by the low gravity.
Fifteen minutes later, the crowbar’s in pieces, and Haro is almost certainly laughing at them from where he’s trapped in one of the table clamps off the main hangar. Lasse’s laughing his ass off at the incredulous look on Lockon’s face. “Okay,” Lockon says, after several seconds of staring at the crowbar. “Okay, uh, we’re gonna need a cover story for this, stat, because I definitely stole this from a tech—”
The door slides open, behind them, and Lasse winces as Lockon swears under his breath. Neither of them dare acknowledge his presence.
“What the fuck,” the guy says, with feeling. Lockon swallows, slaps on a bright smile, and turns around.
Lasse’s ears are still ringing when they meet the next day for a brainstorming session. Lockon appears entirely unrepentant, as he glances both ways down the hallway before slipping into Lasse’s room like he’s a spy, or something.
Well, after the dressing-down that tech gave them yesterday, Lasse doesn’t want to imagine what it would sound like, if Tieria found out what they were doing. Better that they be cautious.
“So, obviously, that didn’t work,” Lockon says cheerfully, grinning at Haro as he invites himself to sit down on Lasse’s bed. “So, what’s the next step in doing Science?”
“Take notes! Take notes!” Haro says cheerfully, and oh shit, that’s right—it’s not Real Science if you don’t write it down. That one guy from the twenty-first century said some shit like that. (At least, Lasse’s pretty sure—the dubs aren’t that reliable nowadays.) He hastily pulls out his terminal, opening a new note and glancing up at Lockon.
“Tried prying open with a crowbar. Results: broken crowbar,” he says, slowly, as he’s typing. Lockon nods along, and Haro beeps his approval. “Okay, so should we write down all our ideas, too? Just so we don’t forget anything?”
Lockon agrees cheerfully, and Haro continues beeping, so Lasse hits enter a couple times and then looks back up to Haro thoughtfully.
“I mean, the obvious thing to try would be shooting him,” he says, tilting his head. Honestly, with the way that crowbar snapped in half like it was a twig, he’s starting to think that Ian might be onto something. But Lasse is nothing if not stubborn (uh, thorough). “You have guns up here, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Lockon agrees, peering at Haro for a second. “I can get my best rifle out, and I’m pretty sure I can find a shotgun somewhere, if I say it’s for training.”
Lasse agrees, and quickly notes them down. “What about melting the plating?” Lockon continues, tilting his head at Haro. “I mean, what the hell is he made out of? If we could get a blowtorch or something—”
“Try it! Try it!” Haro says, bouncing a little bit in mid-air, and Lasse dutifully puts it down.
“Okay, so what if we—”
“I mean, if you’re sure, Haro—”
“Science! Science!!”
Honestly, Lasse isn’t sure what he expected.
Lockon brings them to the firing range (“Safety first! Ricochets are no fun”), and Haro cheerfully flies down the lane to wait in place as Lockon gets his “borrowed” shotgun loaded.
“I told Tieria it was to get used to shooting short range in null g,” he tells Lasse in an undertone. Lasse would be worried if he weren’t grinning ear to ear. “So uh, maybe I’d better actually get some practice in, too.”
Lasse—most proficient in knives and hand to hand—has never really thought about projectile physics being different in space. Huh. He guesses that’s why Lockon’s the sniper, not him. So he only nods along, and puts his headphones on when Lockon gives the signal, and watches through the bulletproof glass with interest as Lockon lines up his shot.
Haro beeps encouragement at them when he hesitates, and only a moment later Lockon’s pulled the trigger.
Haro’s less than five feet away. Even Lasse knows that’s prime range for a shotgun. Any human tissue at that distance would be an afterthought and a smear on the back wall—but Haro isn’t phased at all. He doesn’t flinch away, he doesn’t even appear to be scratched as he engages his propulsion systems to keep himself from flying back too far.
The shells are quickly vacuumed into the waste recyclers, and Lockon stares as Haro comes back up toward the lane. “Good shot! Good shot!” he says, and Lockon grins.
“Heh, that’s rich, coming from you,” he says, but puts the shotgun aside and reaches to inspect Haro more closely. “Not even a dent, huh?”
Haro flaps his ears some more, and Lockon smiles even wider. “All right, how about the highest caliber rifle I’ve got?”
“Sounds good! Sounds good!” Haro says, flapping for another moment before pushing himself up and retreating significantly further back down the range.
The best sniper in the world lines up his shot, and his partner in crime clutches his terminal, practically vibrating with anticipation as he waits to write down their newest results.
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Tried blowtorch. Results: second degree burns...on Lasse’s hands.
Ian’s beside himself, when he hears the two of them screaming just off the main hangar. Then he’s even angrier, when he realizes what they were doing.
“What the hell do you mean, you were trying to melt—”
“Science! Science!”
“You two are adults, you should know better than—”
“Yeah, but Haro said—”
“Get your ass to med bay, Aeon, and if I ever see you near my equipment again—”
Tried sledgehammer. Results: ...the worst pinball game EVER in the hangar
“Okay, in my defense, my brain’s wired for projectile physics in Earth’s gravity, how was I supposed to know it would—”
“You’ve told me for the past several weeks that you’ve been working on that on the shooting range, Lockon Stratos. Would you like to explain what you’re really doing down there?”
“Uh, practicing, obviously, except guns and sledgehammers are very different weapons, and—”
“You will both be given clean-up duties for the next month, I’ll see to it myself.”
“Hey, Tieria, I don’t think—”
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, Lasse Aeon. Do not test my limits.”
Tried short-circuiting Haro. Results: power failure across the entire station
“Okay, so, explain this to me one more time...”
“We were trying to break Haro,” Lockon explains cheerfully. The little guy beeps an affirmative, from beside him, broadcasting a flashlight so that they can see each other. “Since it’s pretty obvious we can’t just smash him, we thought—”
“Why??”
“Because we can?”
Chris is silent for several seconds too long. “You know what?” she says eventually, her grin wide as the Cheshire cat's, “I’m not even mad. Good luck, and let me know if you need more ideas, yeah?”
Tried breaking Orange Haro with Red Haro. Results: a possibly traumatized Allelujah, and the ridicule of the entire Haro fleet
“Uh, Lasse—?”
“We just need to borrow him for a little bit,” he promises, and shamelessly holds Red Haro above Allelujah’s head. “I’ll have him back to you in a couple hours.”
And yeah, maybe it’s a little bit of a dick move, to steal the guy’s translator and guide when his English and his sense of direction are shoddy at best. But it’s the only other Haro either of them know with any familiarity, and Lasse’s pretty sure there’s something when you’re doing Science about not having more unknowns than you absolutely need to.
“What are you going to do with it?” Allelujah insists, frowning a little and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Science,” Lasse says with a grin, and pushes off toward the hangar before he can argue.
Tried stepping on Haro with Dynames. Results: dented floor, being judged by the smartest lady on station
“Okay, so—you’re trying to break Haro?”
“Yeah!” Lockon says brightly. “See, I was worried about how no one’s tested their durability, and if something happens to me and the enemy gets a hold of him—”
“I thought Tieria told you that Veda’s calculations have a 99.8% accuracy rate?”
“Well, sure, but in an operation like this, we really can’t risk that 0.2% chance, right? Better safe than sorry!”
Sumeragi sighs deeply through her nose. She’s definitely not drunk enough for this. “You know what? Sure,” she says, and rolls her eyes a little. “Just don’t come crying to me when Ian gets back from leave and sees the dent in his floor.”
(She manages to make it back to the safety of her cabin before laughing herself silly.)
Tried launching Haro from a flightstrip unprotected. Results: fucked-up calibrations for launching sequences, a hole in the hangar door, and indefinite banishment from the bridge
“Lockon Stratos, you of all people should understand how vital the Haros are to the Plan. Why do you insist on—”
“Look, I told you, we’ve gotta test—”
“You’re not testing anything. You’re trying to break shit, as you put it, and wasting your time, as well as my time, and the time of everyone else who has to clean up after you.”
Lockon and Lasse both are struck silent, for a moment, at the revelation that Tieria just swore at them. “We clean up after ourselves,” Lockon argues, eventually. “And if we do find a weak point in their design, you’ll be thanking us.”
Tieria snarls, and rolls his eyes, and doesn’t say another word to either of them for a week.
Tried shooting Haro with Dynames’ rifle. Results: a DEFINITELY traumatized ten year old
“What are you doing??”
The voice is high pitched enough to nearly shatter Lasse’s eardrums, as he monitors Lockon, Dynames, and Haro in space from what was supposed to be an empty bridge. He turns sharply to see Feldt staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. An apologetic Chris comes in behind her with a pale face, shaking her head and making a frantic slashing motion across her throat. Damnit, she was supposed to be distracting Feldt long enough for them to pull this off—
“Don’t worry about it,” he says hastily, doing his absolute best to block Feldt’s view of the gigantic screens behind him. “Just a little bit of routine testing, nothing to worry about—”
“Targeting and firing!” Lockon says cheerfully, at quite possibly the worst moment, and Lasse winces as Dynames takes the shot. He turns, as if in slow motion, to see the large monitor zoomed in on Haro as the pink light all but whites out the screen.
Feldt, somehow, screams louder.
The light fades, and Haro broadcasts a cheerful test successful, test successful, except it does nothing to calm her down. She bursts into tears, and shoves past Chris on her way off the bridge, and Lasse feels like the worst person alive as Chris makes another apologetic face at him before turning to follow after her.
Conclusion: okay, yeah, maybe the Haros are ACTUALLY indestructible
Lockon’s entirely too cheerful for the situation, when he docks Dynames again. He climbs out into the hangar only to see Feldt on the ground, hugging Haro to her chest like the world would fall apart if she let go.
“Uh, hey,” he says, scratching the back of his neck guiltily as he approaches. Chris makes a desperate shooing motion with her hands, but it’s too late—Feldt looks up at his call, and her face only grows paler.
“What are you doing?” she demands, the tears only falling faster from her eyes, and Lockon falters. “Why would you—”
“For science! For science!” Haro tells her, obviously trying to reassure, but it does less than nothing to help. She bursts into a new round of hysterics, and grips Haro tighter, and pushes off blindly toward the living quarters. Chris makes another face at Lockon before turning to follow.
And—yeah, okay, maybe he should’ve seen this coming, and maybe he should’ve anticipated the sick pit in his gut. But the only thing worse than having a kid on station is to be the one to make that kid cry, and—
And yeah, maybe he’s comfortable with Veda’s calculations after all. There’s something like a lump growing in his throat as he follows the girls back to the cabin hallway at a great delay, hoping he won’t run into them in the hallway, and shoots Lasse a text.
Lockon: mission aborted
Lasse: oh god she went to the hangar didnt she
Lockon: if i ever get haro back ill consider myself forgiven
Lasse: better prepare ur groveling, dude
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Lyle Dylandy’s been on this high tech, super secret spaceship for exactly two days, and he’s already fed up with being looked at like he’s a ghost every time he turns around.
Tieria’s finally done putting him through his paces in Cherudim for the day. Pretending to be worse at piloting than he actually is is exhausting, and he’s ready to go decompress in his cabin for the next three hours when Ian approaches him, holding a weird-looking basketball under his arm.
Fuck, no. He’s not joining a terrorist co-ed sports team, not the least because he’s already started one up back in Azadistan. He’d never betray his friends like that. He’d—
“This is Orange Haro,” Ian says, holding it out toward him, and Lyle blinks, taking another look. On further consideration, it’s not a basketball at all; it’s a little robot, with flashing lights that look like eyes, and little wings that flap up and down as it says hello, and—
And okay, fuck, maybe Celestial Being has this one thing on Katharon, because Lyle’s never seen a cuter robot in his life.
“He’ll be your partner in piloting,” Ian’s continuing, throwing the robot gently toward Lyle, and he fumbles to catch it, looking down at its probably-eyes and blinking for a second.
“Nice to meet you! Nice to meet you!” it says, flapping its wings some more, and—
Yeah, fuck. This is the cutest shit he’s seen since he was a kid and Amy was going on a stuffed animal binge. Only difference is, this time, he’s more than man enough to admit it.
But he’s supposed to be calm and collected. He’s supposed to be a jackass up here, to make sure people don’t forget that he’s not his brother, so he schools his face and looks back up to Ian and Tieria, who are both staring at him intently. “What, you don’t trust me to pilot without a computer’s help?” he asks, forcing a little laugh, and Tieria scoffs as Ian shakes his head.
“Our sniping units have always had a Haro in them,” he says. “For when you’re using your reticle—good luck dodging, or using your shield bits, when you’re trying to snipe, yeah?”
Okay, fair point. And not that he’s taking comfort in being compared to his brother, but it’s good, at least, that Neil also had to have a robot as backup when he was flying. “Great,” he says after another second, tossing Haro lightly in one hand for a second before he remembers they’re in null g. Haro beeps in a way that sounds suspiciously like a laugh as he engages his thrusters, making sure he doesn’t fly too far up. “So, uh...anything I should know about him, or...?”
“Well, you won’t need to worry about breaking him, or anything,” Ian says with a grin. “They’re indestructible little assholes. And he’ll show you around the ship, until you learn your way.”
Lyle’s privately very grateful for this, though he’d never admit it to another living soul. “Unbreakable, huh?” he asks instead with a little grin. He squints down at Haro, whose beeping has turned rather cheerful. “What’d you do to find that out?”
Neither of them answer for several seconds, and Lyle eventually looks back at them, one eyebrow raised. Tieria’s face has gone very, very blank, and Ian looks like he’s trying his damnedest to hold in hysterical laughter. “What?” he asks, after several seconds more of silence, and Tieria shakes his head, pushing off without a word toward the door.
“Ask Lasse sometime,” Ian says, which explains nothing at all, and Lyle’s only about fifty percent sure of who Lasse even is, and damnit, if these people don’t stop tiptoeing around him like he’ll bite their heads off, then he might actually decide to do some damage. “Let’s just say that he and your brother, ah, tested his limits thoroughly.”
The twinge of annoyance lingers long after Ian’s gone, leaving him alone in the hangar with Haro. Even Lyle can admit that it’s probably irrational, but fuck, of course everything he does up here loops back around to his brother.
Despite this—despite his stupid brother being deeply involved, his curiosity eventually wins out. “So, what would break you?” he asks, tilting his head at Haro, who beeps cheerfully at him.
“Nuclear strike! Nuclear strike!” he says, and Lyle stares.
“You’re joking,” he demands, and Haro starts laughing at him again.
“Try it! Try it!” he says, and it takes every ounce of willpower Lyle possesses to turn him down.