Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all starts when Skizz gets really into ham radio.

It’s not the most surprising thing in the world—Skizz is like that, likes to find weird little niche things to devote all his free time to. He’d done it with geocaching and drones and 3D printing, and Impulse is more than used to his shenanigans after several decades of friendship. At least ham radio is less chaotic than the summer he’d gotten into competitive duck herding. 

Because the other thing Skizz does, when he gets into his hobbies, is he tries to get Impulse into them as well. And whilst some of the things they end up doing together are fun, Impulse had not had a great time with the ducks. But when Skizz suggests the radio—well, it doesn’t sound too terrible. Not as bad as getting chased around by angry feathered nightmare creatures, at the very least. 

“Come on, dude,” Skizz had insisted over the phone, when Impulse had still been on the fence about the whole matter. “If you set one up, we can talk over the radio, even while we’re so far apart!”

“That’s what phones are for,” Impulse had pointed out.

“The radio’s cooler,” Skizz had replied, and, well, he was right. 

So Impulse had gotten himself a radio.

It’d been a cheap radio, half-broken and found in the dusty corner of a local secondhand store, but Impulse is a pretty good engineer, and whilst radios aren’t his specialty, he’d figured he could fix it up. But after several hours of tinkering with it in the garage, surrounded by tools and dust, music playing from his car stereo, he’s still gotten no closer to having a functioning radio. No matter what frequency he tunes it to, all he gets is static, even when he knows for a fact that the frequency he’s trying should connect him to the local radio.

He spends what is probably far too long attempting to fix it before admitting defeat. It’s getting late—the sun’s gone down outside, and now his work is only lit by the dim flickering bulb of the old desk lamp they’d moved out here when they’d gotten a better one for inside—and he should probably be getting himself some food and heading to bed soon. He’ll just have to call Skizz in the morning and tell him that it's a bust.

He turns the dial one last time, more out of habit than any real hope, and reels back as static blares loud enough to hurt his ears. He fumbles forward, attempting to find the button to turn the radio off, when the static quiets, and a voice calls out from the speakers, tinny and quiet but there.

“Hello? Is this thing working? Hello. Can anyone read me?” A staticky, garbled laugh. “Please. Mayday, mayday, is anyone there?”

Impulse, starting, reaches for the receiver, pulling it to his mouth. His hands are shaking as he responds. “Hello? I read you. Who is this? Can you hear me?”

A pause stretches out, far too long for comfort, before the reply comes. “Oh, thank god.” Another laugh. “This is Cadet Tango Tek. I’m… Well, I was an astronaut on board the starship Varia.”

“Was?”

“We, uh, we crash landed. On some moon somewhere. No idea where, I wasn’t involved in navigation, I just… Well, anyway. I managed to make it into an escape pod. No idea if anyone else made it out.”

Impulse blinks. “Are you joking?” he asks, heart pounding.

“What? No! Why would I joke about this?” A pause. “Wait. Just who are you, anyway?”

“Oh! Um, my name’s Impulse. I’m an engineer.”

“At HASA?”

“No, just… just an engineer.”

“Wait, so you’re a civilian?”

“Yes?”

“How’re you even connecting to this frequency?”

“I don’t… know.” Impulse stares down at the old radio, more confused than he had been before. 

“Well, you’re the only one I’ve managed to get a hold of so far. I was beginning to think my suit’s communication systems were busted before you replied.”

“And you’re… stranded. On a distant moon. Somewhere in space.”

“Yup! That is exactly my situation. My suit sensor says the air here is breathable, which is nothing short of a miracle, but I’ve got no food or water or anything on me. I’ve got the world’s most basic toolkit, and that’s about it.” There’s a weird staticky blast that Impulse thinks might be Tango blowing out a breath. “Lucky me!”

Impulse is absolutely not qualified to deal with this situation. He’s not an astronaut. He knows nothing about space. His experience with survival is that time he and Skizz got lost whilst camping and had wandered around the woods for three days desperately searching for signs of civilisation. He should probably just hang up and go to bed, or try and call someone more equipped to deal with this situation, but Tango sounds like he’s in a pretty bad place, and Impulse can’t just leave him here to deal with it alone.

So instead he asks, “Are you… okay?”

“Let’s see. My ship just crashed in the middle of nowhere, you’re the only one hailing on this frequency, and the only survivor I see is me, the least prepared person in existence for this sort of emergency! But, you know, I made it out of that whole ordeal with only a stubbed toe, so really things are just peachy. Thanks for asking.”

Impulse huffs. “Sorry about the toe, smartass. I was trying to be nice.”

Tango snorts. “I’m a little on edge right now. Not sure if you’ve noticed.” There’s a long pause. Impulse is about to try calling out again, suddenly worried that something has happened, when Tango speaks. “So, my escape pod came down in some kind of desert. There’s a huge peak a few miles away—or, kilometres, I guess? They kept trying to get us to think in metric for the mission, but some things are just hardwired.”

“Don’t worry, I have no idea what a kilometre is anyway,” Impulse attempts to joke.

“Finally, someone who speaks my language. Anyway—that’s to the northeast, according to my compass. South and southwest is what I can only assume to be the wreckage of my ship. They’re… definitely closer than the peak is. Which way should I go?”

“The ship,” Impulse decides. “They’re closer, for one, and there’s probably supplies you can take.”

"Makes sense,” Tango says. “If I’m lucky, there might be other survivors.” A pause. “God, I hope there’s other survivors.” 

Impulse does too. If only because other survivors would mean Impulse would not be Tango’s only source of advice in this situation.

“Okay. Okay, I’m gonna start heading south. I think it’s about an hour’s walk? I’ll check in with you when I get there.” A pause. It’s hard to tell through the static, but Impulse thinks Tango sounds nervous when he asks, “You’ll still be there in an hour, right?”

Impulse glances at the clock on the wall. It reads 9:35pm, but it’s a little slow—it’s probably more like 9:50. Impulse should definitely be getting ready for bed, unless he wants to completely ruin his sleep schedule. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll be here. See you then.”

“See you then.”

The line fades out into static. 

The walk is much longer than Tango gave it credit for.

Maybe it’s the rolling white sands of the desert reflecting weirdly in the light, making distances seem lesser than they are. Maybe it’s that he’s limping a little, his stride slowed by the pain in his toe (it might be a little more than stubbed. Probably fractured, he’s guessing. Not straight-up broken, he hopes). Maybe it’s just that he’s exhausted, and shaky on adrenaline, and it’s really hard to think or move or do anything right about now.

He’s still walking, though, because he has no other choice in the matter. If he lies down like he desperately wants to, he’ll die. (He’ll probably die anyway, all things considered, but Tango is not considering all things right now. He’s mostly just considering putting one foot in front of the other, as many times as it takes to get back to the Varia.)

The one bright spot in all of this is that he’s not totally alone—though he’s not particularly sure how much help a civilian will be. More than nothing, at least. Tango’s trying to count his blessings, honestly, he is. He’s not dead yet, that’s got to count for something.

He’s close enough now to see the two separate chunks of the ship. The plumes of black smoke he’d seen from a distance have lessened, though the air here is still acrid to breathe in (it probably wasn’t his best idea, to leave his helmet back at the emergency pod, even if the air is breathable, but Tango hates the damn things with a passion). He comes to a halt, looking over the wreckage, telling himself that the tightness in his chest is a product of the lingering smoke and nothing else.

Surrounding the two great chunks of the ship is a ton of scattered debris, dark gleaming metal stuck into the pale sands like twisted desert plants. It looks like something out of a movie, the aftermath of an apocalypse. Tango swallows hard against the bile in his throat. The heat shielding on the ship is gone, completely stripped by the atmosphere, but the actual frame of the Varia seems mostly intact. There might actually be something to find here.

Maybe even someone.

He fumbles for his radio, pressing down the button and speaking into the static. “Impulse?” he calls. “Are you there?”

“Tango!” comes the response, after a long moment of silence. “Are you okay? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it was just… It was a long walk.” He takes a deep breath. “Listen, I made it to the ship. It’s come down in two chunks—there’s the uh, the flight deck, and then the crew quarters. Which… I mean, where do you think I should go first?”

Tango is more than capable of making this decision for himself, really. He doesn’t need someone to hold his hand. But everything right now is kind of terrifying, and if he can give someone else the burden of choice, that’s just one more thing he doesn’t have to carry. 

“The flight deck,” Impulse decides for him.

“Okay.” Tango nods, even though Impulse can’t see him. “Give me a minute to search through the wreckage.” He pauses. “You’ll still be there, right?” He feels kind of pathetic asking, but he really doesn’t want to be alone right now.

“I won’t leave,” Impulse promises.

“Okay. Chat in a bit.” Tango closes the line and takes in another shuddering breath. Okay. Okay, he can do this! 

It takes him a few minutes to make it over to the remains of the flight deck. The Varia was only small, and the impact of the crash crumpled the entrance to the deck in on itself even further. He has to get on his hands and knees and crawl through, barely avoiding slicing his palms open on sharp, jagged metal. You don’t become an astronaut without getting used to a little claustrophobia, though, so Tango just mutters a curse and wriggles his way through until the space opens up a little more.

He makes a beeline for the controls. The front window is entirely shattered, a spiderweb of cracks and missing glass. He glances down at the instruments on the control panel and feels his stomach flip before sinking, sudden excitement immediately crushed.

The good news is that one of the defence turrets and, more importantly, the distress beacon are still working. 

The bad news? There’s nowhere near enough power to use them. The reactor had been in the back of the ship, where the crew’s quarter was, and there’s no way to connect them back up now they’ve been unceremoniously torn apart. 

He’s contemplating his ability to jerry-rig some sort of battery from scraps when he hears something behind him. 

He spins, heart pounding, but there’s nothing there. He’s alone. Of course he’s alone! Stupid Tango, there’s nothing on this moon other than you. It must have just been the wind.

And that’s when he sees the body.

Nausea immediately surges and he swallows hard against it, forcing himself forward to take a closer look. It’s Bdubs, because of course it is, who else would it be—he’s lying flat on his back, limbs played, expression slack and eyes closed. His skin is pale, paler than Tango has ever seen it, and he is covered in blood. It’s more blood than Tango’s ever seen, sticky and red and everywhere, flowing sluggishly from a wound in Bdubs’ side where some kind of metal support beam has gone straight through him.

He’s fumbling for the radio before he can even think about it. “Oh, god,” he chokes into the static, unable to find any other words. No, wait, he has one more. “Shit.”

“Tango?” there’s a hint of nervousness in the static of Impulse’s reply. “What happened, what’s wrong?”

“I…” Tango swallows. “I just found Bdubs. Um, one of the, the crew.” 

“Are they alive?” asks Impulse, and Tango bites back a laugh.

“There’s so much blood,” he whispers. “There’s so much blood and—” Bdubs stirs, a low groan leaving his mouth, and suddenly Tango realises what the noise that had startled him earlier had been. “Oh holy crap,” he breathes. “He’s not dead!” 

“Okay,” Impulse says, and Tango isn’t sure if it’s the bad connection or the rushing in his ears making him sound so far away. “Is he conscious?”

“Don’t think so,” Tango says. “Bdubs? Hey, buddy, can you hear me?” There’s no response. Just the raspy, rattling wheeze of his breath. “No.”

“Okay. Any obvious injuries?”

“Yeah, there’s uh, a huge piece of metal through his side. A support beam or something.” Tango pauses. “Should I pull it out?”

“No!” comes the panicked response. “He might bleed out.”

“Oh. Right. Duh.” Tango slaps his hand against his forehead. “I know that. I’ve done first-aid training.” It’s really hard to remember that when the room is low-key spinning, though. “Oh, man, he’s really bleeding. I think this thing might’ve pierced his lung.” He laughs, high and hysterical. “Crap, crap, crap. What am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t panic,” Impulse says.

Tango makes a strained noise in the back of his throat. “It’s a little too late, I’m panicking!” 

“You said you’ve done first-aid training. Is there a medkit anywhere you can use?”

“I… yeah. Yeah, there should be.” It takes him a moment to remember where, but when he does, he makes a beeline for the cabinet. Downside: the damn thing’s scorched over. He laughs again, a little wetly, mouth filled with tears. “I’d need a crowbar and a blowtorch to get in,” he explains to the communicator. “Knowing my luck, I’d injure myself so badly attempting that I’d need to use the entire kit on myself.” 

There’s a long pause. Tango is well aware that they’re both panicking—there’s no way Impulse, a civilian, isn’t in a situation like this. Tango’s done all the mandatory emergency training, and he’s still barely keeping it together. He squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against the cool metal wall, and breathes. Think, Tango, think. What does he need to do now?

“There’s another medkit,” he says. “On the other side of the ship. I’ll have to go get that one.”

“Okay,” Impulse says, sounding relieved. “Be careful, okay?”

Tango snorts. “I’ll try,” he says, because it’s all he can say. He kills the connection, and the static dies, plunging the flight deck into silence, save his shaky, panicked breathing, overlapping Bdubs’ dying— not dying— breaths.

He can do this. He can stave the coming breakdown off long enough to save Bdubs’ life. He sucks in a breath, lets it out, and gets to work.

It takes him longer than he’d like to wriggle back out of the flight deck and walk back to the other half of the ship. At least the entrance to the crew’s quarters isn’t quite so narrow, a large section of the wall having been ripped out and lying in scattered pieces around it. He approaches the ship’s gaping maw, eyeing the shredded metal with unease, before turning his gaze to the interior.

He immediately has to look away again, nausea rising once more. He tries to breathe, but it’s no use—stumbling, he falls to his knees and vomits into the sand. He’s crying now, a blubbering mess, ill and shaking and barely staving off the panic attack. He spits bile into the sand and sucks in a breath, holding it for the familiar count of four before letting it out again. He stays like that for a while, shaking, breathing, forcing himself to calm down. He still needs to get the medkit, after all.

Once he’s as calm as he thinks he possibly can be under the circumstances, he gets to his feet and makes his way into the crew quarters. He does his very best not to look at Keralis’ body.

Well. Tango’s not sure you could call what’s left of his friend a body. The only reason he’d been able to identify it at all is because his face is still mostly intact— nope. Nope, nada, not thinking about that.

The medkit. He needs to get the medkit.

He makes his way to the cabinet. The door is already open, which he thinks is a good sign, until he pulls it open to find that it’s empty. He stares at the empty shelf for a long moment, uncomprehending, and then it dawns on him that someone must have removed it before the ship crashed and never put it back. It could be anywhere now—it may not even be on the ship.

He’s about to give up there and then, fall to his knees and let the urge to cry take him, when he spots something shoved into the corner—a medical stasis pod, somehow miraculously unharmed. And sitting beneath it is a small portable generator, ready to be hooked up in case of emergency.

He sends a silent prayer up to a god who is almost definitely not listening and reaches for his radio.

“Impulse? Hey.”

“Are you alright?” is Impulse’s immediate response.

“Yeah,” Tango says, hoping that Impulse can’t hear how wrecked and watery his voice sounds through the static and distance separating them.

“Are you sure? You sound…”

Well, so much for hope. “The medkit isn’t here,” Tango says quickly. “What I did find, though, was a medical stasis pod. There’s even a generator to power it with. It’ll probably only last a few days, and it won’t heal him, but it’ll keep him stable.”

“That’s great news!”

“Yeah. Do you reckon I should try and bring Bdubs here, or take the pod to him?”

“It’s probably best to go to him, right? Avoid jostling that wound as much as possible.”

Tango nods. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. It’s gonna be a pain to lug this thing over, though. Hm, I wonder if it has…” He steps closer and presses the on button on the generator, listening to it whir to life. The green lights on the pod come on: all systems operational. He goes to the menu screen and flicks through the settings until he finds—“Yes! A hover mode!”

“They have those?” Impulse sounds baffled.

Tango grins. “The guys at HASA are kind of geniuses,” he says. “Okay, I’m gonna take this over to the flight deck. Catch you in a few.”

He lets the button go and begins to push the stasis pod in the direction he wants it, carrying the generator in his free hand. Using the hover mode will drain some of the battery’s power, but Tango isn’t about to look a gift hover-horse in the mouth. That’s exactly how that old saying went, right?

He gets back to the flight deck and is faced once more with the issue of the flight deck’s crumbled entrance. If Tango can just barely squeeze through, the stasis pod has no chance. He considers for a moment his chances of dragging Bdubs out through the entrance without killing him, and then decides that it’s probably not worth the risk.

And then he remembers the window.

He pushes the pod around the side of the ship, to the shattered glass still clinging to the window’s frame. It’s not hard to take the side of the portable generator and drive it through the glass once, twice, three times, until there’s a gap large enough for Tango and the pod both to fit through. He pushes the pod through first, then follows himself, trying to ignore the way the ragged glass edges scratch against his suit. 

Bdubs is still breathing—shallowly, but breathing. Tango crouches beside him, pressing his fingers to the man’s pulse. It’s sluggish, but there. “Hey there, buddy,” he breathes. Bdubs doesn’t stir. “It’s me. I’m gonna try and lift you up now, okay? It’s probably gonna suck. It’s gonna hurt real bad.” He winces, eyeing the metal skewered through Bdubs’ side. “But we gotta get you into this healificator, okay? So you’ll still be here when rescue comes.”

(There’s no rescue coming. They’re stranded on the other side of the galaxy, and even if Impulse could get in contact with someone at HQ, Tango and Bdubs would both be long gone by the time a rescue mission managed to reach them.)

“Okay.” Tango lets out a shaky breath. “Okay, let’s do this.”

It’s nerve-wracking work, and Tango’s hands are trembling as he pulls the blood-slick metal from Bdubs’ chest. There’s a wet sound as it slides free, and Bdubs makes a pained noise, eyelids fluttering. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Tango tries to soothe, like his heart isn’t about to beat right out of his chest. “I’ve got you, come on now, up we go.”

Bdubs is short, but he’s broad, and Tango has always been kind of scrawny, so it’s more effort than he’d like to admit to lift his friend up and into the bed of the stasis pod. Bdubs moans again, his fingers twitching, and Tango winces, trying his best to get Bdubs into the pod without making any of his injuries work. Finally, he manages it, and scrambles to the screen to tap on Bdubs’ profile and hit go. The glass case closes with a hiss, and the pod begins doing its diagnostic routine. Tango lets out a sigh, slumping against the pod and watching as, slowly, the pain contorting Bdubs’ face fades. The pod beeps—he’s stable, it’s putting him into a medically-induced coma until he gets proper medical attention.

Okay. Okay. Everything’s fine. Bdubs will live, at least until the generator runs out of power, but that’s a problem for future-Tango.

He taps at the screen and turns off the hover function. The pod lowers itself to the ground. Tango lowers himself with it, leaning back against cool metal and glass. He’s covered in blood, he realises now—the front of his suit is drenched in the stuff, his gloves stained red. He should probably see if he can find a back-up suit, somewhere in the ruins of the ship.

Not now though. He reaches up and pushes his hair out of his face, then turns on the radio.

“Impulse?”

“Tango!” 

“I did it,” Tango says. “Bdubs is safe. He’ll live.” He laughs. “I’m not alone on this stupid rock.” 

“That’s amazing!” Impulse says. “You did great, Tango.”

“Yeah.” Tango lets out a breath. “I’m just… gonna sit here for a bit. Catch my breath.”

“Okay,” Impulse says. “Do you want me to stay, or…?”

“Please,” Tango gets out. 

They sit in silence for a long moment, static and the quiet hum of the pod behind him the only sounds. Then, Impulse says, “Hey, I’ve got like, another radio here. I can put some music on if you’d like.”

Tango’s not sure whether the sound that comes out of his mouth is a snort or a sob. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Play me some tunes.”

And Impulse does: there’s the sound of movement, and then the tinny, distant, garbled sound of music comes through. It’s some kind of jazz station, which is not Tango’s usual listening fare, but honestly he couldn’t care less what he’s listening to right now.

He closes his eyes, and breathes, and listens to the music. He’ll rest for—three songs. Three songs, and then he’ll get up, and he’ll get back to work. He still has to figure out a way to get them out of here, after all.

For now, it’s nice to not be alone.

Chapter Text

“So,” Impulse says, a little hesitantly as the first song comes to a close. Tango has been quiet, and Impulse would think he isn’t there, except the static has quieted in the way that it does when the channel is open. “Did you, uh, find anyone else?”

There’s a long pause, and then, “No,” Tango says. “I—well. I found Keralis’ body.”

Impulse swallows. “I’m sorry,” he says. It sounds lame, just, I’m sorry, but he’s not sure what else there is to say. He is sorry. He’s a million miles away. He can’t do anything about it.

“Don’t be,” Tango says. “Not your fault.”

“Was there anyone else on your ship?”

“No, just the three of us. Oh, and Holsten, our AI, but I’m pretty sure his systems got busted when the ship went down. So he’s as good as dead, too.” 

Impulse almost says sorry again, then catches himself just in time. “What were you guys doing out there? Up in space,” he clarifies unnecessarily.

“We were a research vessel,” Tango says. “I was the guy doing the research, mostly. Looking to see how rabbits function in deep space, you know how it is.”

“Why rabbits?”

“Why not? Anyway, Bdubs was technically our captain, though we all knew that Holsten was the one really in charge. They just couldn’t put a robot down as captain on the paperwork, so it was Bdubs. Keralis was our doctor, but I’ve gotta say, I would not want to let that guy check me over. Love him, but he’s the type of guy who’d see an infected papercut and decide the only option was amputation.”

Impulse snorts. “And that guy has a medical licence?”

“Apparently.” A pause. “Or. Well. He did. Doesn’t anymore.”

Impulse swallows. “Oh, right. Yeah.” 

Tango sighs, long and loud. “You know, you get trained on emergency protocols. What to do in the event of a crash, all that. I just… I never thought it would happen to me. You know?”

“I mean, spacecraft accidents aren’t that common,” Impulse reasons. “I’m more likely to end up in a car crash, but I never think about that when I get in my car to drive to work every morning.”

“Yeah,” Tango says. Then, “I should get moving. I’m wasting daylight, sitting here like this.” Impulse hears him standing up. “I’m going to head back to the rear of the ship, see what supplies I can scrounge up. I’ll check in with you soon.”

“Alright,” Impulse replies, fighting off a yawn. “Good luck.”

A snort. “I’ll need it.”

The line cuts out. Impulse glances at the dashboard clock of his car, where he’d relocated so Tango could hear the radio better. It’s nearly 2AM. He’d grabbed himself some food when Tango had been walking to the ship, so he’s no longer hungry, but he is tired. He should have been in bed hours ago.

Maybe he can just lie down in the back seat, close his eyes. He won’t sleep just yet, not whilst Tango needs him—but lying down can’t hurt.

Impulse wakes with a start an indistinguishable amount of time later to a voice calling his name.

“—pulse. Impulse!”

He grabs for the receiver, fumbling in the dark. “Hi,” he mumbles. “I’m here.”

“Oh, thank god,” Tango says. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me.” It’s a joke, but the relief in his tone is too palpable for it to not be the truth, too.

“No, I’m here, sorry,” Impulse says, sitting up and blinking at the dashboard clock until it comes into focus. 02:21. “Must have fallen asleep there for a second, sorry.”

“Oh.” Tango pauses. “I didn’t even think. Is it late wherever you are?”

“Pretty late,” Impulse says. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind staying up to help you.”

“Well, now I feel like my question is kind of stupid.”

“No such thing as a stupid question. Ask away.”

“Galley or lab?”

It takes a moment for Impulse’s sleep-addled brain to parse the question. “Galley,” he says. “That’s the fancy word for kitchen, right?”

“Oh, right yeah, you’re a civilian. I forget. Yeah, it’s the kitchen. Okay, the door’s stuck as hell, but let’s see if I can get through. This is my best chance for finding food.” There’s a loud bang, and a muffled curse, and then Tango says, “oh, wait, do you want me to turn the comm off for this?”

Impulse thinks for a second, then shakes his head, then remembers that Tango can’t see him shaking his head. “No, leave it on,” he says. “I don’t want to fall asleep again.” 

“Ah, I see, the noise will keep you awake. Is that all I am to you, Impulse? A sentient alarm clock?” Impulse can’t see him, but he gets the impression that Tango is smiling. There’s another muffled bang in the background. 

“Sentient might be a bit of a stretch,” he replies, almost without thinking, and then slaps a hand over his mouth. “Wait, no—”

Tango bursts out laughing, the giggles turning into some indescribable noise Impulse would register as vaguely offended. “Oh, is that how it is? I see. The years of school and multiple degrees and astronaut training don’t mean anything, no, you crash-land one time and some schmuck—OW!”

Impulse blinks. “Are you alright?”

Tango’s breath, coming through the radio, sounds a little ragged. “Well, good news: I got through the door! Bad news: I totally just pulled my shoulder out of joint.” There’s a muffled pained sound. “Worth it, though.”

“Are you gonna be okay?” Impulse asks. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m gonna hang up real quick while I fix my arm and devour some chilli mac. Don’t fall asleep on me again, okay?”

“I’ll go make myself some coffee while you eat,” Impulse says. “How’s that sound?”

“Great,” Tango says. “God, what I wouldn’t give for some coffee right about now. This chilli mac is kind of nasty. It’s also the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” There’s some uncomfortably loud chewing noises, and then, “Okay, catch you in five.”

The line goes dead. Impulse lets out a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. Okay, coffee. That’s a simple enough task. 

He wriggles out of the car and heads through to the kitchen, more than familiar enough with this routine to start the coffee machine in what is nearly pitch black. There’s a street lamp outside his house, the yellowish light streaming in around the edges of the closed blinds. It’s quiet. He should be used to the empty feeling of the house by now, but it’s still strange.

The coffee pours down into his cup. He takes it and heads back to the garage.

He’s just settling back down—in the passenger seat, this time—when Tango’s voice comes through the speakers. 

“Food acquired, arm back in its socket, things are looking up,” Tango says. “You there?”

“Coffee and all,” Impulse replies, taking a loud sip just to prove it. 

Tango sighs wistfully. “So, so jealous.” He clears his throat. “Alright, so I’ve got a supply of rations and bottled water to hopefully last. Next up, either I check on the lab, or I try and find a place to sleep.” Tango yawns. “The food has made me very sleepy.”

“Probably best to check the lab first, right? Make sure there are no unexpected surprises in the night.”

“Ah, yes, you’re right. Best make sure I’m not going to wake up as the hapless protagonist of the next hit horror movie, Attack of the Killer Moon Rabbits! Coming soon to a theatre near you, assuming you’re in a place that has theatres and not stranded on the other side of the galaxy.”

Impulse laughs. “I’ll make sure to get tickets,” he says. “So. Lab?”

“Lab,” says Tango. Impulse thinks he can hear the vague echo of footsteps as Tango moves through the ship. “I’m kind of dreading what I’m going to see in here, to be honest. I mean, if the crew… What chance do little rabbits stand?” There’s a faint grunt, and a hiss, and then, “Oh.”

“Oh?” Impulse blinks. 

“The rabbits… aren’t here. The cage is, it looks like it challenged a bear to a fistfight and lost, but the rabbits? Not a sign of them.”

“That’s weird,” Impulse says. “Maybe they escaped, and they’re somewhere else on the ship?”

“I’d have seen them,” Tango says. “This ship isn’t that big and rabbits? Not that stealthy.” There’s more sounds of movement. “Who knows, maybe you’re right. Maybe they’ll repopulate the moon and in a couple hundred years this place will be full of hyper-intelligent rabbit people. Oh, hey, my notes are still intact! Guess this mission wasn’t for nothing. Maybe in a million generations these’ll be this planet’s sacred texts.”

“Oh, so your long-term career goals include achieving godhood?”

“Well, I mean.” Tango splutters incoherently. “I wouldn’t say I’m aiming for it. But if those rabbits want to make me their god? Just saying, I’ve done a lot for them. It’d be kind of nice.”

Impulse laughs. “So, find anything useful in the lab?”

“A half-full water bottle and bag of rabbit food. And no, I do not mean salad. But they’ll be edible as a backup if—when—I run out of food.” Tango yawns. “I should probably figure out sleeping plans. It’s, uh… Yeah, wow, it’s getting real dark outside.” A pause. “And cold.”

“I’m guessing your space suit doesn’t do much to keep you warm?”

A snort. “No, definitely not. There’s no power in here, and the generator’s keeping Bdubs alive, so I can’t use it for anything else. I guess I could just try and hole up in here, so I’ll have a roof over my head, but it’s still pretty open. I can’t close any door I’ve broken open. Which is most of them, at this point.” 

“Is that the only option?” Impulse asks. 

“Well, I could… No, that’s probably a bad idea.”

“What is?”

“I could try and sleep next to the reactor engine. It’s still running and it’s really warm.”

Impulse frowns. “That sounds ideal. Why is that bad?”

“Well. You know. On account of it being a nuclear reactor.”

“...Oh.” Impulse feels kind of stupid now. “Yeah, radiation poisoning doesn’t sound great.”

“My suit says it’s giving off 150 rads. Which… I don’t know if that’s deadly? It might be.” A pause. “Wait, you’re on Earth, right?”

“Last I checked,” Impulse replies, fighting back a yawn.

“Can you google something for me?”

It’s such a ridiculously simple request, Impulse almost laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “I can google something for you. What am I googling?”

“Is 150 rads overnight enough to toast my marshmallows or am I good?” 

Impulse pulls out his phone and opens a new tab, typing the question into the search bar. “Is… 150 rads… safe,” he says as he types, hitting enter and waiting for the page to load. Signal’s a little dodgy in the garage, and it takes a moment, but it does load. It then takes him a moment to parse the results, scanning the result previews. “Um. Do you know what kind of radiation it is?”

“Do I know what kind of—no, of course I don’t know! I’m an astrobiologist, not a nuclear physicist. There’s a world of difference there.” 

“Well… Depending on the type of radiation you’ll either be fine or die of radiation poisoning.”

“Great, thanks, that’s super helpful.”

“I don’t know! That’s what google says! For what it’s worth, I think you’ll… probably be fine? 150 rads is at the lower end of the dangerous spectrum, even if it’s above what’s generally considered safe.” 

“Normally, I wouldn’t be willing to risk it, but uh. It’s getting stupidly cold here. So yeah, sure, let’s cuddle up to the faulty fusion reactor! If you don’t hear from me in the morning, know I died warm and cosy.”

Impulse can’t find it in him to laugh at that. “I’ll be hearing from you in the morning,” he says. “You’ve made it this far, Tango.”

“Yeah.” Tango sounds exhausted. “Thank you, by the way. I’m pretty sure I only got this far because of you.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Impulse protests. “You’re the one doing all the hard work.”

“If you weren’t here, I’m pretty sure I would have panicked myself into total uselessness. So, yeah, thanks. I… really appreciate you doing this.” A pause. “You’ll be here in the morning, you said?”

“I’m not leaving you to do this alone,” Impulse says. “I’m in it now, for better or for worse. We’re gonna get you off that moon, buddy.”

“Yeah.” Tango snorts. “You know what? Your optimism has gotten me this far. I’m willing to trust you. I’m going to sleep now. You probably should too, right? You said it was late over there.”

The dashboard clock reads 3:05. “A little bit, yeah. Goodnight, Tango. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight. Here’s to a better tomorrow.”

The line cuts out. Impulse stares at the Radio for a long moment. 

He should probably turn it off and go to bed. But what if something goes wrong in the night? What if Tango needs him, and Impulse isn’t here?

He sets the radio into the driver’s seat and then wriggles his way into the back seat, lying across the bench. It won’t be particularly comfortable, but he’s had more uncomfortable nights. Maybe he’ll grab his blankets at some point tomorrow, drag them down here, make this place more comfortable. 

(It doesn’t occur to him that he could simply take the radio to his bedroom until much, much later. But Impulse has never claimed to be the smartest person in the world.)

For now, he curls up in the back of his car, and lets exhaustion pull him into sleep.

The first thing Tango registers when he wakes is that he’s not dead.

The second thing is that his mouth tastes like something crept in while he was snoring and died in there. He shoots up, grabbing a water bottle from his small stash of things, and rinses his mouth out, spitting it into the sand. He freezes.

His first thought is that his spit is full of blood, which bodes badly on the radiation poisoning front. But as he looks at it, he realises that it’s not blood-coloured—it’s more of a neon pink, if anything. Maybe it was bright red before he watered it down, but either way, it’s much too vibrant to be blood. And the taste in his mouth isn’t coppery at all, but more… acrid. Industrial. What he imagines tarmac might taste like, if you decided to eat it for some reason.

It should probably be a relief, that he isn’t spitting up blood, but it isn’t. Because now the question remains: what is that and why is it in his mouth?

His hands shake as he gets to his feet and gathers his stuff, stumbling away from the reactor and back into the ship. He’ll… think about that later. For now, he’s going to break into the crew’s quarters, get himself a change of clothes and a backpack, and start preparing to head out. He’ll call Impulse when he’s done preparing—he feels a bit bad about keeping the man up all night. Impulse hadn’t told him what time it was, exactly, but he’d sounded incredibly tired over the comms, so it’s not hard for Tango to guess that it’d probably been the early hours of the morning by the time they’d wrapped up. Tango will let him have an extra half-hour’s sleep. 

Step one: bathroom. The ship’s bathroom is small and cramped, but it’s large enough for Tango to do his business and attempt to style his hair a little, peering into the cracked mirror. Attempt being the operative word here—his hair is a lost cause at this point. It makes him feel better, though, just a little more human. He opens his mouth and stares at its reflection in the mirror—it looks normal. His tongue isn’t glowing neon, there are no red stains on his teeth. He’s fine. (He spits up into the sink just in case. There’s still a vague pink tint to it that he tells himself is just a trick of the light.) 

Step two: clothes. Luckily, they’d all had spare IEVA suits on the ship, just in case of emergency—though, he imagines the emergency HASA was expecting was something more along the lines of a terrible accident with some ketchup rather than this. Still, he’s glad for the opportunity to strip out of his blood-covered suit and change into a fresh one. He even takes the helmet with him—he may hate them, but he’s not stupid, and the glass pane of this one is not littered with cracks, so that’s a nice bonus. He sets it to the side as he grabs a backpack from storage and fills it with the rations he’s acquired, before tugging the backpack over his shoulders and tucking the helmet under his arm.

Step three: check on Bdubs. 

The generator is still running, powering the pod, which is buzzing along in stasis mode. Bdubs looks no different than he did yesterday—pale and bloodstained and unconscious. Tango splays his hand against the glass and stares for a long moment, committing his friend’s face to memory. He wants to believe it’ll all be okay, that he’ll be back before they both inevitably die, but he knows he can’t be sure about that. He sighs. 

“I’m going out for a bit,” he tells Bdubs instead. “I’m going to see if there’s a way off this moon. I’ll be back before you can even miss me, okay? So don’t wait up.” A long pause. “Love ya, buddy. Hang in there for me, won’t you?” 

He leaves Bdubs with discontent bubbling in his stomach and sits on a rounded piece of scrap metal half-buried in the sand between the two chunks of the ship, his backpack at his feet and his helmet on his lap. He grabs a packet of saltines out of the bag and begins to eat, reaching for his comm and double-tapping to open the line and leave it open.

“Impulse?”

“Tango!”

“Hey!” Tango grins, surprised by just how relieved he feels to hear Impulse’s voice. “Check it out! I’m not dead!”

“See, I told you you’d be fine!” Impulse says.

“I don’t have an ear growing out of my head or anything!”

“What about superpowers, did you get superpowers?”

“No, I don’t think so. Honestly, I could have used those.” He pauses. “Maybe this is a little TMI, but I woke up with this disgusting taste in my mouth, and my spit had this weird reddish pinkish tint to it.” Feeling like he’s admitted too much, he adds, “I mean, it’s probably something to do with trace elements in this place’s atmosphere, but weird, right?”

He can practically hear Impulse hesitate on the other side of the radio. Please don’t say I have radiation sickness, Tango thinks. I really don’t want to have radiation sickness.

“Ugh, thanks for sharing,” Impulse says, and Tango has to bite back a laugh at the faux-disgust in his voice.

“Yeah, well, who else am I meant to talk to about this sort of thing?” he retorts with a huff, crossing his arms even though Impulse can’t see him. “Feel free to tell me what your spit looks like, we’ll call it even.”

“Like normal spit, weirdo.”

“Look who’s all high and mighty about their spit. Congrats on the unremarkable saliva, your parents must be so proud.” 

He feels a little better, though, joking about the weird coloured spit that is probably going to kill him if he survives long enough to die of things other than starvation and exposure. He swallows the last of his crackers and stands, fixing his helmet onto his suit.

“Okay,” he says, voice echoing strangely in the confined space. “I’m going to try and head out towards that peak.” He looks up at the sky, at the watery red disc of the sun—well, Tau Ceti, if you’re being technical; the sun is so far away that it’s indistinguishable from the other tiny dot-like stars. “I should have enough time to make it there and back before nightfall, I reckon.”

“Alright,” Impulse says. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

“A few hours?” Tango guesses, looking at the silhouette of the peaks. It’s a weird shape, really, two oddly symmetrical peaks—if Tango didn’t know any better, he’d say they were man-made, carved out of the white rock of the moon’s surface by an expert sculptor.

He does know better, of course, because there are no people on this moon. He’s alone here.

…Tango’s not sure when the idea of being all alone out here became comforting and not absolutely freaking terrifying.

“Not too bad,” Impulse says. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Tango says, still staring at the peaks. He shakes himself a little, glances down at his compass. “I’ll keep you posted. For now, though, it’s time to take a hike.” He pulls a face. “Joy.”

“Enjoy your walking, buddy,” Impulse says, and that’s the last thing Tango hears before he closes the line.

It’s weirdly quiet without the crackle of static. Tango lets out a breath, slings his backpack over his good shoulder, and begins to walk.

An hour and a half later and Tango has reached the spot where his escape pod came down. It looks like it’s rolled over in the night, a large gouge in the sand revealing the cracked white rock below. Tango frowns, glancing between the landing spot and where it sits now.

The chute must have caught the wind and dragged it, he reckons, because that’s the only logical explanation—but those winds must have been powerful. The pod’s moved about ten feet overnight. Tango’s lucky the Varia didn’t topple over onto him overnight with winds that strong.

Well. Ten feet is what, three metres? That’s not as bad. Things are less scary in metric. Maybe that’s why they try and teach it in astronaut school.

Tango groans, staring up at the large boulder sitting on the path in front of him. It’s far too big to climb over, and wide enough to fill most of the canyon it’s sitting in. He couldn’t skirt the edges without climbing up the canyon walls, and, eyeing the jagged rocks, he doesn’t have much faith in his ability to traverse that terrain without falling and breaking a leg.

“Hey Impulse,” he calls, tapping on his comm.

“Tango!” comes the near-immediate response. “How’s it going?”

“My path’s blocked,” Tango says. “I’ve got to backtrack and go around the edge of this canyon.”

Impulse hisses through his teeth. “Oof. I’m assuming that’s gonna set you back some time?”

“It’s a half hour back out of this canyon,” Tango says. “And then maybe an extra hour or two to go around.”

“That sucks. You sure you can’t get past the blockage?”

Tango stares at the boulder for a long moment, debating the issue. He shakes his head. “No, there’s no way,” he says. “I’d risk a nasty fall, and a nasty fall out here is as good as death, even if the fall itself doesn’t kill me. A broken leg makes me a sitting duck. I’d freeze to death before I’d starve.”

“Yeah, best to go around then,” Impulse says. “That blows, though, having to go back.”

“It is what it is.” Tango sighs, already walking back. “Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Should I traverse this clockwise or counterclockwise?” 

“What?”

“The canyon. I’ve gotta walk around the edge, so…” Impulse snorts, and Tango rolls his eyes. “Look, you try being stuck on a distant moon. These are the kinds of decisions you have to make! Am I going to be bored out of my mind by walking left, or bored to tears by walking right? Come on, Impulse, this could be the most important decision you make all day!”

Impulse laughs. “Alright, alright, drama queen. Do they teach melodrama in astronaut school too?”

“I think given the gravity of my situation I’m allowed to be dramatic,” Tango huffs. “Come on, clockwise or counter?”

“Counterclockwise,” Impulse decides. 

“Ooh, daring choice,” Tango says. “You’re an outside-the-box kinda guy, huh? Those who swim against the tide get hit in the face with all the best fish and all that.”

“...What?”

“What?”

“That’s not a saying.”

“Yes it is.”

“Uh, no, it’s really not. Who says that?”

“People!”

“Uh-huh, sure. Well, enjoy… getting hit in the face by fish or whatever?”

“This walk would be far more interesting if I were getting hit in the face by magical space fish,” Tango says wistfully. “Okay, catch you later, buddy.”

He cuts the line and looks up to the top of the ridge. This is gonna be a fun morning.

“Oh my god,” Tango gasps into the open comm. “You’ll never believe it!”

“Tango?” Impulse sounds worried. “What’s going on?”

Tango feels a little bad. “I’m still walking around a moon crater and it’s still boring as hell!”

“I thought something terrible had happened!” Impulse says. “Don’t do that to me, jeez!”

“Sorry. I was just going a little nuts with nothing but the sound of my own thoughts.”

“No worries,” Impulse says. “You wanna chat for a bit? I can put on some background music if you’d prefer.”

“Oh, please,” Tango says. “Background music would be great. Not that I don’t want to chat! But, uh, it’s kind of hard to make small talk in this situation.”

Impulse laughs. “And I’m sure you’re great at small talk when you’re not stuck on a distant moon. Rock okay?”

“Rock’s perfect,” Tango says. “After all, I am surrounded by nothing but rocks." He sighs, and then registers the other half of Impulse's statement. "And I sure am! Life of the party, me.”

“Really.” Impulse sounds disbelieving. And, sure, Tango’s lying, but he doesn’t like that Impulse can tell after, what, twelve hours of knowing him?

“Don’t doubt me. I’ll prove it,” he swears. “So… Uh… Have you ever wandered around the circumference of a giant moon crater?”

Impulse laughs as the familiar sound of guitars and drums begins to echo through the speaker. “Oh, all the time.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, it’s my first time. Any travel tips? Maybe advice on where the best place to buy a coffee around here is?”

“Tired?”

“A little. It’s mostly that I’m just kind of useless before my first cup of coffee. I might have a problem.”

“Oh, same,” Impulse says. “If I ever sound anything but dead on my feet, assume I am extremely caffeinated.” 

“So, at all times, got it.” Tango sighs longingly. “Well, next time you have a cup, pour a little out for your ol’ pal Tango, stranded—” He cuts off abruptly as he finds himself sprawling into the sand. He blinks, head smarting where his helmet’s whacked against the ground, his hands coming up too late to catch him.

“—ango? Tango!”

“I’m good,” Tango says, sitting up with a groan. “I just fell, is all. What the—” He twists around to see what had tripped him and freezes, eyes going wide.

“Tango?” Tango can’t quite find his words. Because, sticking out of the sand, is a chunk of gleaming silver metal. “Tango? Are you there? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Tango chokes. “Sorry, I just—” He scrambles to his feet, looking around, and sure enough, there’s more chunks of metal, the weak light of the sun glinting off of them. Just a few, but clumped enough that he can make out a trail. A trail headed east. “I think I found something,” he says by way of very bad explanation to Impulse, and takes off in that direction.

The ground slopes up, slight enough that Tango hadn’t even noticed it until he’d started walking that way, and then suddenly falls out below him. He catches himself just in time, standing on the ledge, and staring down at—

At…

At the burnt-out remains of a crashed spaceship.

Chapter Text

The garage is silent save for the sound of static, distant wind, and what Impulse is pretty sure is Tango’s breathing, growing increasingly laboured as every silent second passes.

“Tango?” Impulse calls, heart pounding. “Tango, what do you see?”

Tango doesn’t answer, but he does say something, which is better than nothing. “What the hell? W-What the hell?” He goes on like that, stuttering, repeating, clearly getting close to the edge of a panic attack. 

Impulse winces. “Okay, I think we need to take a step back. Can you close your eyes for me?” He has no way of knowing if Tango has done it so he continues, “Okay, now I need you to just breathe, okay? I’m gonna count to five, and I want you to breathe in, and then hold it for another five, and then breathe out again. You might not make it to five, that’s okay, but just try, alright? Okay, one-two-three-four…” 

Impulse counts, trying his best not to stumble over the numbers. It takes a while, but eventually he hears Tango’s breath slow over the radio, still shaky but much more even. He lets out his own sigh of relief as he finally stops counting, mouth dry and hands shaky.

“Hey, are you with me?”

“I—yeah. Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Impulse says. “Feeling up to opening your eyes again?”

“Maybe in a minute,” Tango says. 

“What did you find?”

“I—God, I don’t know. I’m going to sound crazy.”

“I believe you.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!”

“And I believe you! Listen, I’m talking to someone halfway across the galaxy over a broken radio, and you think you sound crazy?” 

Tango laughs. “Well, when you put it like that…” He takes a breath. “I. There’s another ship. Another ship that’s crashed. Here.”

Something like dread pools in Impulse’s stomach, a chill running down his spine. “Uhhh.”

“I just have so many questions!” Tango says. “Like, what is it doing here? How long has it been here?” Impulse hears a crackling sound he’s come to learn is footsteps on the distant moon. “I’ve got my eyes open again, I can see… It was bigger than the Varia, but not by much. Maybe half a dozen crew on board. Caravel class, I think they call these things. The engine looks like it’s been sheared from the rest of the ship.” 

“Did it hit something?” Impulse asks uneasily. 

“Maybe they collided with space debris?” Tango suggests, sounding unsure. “God, I have, just, a bajillion questions. And I don’t think I’m gonna get any answers from up here.”

It takes Impulse a moment to catch the insinuation. “You’re going to, what, go down and explore the wreckage?”

“Yeah,” Tango says. “And I know it’s crazy. I know that right now, I’m the character in the horror movie everyone’s yelling at to turn around. But I can’t just… It’s a ship. There might be people in there. Or what’s left of them at least. I need to know.”

He sounds desperate, pleading. Impulse can’t exactly tell him no. “Just be careful, alright?”

“Careful, psssh. I’m always careful!” Impulse hears the faint sound of movement. “No, no, I know I’m an idiot. There is definitely a part of my brain screaming at me to turn around and walk as far away as possible. But if there are other people here, the same as me, trapped and in need of help? I can’t just leave them.”

“That’s very admirable of you,” Impulse says quietly. 

“I’m such a bleeding heart,” Tango jokes. Then, “huh, it was surprisingly easy to get down that ridge. Which doesn’t, you know, fill me with confidence.”

“Things being easy is bad?”

“Well, you know, if it’s too easy, that makes me think it’s a trap.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I watch far too many bad space horror movies.”

“Oh, nevermind, that makes perfect sense.” Impulse pauses. “Why on earth do you watch space horror movies. You’re an astronaut. Wouldn’t they just freak you out?” 

“Well, first of all, most of them are so inaccurate it’s hard to be scared. Second of all, why does anyone watch horror movies? They’re fun.”

“Fair enough,” Impulse says. “I’ve never been particularly into horror. My anxiety is bad enough by itself.”

“Well, that explains why you’re so good at talking people down from panic attacks. Seriously, thanks for that.”

“Oh, yeah.” Impulse snorts. “Years of therapy had to teach me something! I, uh, I’m doing a lot better now, though. Haven’t had a panic attack in years.”

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Tango says. “Something tells me I’m going to be having a lot of panic attacks in the next few years. If I survive to see them! Which, you know, I might not. Probably won’t, in fact.”

“Hey, let’s think positive now,” Impulse chides. “You’re gonna get out of this, Tango.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll be the world’s luckiest space horror protagonist and I won’t get jumped by aliens exploring this wreck. Speaking of, I’m here!”

“What do you see?”

“Well, the hull is what we in the industry call pretty bustificated. Definitely a real word, don’t look it up.” Impulse snorts. “It’s not particularly oxidised, though? Which makes me think it hasn’t been here very long.” A pause. “There’s something written here, I can’t make it out. I think it’s Chinese characters?”

“Know of any Chinese ships in the area before you crashed?”

“Nope. Maybe Bdubs would know, but I’m pretty sure… I don’t think so.” 

Impulse isn’t sure what to make of that, so he moves on. “What else is there?”

“On the outside? Not much. The airlock is open, though, just enough for me to squeeze to. Jeez, is it dark in there.”

“Do you have a light?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one built into my helmet. Okay, give me a sec, let’s see if I can wriggle through here.” Impulse sits and quietly listens to Tango loudly make his way through a door. There’s clatters and grunts and a sound that feels like it should’ve come out of a cartoon character and not Tango’s mouth, and then, “I’m in!”

“That sounded difficult,” Impulse says.

“Well, I sure didn’t do my injured shoulder any favours, let me tell you.” Impulse hears the faint echo of footsteps on metal through the static. “Looks like this place was shaken up pretty badly. There’s stuff strewn all over the place.”

“Anything useful?” Impulse asks.

“Hard to tell. It’s like a garage sale in here. Only thing I can tell is that the instrument panel? Gone. Smashed to splinters. And then those splinters were smashed to splinters.” Tango sighs. Loudly. “I was hoping this thing would have a functional distress beacon.”

Impulse winces. “Sorry, buddy.” 

“It’s fine,” Tango says, his tone conveying that it is very much not fine. “Anyway, this place has no kind of signage anywhere, so: east or west?”

“East?” Impulse guesses. “What’re you looking for?”

“Anything, at this point,” Tango says. “Okay, here we go, into the lovely and spacious east corridor.”

“It’s cramped?” Impulse guesses.

“I’m just saying, if you want to be an astronaut, you better work on that claustrophobia—huh.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry, I just noticed… my compass is acting up.”

“Your compass?” Impulse frowns. “Don’t those just point north? How is it messing up?”

“Well, I just took a hard right turn, right? I went east. But my suit compass is telling me that I’m still going north.”

“Is there some kind of magnetic interference?” Impulse guesses.

“Maybe? I have no idea what would be causing it here though. This ship is dead, there’s no electricity that could be messing with it… Maybe some kind of mineral deposit beneath here? Gah, I don’t know. I’m not a… I don’t even know who makes compasses. That’s how little I know about these things! I just know it points north. Except now it isn’t pointing north.”

“I’ll keep track of which way you’ve walked so you can get out,” Impulse offers, opening his notes app and writing right turn. 

“I mean, I appreciate it, but if my compass has been messing up outside of this place, that could potentially be a way bigger problem than—” Tango screams. Shrilly. 

Impulse flinches. “What happened?” he asks, sitting up straight in his chair. “What’s wrong?”

“My headlamp went out,” Tango says, voice hushed. “It—okay, it just came back on. The light’s weak, though. All flickery. Ohh, I do not like this.”

“You’ll be fine,” Impulse says. “You’ll just have to explore this place faster.”

“Oh, great advice! You’re doing something stupid? Just do it faster! No one ever went wrong by pursuing that strand of logic.”

“I mean, you could turn back—”

“No, no, I’m already in this deep. May as well see what’s at the end of this terrible horrible spooky corridor.” Tango lets out a breath. “Please don’t be killer aliens.”

“It probably won’t be killer aliens.”

“Probably?!”

“Well, I can’t totally rule it out. Then you’ll get to say I told you so if there are, by some astronomical odds, killer aliens at the end of this hallway.”

“I hope there are now just so I can say I told you so. I will say it with the utmost spite as I am being disembowelled. And then you can call HASA and tell them to engrave it on my tomb: Tango Tek, he told you so.”

Impulse snorts. “Sure. I’ll make a note.” 

“Okay, I’m through the door at the end of the tunnel, and I’m not dead. Shocker. And hey, if I were about to die, this is probably the place I’d want to be! Looks like I’ve found the ship’s sick bay. Which is good for me, because they even have painkillers, and my shoulder is killing me.”

Impulse hears the distant rattle of pills in a bottle being popped open. It’s weird to hear such a familiar sound through the static. If he’s being totally honest, it hasn’t quite sunk in that any of this is real—oh, he believes Tango exists, don’t get him wrong, and he knows the situation is dire, but none of it feels quite as pressing as maybe it should. So it’s weird to hear such a familiar, mundane sound, and know that that sound is being caused by something light years away. It makes it feel more real in his head.

“There’s, like, three left. I think someone on this ship might’ve had a problem,” Tango says. “I am taking one, though, because if I don’t take one… I dunno! I’ll cry or something.” Tango swallows loudly and Impulse assumes that he’s taken the pill. “I’ll save the rest for later because I’m getting the feeling my shoulder isn’t going to stop hurting until I get some proper medical attention. Or at least stop wrenching it to fit through narrow spaceship doorways. Anyway! It’s dark and spooky and my headlight is flickering really badly. How’s your day going?”

“Oh, you know,” Impulse says. “It’s like 80 degrees out, I’ve got the garage door open and the sunlight’s streaming in—”

“I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want to know. I’m just gonna look in this drawer and then I’m going to flee with extra flee out of this place because I don’t—oh hey! Glow rods! What’re the odds of that?”

Impulse can’t help but laugh at the cracking noise that comes through the speakers. “What, like, industrial-grade glowsticks?”

“Exactly like industrial-grade glowsticks. Between these and my dodgy headlight, I’m starting to feel like I’m at a rave. Anyway, these are gonna be useful if my flashlight’s broken, so I’m gonna stash the rest in my bag.” There’s the sound of movement and rummaging before Tango speaks again. “You know, suddenly I don’t feel so freaked out anymo—GGBUHBFHBJHGE!” Tango cuts himself off with a startled shriek. “What the heck was that?!”

Impulse blinks. “What happened?” he demands.

“Oh God. Okay. Okay, uh, there was this… I don’t know! Like a shuffling type noise from behind me, out in the corridor? And I turned around and I swear I saw something moving.” Tango swallows audibly. “Something glowing. Glowing red.”

“Could you tell what it was?”

“I—no, it was—it was actually more like lots of little somethings. Close to the ground. Glowing and moving and shambling. Which, by the way? High up on my list of things I did not expect or want to see today. Actually very low down on my list. Oh God. I don’t think I’m alone here.”

“Now, hang on,” Impulse says. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. It might be fine.”

“Might be—it was aliens, Impulse! They’re gonna eat my face! I don’t want them to eat my face. If I’m going to die, I might not be dying young, but I at least want to die beautiful!”

“I’m sure your face will still be beautiful, eaten or not.”

“You’ve never seen my face.”

“I—that’s not the point! What I was trying to say was that we don’t know it’s aliens. It could be anything. Why don’t you try and find out what it was, get a closer look?”

“You want me to go chasing after it?! No, no way, that thing was freaky as hell.”

“Seriously. Not knowing is gonna be way worse for your paranoia than finding out, trust me.”

“This is a terrible idea. I hate this. I hate thi—AH!” 

“Are you alright? Did you find it?”

“No, I didn’t, I um, I tripped. Oof, that was embarrassing. What did I even trip on? That felt like… Oh. Huh!”

“What is it?”

“It’s a portable generator! Smaller than the one at the Varia, but I have, in essence, just doubled my power supply.” 

“Hey, that’s great!” Impulse says.

“Yeah, wow, this is making me feel weirdly better about this whole situation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab my ginny and get the hell out of dodge. I know you want me to find this alien, but if I go running around in here, I’m going to trip over something and next time I might go down hard enough that I won’t be able to get back up.”

That’s fair, Impulse supposes, though he really does want to know what Tango saw. It’s not just Tango’s paranoia that’s going to be running rampant—Impulse’s brain is currently cooking up the most horrific monsters it can. He tries his best to push them out of his mind. “Okay, buddy, you get on out of there.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Impulse listens to Tango scramble his way out of the ship and let out a relieved sigh. “Ohh, I’m out. Oh thank god. I would kiss the ground if I didn’t think the Earth would get jealous.”

“I won’t tell her,” Impulse says.

“Good to know you’ll keep my secrets! If anyone asks, I did not cheat on my final exam in college.” Tango pauses. “I don’t know what that was, back there. Maybe it was aliens. Maybe it was nothing! Maybe I’m jumping at shadows and hallucinating because being stranded out here is making me a little crazy. I don’t know.” 

“Which is the better option?” Impulse asks.

“I mean, neither of them are particularly comforting. The idea that I’m losing my mind is terrifying, but so is the prospect of killer aliens eating my face, so…”

“Maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable third explanation that isn’t terrifying at all?”

“God, I hope so. I really hope so.” Tango is quiet for a moment, then, “so, I think before I do anything else, I need to stop and assess my options. My plan was to hike all the way up to that peak, and then, once I’ve checked that out, head back to the Varia. But now I’ve got this generator, which should be enough to fire up the Varia’s distress beacon once I get back there. So do I just continue walking and do that on my way back, or backtrack on myself now so I can signal for help as soon as possible?” 

“I mean, doesn’t it make more sense to activate the distress beacon sooner rather than later?” Impulse asks. “Why’re you even heading to the peak?”

“I… don’t know,” Tango says, sounding surprised by his own answer. “It just feels important. It’s the only landmark in this place, which is just… God, it goes on forever, Impulse, just white desert and cracked rock and craters and then there’s the peak. I dunno. Maybe I just need a goal, something to do so I don’t just sit in one place and go insane?” 

“That makes sense,” Impulse says. “But I think you should go back for now. Make sure help is coming before you venture off on any quests.”

Tango sighs. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “As loath as I am to have to loop back on myself, the whole point of this is to see if I can get rescued. Sightseeing will have to wait.” Impulse hears Tango stand. “Alright, off I go. I’m gonna switch off while I walk, so…”

“Talk to you in a bit,” Impulse says, and hears the now-familiar sound of Tango cutting the line. He sighs, leaning back in his seat and stretching. It really is a nice day outside. He glances wistfully out of his open garage door at the golden sunlight, then stands and heads to the kitchen.

He’ll get himself some lunch and some coffee and maybe grab his laptop, then settle in and wait for Tango to call him again.

Tango wishes the walk back to the Varia would be as boring as the walk away from it. It should be, by all accounts, being the exact same route and all, but Tango’s mind is much too full to let him relax enough for the boredom to register. The longer he’s here, the more his problems keep piling up, and at this rate he’s going to drop dead from a heart attack rather than the fact that he’s been stranded in a distant sector of the galaxy, which would be so incredibly lame. Here lies Tango Tek, he died of fright. What a loser.

His compass is definitely busted, since now he’s walking in the exact opposite direction he was before and it’s still pointing north. Now he’s pretty much reliant on the position of the peaks to figure out where he’s going, which, well, it could be worse. At least the mountain can’t move. 

His second problem is probably his arm, which is definitely more manageable now that he’s swallowed some ibuprofen, but is still painful enough that he’s worried about how he’ll handle it when he runs out of pills. Just power through is probably the answer to that, but there’s also the chance that he just curls up in a ball on the floor crying, which is kind of the opposite of what you should be doing in a survival situation. Still: it could be worse. He could’ve injured it so badly he needed to gnaw it off and then wander around one arm down, which would’ve sucked way worse on both the pain and survival chances front. 

And then there’s the matter of those shambling red lights he’d seen in the caravel. Well. Maybe seen. Because the only answer Tango can think of that doesn’t involve freaky alien creatures involves him losing his mind, which for some reason isn’t any more comforting. Well. If it was a hallucination, that means he’s probably not going to get his face eaten off, which is good! But he’s not sure it’s exactly great for his long-term survival. What if he starts hallucinating that his arm is like, a really tasty chop of meat, and just starts eating himself? That’d be just as bad as aliens eating his face!

And, okay, maybe he’s being a little bit ridiculous. A little bit over-paranoid. But there is nothing else to do in the endless moon desert but be ridiculous and paranoid, so that’s what Tango’s stuck with.

It’s early afternoon, maybe, by the time Tango makes it back to the Varia and wriggles his way in through the broken window. Bdubs is still in the stasis pod, still sleeping, still stable. Tango pauses for a moment, pressing his hand against the glass. It’s cool beneath his fingers.

“Hi, buddy,” he says. “Told you I’d be back, see? I mean, I’ll probably be leaving soon, but I found another generator and figured I should fire up the ol’ distress beacon. See if we can’t get someone to come and get you.” He sighs. “You’re gonna be alright. I’ve got your back. You just rest, okay? Save your strength. Get better. I’ll see you when you wake up and I’ll tell you all about my epic moon adventure.”

He laughs. There’s no humour in it. He turns away from the pod and sets about wiring up the generator.

The buzz of the distress beacon coming online is probably the best sound Tango’s ever heard. He cheers, reaching for his comm button before he’s even registered that’s what he’s doing. “Impulse! Impulse, hey!”

“Hi!” Impulse says. “You make it back okay?”

“I did! And even better: I’ve got the distress system working!” He taps at the screen. There are two options displayed: one to send out a targeted message, and one to reach every ship in range. He chooses the second, which brings up the option for him to add a message to be sent alongside the SOS. 

“That’s great!” Impulse says. “So is help on the way?”

“Not sure yet,” Tango says. “I’ve got to send the message first, hang on.” He types out: Ship crashed. Three on board. Two casualties: one dead, one stable but out. Need rescue. Then, taking a deep breath, he hits the final button that’ll send out the distress signal.

The screen flickers, loading, bringing up a sector map as it scans for ships, then—

Tango yelps as the control board sparks beneath his fingers, flinching back as the screen shatters into incomprehensibility. “No, no, no, no,” he breathes, staring at the ruined interface. He has no idea if that message was sent, or if there was anybody for it to reach, and now there’s no way to find out. There’s a black hole of dread that’s been slowly expanding in his stomach, and now, looking at the fried remains of his last hope of getting out of here, he feels himself tip over the event horizon.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Impulse asks.

“It broke. As it was sending the signal, it broke.”

“Did it go through?”

Tango laughs, feeling more like he wants to cry. “I have no idea.”

“Tango…”

“It’s fine,” Tango says, drawing in a breath. “It’s fine. I mean, the chances of me finding that generator were so low, that even if this didn’t work… It didn’t change anything. I’m still stuck here.”

“I’m sure it made it out,” Impulse says. “Help is coming, Tango.”

“You don’t know that!” Tango snaps. He slumps back into the command chair, drawing his knees up to his chest. “You don’t know—you don’t even know where I am! This sector is, like, the boonies of space. No one comes out here! It’s like crashing a plane in, I dunno, Siberia, or Wyoming. The chances of anyone being around to receive the signal, if it even went through—” He cuts off, reaching up to wipe at his cheeks. “I’m going to die here, aren’t I?”

“You’re not going to die.”

“How?” Tango asks. “There’s no way out of here. Nobody’s coming. I can’t survive out here long term, there’s no way.” 

“I don’t know,” Impulse says, and Tango doesn’t think he’s ever heard him sound so quiet or solemn. “I don’t have the answers. I don’t have a miracle. I can’t just magically solve this problem. But I know that giving up won’t solve it either. If you keep trying, keep searching—sure, maybe you’ll die anyway. But if you stop trying, you’ll definitely die. So you need to keep going. I mean, finding that ship, that generator, that was something you never expected! If you keep looking, you might find a way home.” Impulse pauses. “Please don’t give up. I know it’s not much, but I believe in your ability to get out of this. I’m rooting for you. Have a little faith in yourself, too.”

Tango sniffles, wiping at his cheeks again. “Well, how can I give up now, with an inspirational speech like that?” he says, voice too thick with tears to land the humorous tone he was going for. “Alright. Alright. Pity party over. Give me a couple minutes to stop crying and get some food in me, and then I’ll start heading out to the peak again.” He hesitates before turning the comm off. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, I didn’t do anything.”

“No, you did a lot,” Tango insists. “Seriously. Thank you.”

“Well, then you’re welcome.”

The line goes dead. Tango takes a deep breath. A moment to compose himself, and then back to work.

He’s still pretty sure he’s going to die at the end of all this, but Impulse is right. He may as well try anyway. Then he can at least say that he tried. Maybe they can put that on his grave instead: 

Tango Tek. 

At least he tried.

Chapter Text

It’s getting on early evening when Impulse gets a call from Skizz.

“Hey, ol’ buddy pal!” Skizz greets when Impulse picks up the phone.

“Hey hey!” Impulse says. “How’s it going? How’s Alaska?”

“Frickin’ cold dude, as always.” Skizz sighs forlornly. “Remind me why I took this job again?”

“It was good for your career advancement,” Impulse dutifully recites. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not good for my comfort, I’ll tell you that much.” Impulse laughs. Skizz huffs. “Anyway, enough about me! How’d the radio thing work out? I was waiting for you to call yesterday, but—”

“Yeah, no, it’s a bust,” Impulse says. “I couldn’t get it to connect to any frequency.” Well, any frequency bar one—for a moment, Impulse considers telling Skizz about the absolute whirlwind his last… gosh, not even twenty-four-hours have been. Considers telling Skizz about Tango, and the crash, and the distant moon he’s stranded on. And then he thinks about how utterly insane the whole thing sounds, and how even Impulse struggles to believe that it’s a real thing that’s happening, and bites his tongue instead. 

“Aww, man, that’s a bummer,” Skizz says. “You’ll have to try and dig up another radio.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Impulse says. “Honestly, I poured in so much time trying to fix this one up that I kind of don’t want to try again. My enthusiasm has been killed. Now there is only bitterness.”

“No, dude, it’s so cool. Okay, you don’t have to get a new one, but when I get back, I’m setting us up a whole rig. I’ve got plans. We’re gonna get one of those massive antennas in our backyard, I don’t care what the HOA say.”

“Oh, Linda’s not going to like that.”

“Yeah, well, Linda can go suck it. If she tries to pick a fight I’ll just tell her that her pumpkin pie sucks.”

Impulse laughs. “Maybe when you get back you can take a look at this old thing and tell me where I went wrong. Work your radio magic.”

“I dunno, dude, if you can’t get it working, it must be pretty busted.”

“I’m not that good.”

“Yes you are,” Skizz says, with the long-suffering air of someone who’s had this conversation far too many times. “Anyway! Anything else to share? My break is over soon, so I’m gonna have to cut this short.”

Impulse hesitates. “No,” he says. “Everything’s been pretty quiet here. Normal. What about you? How’s work?”
“Good! Busy. But this project’s really coming together. Man, I wish I wasn’t under this stupid NDA, I want to tell you the details so bad.”

Impulse shakes his head. “I’d rather not know if it’s going to get you in trouble. Even if the curiosity is killing me.”

“See, this is why you’re the best, because if you said you wanted to know I’d just, like, spill everything. Even the law couldn’t stop me.” Impulse hears garbled voices on the other side of the line. “Ah, I gotta go. Chat to you later, Impy!”

“See you,” Impulse says, and sits for a moment just to hear the dial tone ringing in his ear.

As much as Impulse is a grown man who is perfectly capable of looking after himself, it’s hard not to miss Skizz. The house feels so empty without his best friend of several decades and roommate of half that. Maybe Impulse should get a dog. Would Skizz react well to a dog? Probably, actually, now that he’s thinking about it. Skizz would be absolutely elated to come home and find that Impulse has bought them a dog. He’s about to open up his laptop and look into making a probably ill-advised financial decision when he hears a voice from the radio.

“Impulse, you there?”

“I’m here.” Right. He doesn’t have time to adopt a dog: he’s spending all of his time and energy helping a lost astronaut find his way home.

…When did his life get so weird, again?

“Right. Just wanted to say that I made it back to the caravel. I’m gonna try pushing on to the peak.”

Impulse frowns. “Are you gonna be able to get there before it gets dark?” he asks. “I mean, I know you’re a few hours behind me, but there’s only a handful of daylight hours left.”

“Nights are really short out here,” Tango says. “Like, six hours, maybe? There’s a lot of daylight.” He pauses. “Man, it’s weird to think of this moon having a timezone that’s only a few hours behind you, though. Like, I could just be in another place on earth.”

“Yeah,” Impulse agrees. “I mean, if you’re having shorter nights, we could even be in the same timezone.”

“Freaky.” Footsteps crunch through the static as Tango continues to walk. “You want to know something else that’s been freaking me out a little?”

“Besides everything?”

Tango snorts, but when he speaks, his tone is serious. “I didn’t find any bodies in the caravel.”

“What?”

“I mean… if it crashed here. I’d expect to find a crew, you know? Even one that didn’t make it. I know I didn’t explore the entire thing, maybe they were just in one of the rooms I didn’t go to, but I’d expect at least one person to be where the controls were. And there was nothing. And I’m not sure what that means.”

“Maybe they got rescued,” Impulse says.

“Maybe,” Tango agrees. “Or they wandered out into the desert and died somewhere amongst the dunes. Or—and this is the option that’s freaking me out the most—maybe they’re still alive, wandering in search of rescue, the same as me. Maybe I’ll even run into them.”

“Why does that freak you out?” Impulse asks, frowning. “Surely that’d be a good thing, finding other survivors?” 

“I don’t know,” Tango says. “I don’t know a lot of things. All I know is that I have to get to these peaks… and I’m terrified of whatever I’m going to find there.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Impulse says. “I’ll be with you the entire way.”

“I think that fact is the only thing keeping me from the brink of a total nervous breakdown, I’ll be honest.” Tango sighs. “If there’s one thing I’m grateful for, it’s that I’m not going through all of this alone.”

“It is, quite honestly, the least I could do,” Impulse says. “Are you sure you don’t want me to… I mean, I could try and get in contact with HASA. See if they can do anything.”

“The time it’d take you to get through to them, and then prove what you’re saying, and then for them to organise things enough to actually contact someone nearby—presuming there’s anyone nearby? I’d be dead by then for sure. No, I’ve just gotta… hope my distress beacon got through before the system fried. Or hope that there’s something at the peak that’ll change my situation drastically for the better. Speaking of, there’s another crater in my way and I don’t want to break my neck, so…”

“Got it,” Impulse says. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

The signal cuts out. Impulse sighs. Maybe he’ll order take-out tonight. It’s probably best not to be away from the radio for too long, just in case Tango calls.

Impulse is just finishing his pho when Tango next gets in touch.

“You’re going to think I sound crazy—and I’ll be honest, this is definitely going in my list of evidence that I’m losing my mind—but I don’t think the peak has gotten any closer since last time I checked in.”

“Maybe it’s just bigger than you thought it was, and further away?” Impulse suggests. 

“Maybe. I’m hoping it’s some kind of optical illusion. The light here is all weird, and the sand is strangely reflective, so maybe it’s just making the distance look longer than it is. I’ll just have to keep walking and see, I guess. I’ll check in when I’m closer—which obviously I will be. Because you can’t just keep walking towards something and never reach it. Obviously. Right?”

“Right,” Impulse agrees. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” 

It’s getting late enough that Impulse’s eyelids are beginning to droop when Tango’s voice chimes in again. 

“I still don’t think I’m any closer.”

Impulse blinks. “It’s been hours,” he says.

“I know!” Tango sounds frustrated. “Tau Ceti is on its way down, the peak is still somehow just as far away as it was last time we spoke, and—I don’t even know how to say this! But it looks all shimmery.”

Impulse frowns. “Shimmery? What do you mean?”

“Like… Like it’s glowing, I guess? It’s giving off this low-level red light. Maybe I’d have an idea of what’s causing it if I could get close, but—!” Tango cuts off with an aggravated noise. “I think I’m going to have to turn back. At this rate I won’t get there before dark, and I really don’t want to be out in the desert at night.”

“Yeah, no, that sounds like a bad idea. You think you can get back to the Varia?”

“I doubt it. But I might make it back to the caravel, which, while terrifying, is better than nothing. I’ll see you then.”

Tango arrives back at the caravel exhausted.

As much as he wants to curl up and go to sleep, the sight of the ship gives him pause. He really doesn’t want to go back in there, not after what had happened earlier, but Tau Ceti is slipping below the horizon, his headlamp is completely dead, and even with the glow rods, making the four hour trip back to the Varia in pitch darkness does not sound inviting.

Neither does the caravel, is the thing. Tango stares at it uneasily. 

“Hey, Impulse,” he calls, tapping on his comm, “trekking across the moon at night in the pitch black is a bad idea, right?”

“Um, yes?” Impulse says. “Please don’t do that.”

“I really don’t want to sleep in the caravel,” Tango laments. “But it’s too cold outside. And I know if I’m in there, I can use all that junk to seal up the airlock. And I’m pretty sure I saw some Mylar blankets in there. So I wouldn’t freeze to death.”

“But you don’t want to go in there.”

“It’s dark and spooky and maybe has aliens,” Tango says. “No way do I want to go in there.” He takes a breath. “But I have no choice.” 

“Sorry, buddy.”

“Just tell me it’s fine and I’ll be okay and there are definitely no aliens in there?” Tango asks.

“It’s fine, you’ll be okay, there are definitely no aliens in there,” Impulse recites.

Despite the fact that Impulse has literally no way of knowing that, Tango finds himself relaxing at the words. “Alright,” he says. “Well, I’m gonna get cosy for the night. You should probably do the same.” 

“Copy that,” Impulse says with a yawn. 

Tango kills the feed and approaches the caravel airlock. He takes out one of his glow rods and cracks it, removing his helmet and holding the stick between his teeth as he wriggles through the doorway. It’s a tight squeeze, but he at least manages to avoid wrenching his shoulder again. That’s good, because it’s starting to smart, the painkillers wearing off. Tango at least hopes the pain won’t be so bad he can’t sleep.

It doesn’t take too long to plug up the door with random debris, and then, digging up some bedding from a half-open storage cupboard, he turns, looking for a place to sleep. There seems to be only one chair on the flight deck, half-uprooted, and whilst it doesn’t look particularly comfortable, it’s the closest thing he’ll find unless he wants to go looking for the crew bunks. And honestly, he doesn’t really want to go looking.

So he clambers into the chair and shifts around until he’s found a somewhat acceptable sleeping position, pulling the blankets up so they cover his head. Fully encased in his cocoon—and already feeling the warmth of it—he removes the glow stick from his mouth and taps on his comm. “Goodnight, Impulse,” he calls.

“Goodnight,” Impulse yawns. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Tango clicks the comm off and forces himself to relax. He’s not particularly comfortable, and this place scares the shit out of him, but he at least has overwhelming exhaustion on his side as he settles down to sleep.

Tango wakes and thinks, for a delirious moment, that it must be late, or conversely early, because it’s incredibly dark in his room.

And then he remembers that he isn’t in his room, he’s in space, camping out in a crashed spaceship, and there’s no light in here at any point in the day, and figures that maybe it’s actually morning, and his body clock had been correct to wake him.

And then he hears a terrifyingly familiar shuffling noise and realises that he hadn’t woken up naturally.

He freezes, heart pounding in his throat, and debates whether he wants to emerge from beneath the blankets to see what’s making the noise. The light of his glowstick has died out, and even if he sticks his head out he won’t be able to see, not really—but if this turns out to be a weird alien creature coming to eat him, emerging from his cocoon may be the only way to save himself.

Then again, maybe these aliens work like monsters under the bed, and if he just stays perfectly still they won’t get him.

Something clatters outside. The shuffling has a rhythm, Tango realises now, an odd kind of muffled tha-thump to it. He thinks it might be getting closer. He wonders if it can hear him breathing as terror tips him ever closer to hyperventilating.

Breathe slower! he tells himself, trying to remember the way Impulse had counted him into calm the day before. Instead, his mind provides another piece of Impulse’s advice: Not knowing is gonna be way worse for your paranoia than finding out, trust me.

Okay. Okay. He can do this! He just needs to poke his head out from beneath the blankets and figure out what is shuffling towards him in the darkness. Easy!

He takes a deep breath, holds it for five, lets it out, and pulls the blankets down.

It’s pitch black. The room is quiet, save for the faint sounds of movement. Tango waits for a moment, to see if his eyes will adjust, and when they don’t he simply sucks in a breath and twists in the chair, attempting to see—

There. In the hallway. Little glowing red things, bobbing up and down as tha-thump, tha-thump, they move away from the flight deck and into the west corridor.

Tango stares until he’s sure they’re gone—until the shuffling has died down into total silence—and then pulls the blankets back over his head and fumbles for his comm.

“Impulse?” he calls, voice hushed. “Impulse, are you awake?”

“‘M up,” comes the response. 

Tango instantly feels bad. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“‘S fine,” Impulse mumbles. “What’s up?”

“I just… I totally just heard that weird noise from earlier. And when I turned to have a look, I saw those weird red lights again! Just sort of slowly shuffling out of the room.”

“Oh,” Impulse says.

“I’m kind of freaking out,” Tango admits. “I don’t think I’m alone in here and I’m terrified.”

“Do you want to go find those things?”

“No,” Tango says. “No, I just… I want to sleep. I’m so tired. But I don’t know how I’m meant to sleep knowing there’s something else in here.”

“Maybe there’s nothing else,” Impulse suggests. “Maybe you’re so tired your mind’s playing tricks on you. It might’ve been a dream.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tango says. “A dream. It was a dream. That’s fine, because if it was a dream, it means that I’m safe in here, right?”

“Right,” Impulse says. “You’re safe. Do you want me to stay on the line while you fall asleep?”

“...Yeah,” Tango admits, feeling ridiculous keeping Impulse up over a nightmare. Because that’s what it was. A nightmare. A very realistic, very spooky nightmare that is definitely not real. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Impulse yawns.

That’s when something occurs to Tango. “Wait, do you, like, put your radio under your pillow when you sleep or something?”

“No, I’ve been sleeping next to it just in case you need me,” Impulse says. “I set it up in my garage, so I’ve just been sleeping in my car.”

Tango blinks. “Is it not portable?”

“No, it is.”

“So why don’t you just… take it to your bedroom with you?”

There’s a long moment of silence. “...So I may be stupid,” Impulse says.

Tango can’t bite back the laugh that escapes him. “Wait, have you just been confining yourself to your garage to talk to me?”

“Maybe.”

“Impulse!” Tango slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle the giggles. “Go to bed, oh my god!” 

“I wanted to be here in case you needed me!” Impulse says. “And now you’re making fun of me?”

“I mean,” Tango says, “I can’t say I don’t appreciate it. So, thank you. But seriously. Go sleep in your own bed.” He pauses. “Wait, you’re not like, married, are you? In which case I kind of get it. I don’t think my hypothetical spouse would appreciate me bringing a radio to bed every night.”

“No, I’m not married,” Impulse says. “My roommate isn’t even here right now, he’s doing a job in Alaska so I have the house to myself for the next, like, month and a bit. Man, you’re telling me I could’ve been sat on the couch this entire time?”

“Watchin’ some Netflix, chilling out, playing video games… You could’ve been doing anything!”

“Aw man.” Impulse sighs. “I’m glad I was here though.”

Tango blinks. “You are?”

“Well, you did need me. So I’m glad I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Tango says. A yawn splits his jaws and he blinks into the darkness. “Oh, right, I was trying to sleep.”

Impulse snorts. “Tell you what, you try and sleep, and I’ll bring the radio up to my bedroom.”

“Yes, go sleep in a proper bed.” Tango sighs wistfully. “God, I miss beds. And not having backache. Or a dislocated shoulder. Or—you get the idea.”

“Well, there you go, there’s another reason to try your hardest to get out of that place. A chance to sleep in a real bed again.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Tango says, a weird sinking feeling in his stomach. On the other side of the line, he can hear Impulse moving around—presumably leaving his garage. “I will try and dream of soft sheets and counting sheep. Night, Impy.”

Impulse is silent for a moment longer than usual before replying. “Goodnight, Tango. Sleep well.”

Tango closes his eyes, listening to the faint hiss of static and crackling noises of movement to lull him back to sleep.

Tango wakes up feeling like he hasn’t slept. His limbs are sore and stiff and his eyelids are heavy as he forces himself to sit up and scrambles for a glowstick. His comm is still on—he taps it off as he cracks the glowstick, hoping that he hasn’t woken Impulse. He hadn’t said anything to the sound of Tango moving, so Tango presumes he’s still sleeping.

Good, because Tango feels really bad about waking him up in the middle of the night over what he is choosing to believe was a nightmare and not an alien sighting for the sake of his own sanity.

His mouth tastes weird again, like tar-coated roadkill, and he grimaces as he makes his way towards the exit and claws debris out of the airlock. It takes him far too long to wriggle through the hole, and then he’s outside and once more spitting into the sand.

…Yeah, that is definitely bright red and much too vivid to be blood.

He rinses out his mouth with water and tries his best not to feel freaked out by it. After everything that’s happened, weird-coloured spit should be par for the course.

He decides to do what normal people do in the mornings and grabs something for breakfast out of his pack. The rations packet he chooses is lemon pepper tuna, which is less of a normal people thing, but he grimaces and opens it anyway. He’s hungry, and who knows? Maybe this is the breakfast of champions.

He eats, then rinses his mouth out with more water, and then taps at his comm to open the line again. “Good morning, rise and shine,” he calls, forcing as much cheer into his voice as he can.

“Well, someone’s in a good mood today,” Impulse replies, sounding a little sleepy but significantly less so than the night before.

“Not getting my face eaten by killer aliens in the middle of the night was really good for my morale,” Tango says. “Besides, I reckon today is the day we get to the peak!”

“You think you’ll actually make it?”

“I’m hoping my inability to get there yesterday was a combination of exhaustion and optical illusion and not anything worse.” He pauses. “Speaking of anything worse…”

“Uh-oh.”

“My spit was bright red again this morning when I woke up, and I wasn’t anywhere near a reactor, so I’m guessing it’s something to do with this moon’s atmosphere and not radiation poisoning. Which is good!”

“Hey, that is pretty good!”

“Yeah, so, I’m gonna start hiking—please don’t sit in your garage all day and wait for me to check in.”

“Yeah, no, I’ll do something else,” Impulse says with the hint of a laugh. “Catch you later, buddy.”

“Bye!”

Tango kills the line and pauses for a moment to gather his things. The sun is still rising, and if Tango were less exhausted, he’d take a moment to take in how beautiful it is—reds and golds staining the sky like something out of a painting. As it is, he’s more distracted by that strange red corona that’s surrounding the peak again, a weird crimson heat-haze radiating out from white stone.

It’s weird. This whole thing is weird. And as he glances down at his compass again, he sees that it’s still pointing north—even when he’s sitting facing east to watch the sun rise.

He could probably find enough scrap in the caravel to build another compass, but he probably doesn’t need one, considering he can see the peak just fine from where he is. As for making it back to the Varia, it’s basically just straight in the opposite direction, so. He just has to hope he doesn’t get disoriented.

“Up and at ‘em, Tango,” he mutters to himself as he gets to his feet. “There’s plenty of daylight and a finite amount of moon. Let’s get to this peak.”

And with his goal in mind and backpack in hand, he heads off.

Logic holds that if you keep putting one foot in front of the other enough times, you’re bound to get someplace—or else die trying. And Tango hasn’t died, but he also doesn’t feel like he’s any closer to this damn peak. It’s as if time and space and perspective have all decided to take a little vacation in the vicinity of the peak. One moment, he’ll look up and think he’s almost there, and then he’ll blink and realise that it must be at least ten miles away, and none of it makes any logical sense.

Still, though, Tango keeps walking, because in the face of the unlikely, the impossible, and the utterly insane, the only thing he can do is cling to denial and hope that reality will bend to fit his wishes. So he walks, and he walks, and he walks some more, and finally, after hours upon hours of walking, he makes it.

The ground in front of him falls away, down into a crater, and at the centre of the crater is the base of the peak, which is much larger than he’d given it credit for from a distance. Now all he needs is to get down into the crater—something easier said than done—and he should be at the peak within the hour.

Thank god. Tango is so sick of walking.

“I have made actual progress, can you believe it?” he says into his comm.

Impulse replies, “Oh, wow, that took a while.”

“Right? But I’m here, finally. Or, well, not actually here yet—I need to climb down into this crater, and then it’s a straight shot. Of course, that means I need to climb. And I have no climbing equipment. What’s the betting I can get down safely, or ever get back out if I do?”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

Tango snorts. “Sure! I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? I end up sawing my arm off with a blunt swiss army knife like the 127 Hours guy?” He pauses. “Wait. Yes. That actually does sound like the worst that could happen.”

“You’ll be fine,” Impulse says. “Arms are overrated anyway.”

“Yeah? How about you cut yours off, see how you like it?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure it’s my style, personally. You’ll rock it though!”

Tango rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, I see how it is. Anyway. Wish me luck?”

“Break a leg,” Impulse replies, grin audible in his voice.

“Oh, ha ha.” Tango scowls. “If I do, I’m gonna leave the comm channel open and just complain about it for hours. So look forward to that!” He pauses. “Anyway, climbing’s gonna be way easier if you’re not here, so…”

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Impulse says. “In all seriousness, don’t break a leg. Or lose an arm. That would be bad.”

“I’ll try my best,” Tango says, and cuts the line. He looks down at the crater and takes a breath.

How hard can it be?

A list of injuries Tango sustains attempting to climb down into the crater:

1. Various scrapes on his hands, where the too-sharp moon rock has scraped away both the fabric of his gloves and the surface of his skin.

2. A twisted ankle from falling awkwardly onto a ledge.

3. Further damage to his already dodgy shoulder, which is now screaming at him with every little movement he makes.

4. A bloody knee from where he’d had to dig it into a divot to catch himself as he fell, cutting straight through his suit and into the flesh below.

5. A broken leg—nah, he’s just kidding, but can you imagine?

So, all in all, it definitely could have been worse, but Tango doesn’t feel particularly great as he sits at the bottom of the crater and attempts to catch his breath. He fumbles with his bag as he searches for the bottle of mostly-empty painkillers and tips a single pill into his hand. It won’t numb the entirety of the pain, he knows, but it’ll hopefully take the edge off.

“I got down safely,” he tells Impulse once he’s back on his feet and heading on his way. “Should be at the peak in like an hour if my estimate is correct. I’ll check in with you then.”

“See you then!”

Alright. Just one more hour of walking. Tango can do just one more hour of walking.

As for what comes after the walking? 

Well. He hasn’t exactly been thinking ahead. He’ll just have to figure that out when he gets there.

Chapter Text

Impulse’s head is beginning to hurt.

He supposes that makes sense; he hasn’t been taking the best care of himself over the past few days, as distracted as he is by Tango and the radio. He’s been sleeping at weird hours, not eating or sleeping as much as he should, and then there’s the stress to factor in—so yeah, he’s not surprised he has a headache. He just wishes it weren’t happening now.

“Hey, so, things are… a little weird,” Tango says over the radio. “Mind if I unload?”

“Lay it on me,” Impulse says. He’s returned to his bed, curtains drawn and eyes closed in an attempt to stave off the coming migraine. 

“You know how this peak has seemed to just, sort of, I don’t know, stay out of reach? I’ve been telling myself it’s just an optical illusion, something to do with whatever this moon is made out of being weirdly reflective, but now… now I’m not so sure. I know it sounds crazy, but… no, nevermind. It sounds crazy because it is crazy. Forget it.”

“Wait, no, tell me,” Impulse says. 

“This is nuts,” Tango mutters. Then, “I think the peak might actually be sort of… wavering. In, like, an existential sense. I’ll look at it, and then I’ll blink, and for a second, it just won’t be there. And then, of course, it’s there again, and I’m back to questioning my sanity.”

“How many times has it happened?” Impulse asks, frowning.

“About half a dozen times since I got down into the crater.”

“Okay, that is weird,” Impulse says. 

“I know, right? But here’s what’s really tripping me out: I’ve been walking for like forty minutes, now, making a beeline for this place. And just a minute ago, I looked down, and there was another set of boot prints in the sand.”

“Someone else has been there?”

“No. They’re exactly the same shape and size as my own footprints. Like I’ve been doubling back on my own path. How is that even possible?” 

“Are you sure they’re yours?”

“Well… I mean… Who else’s could they possibly be? They’re exactly my size, exactly the same tread pattern. I don’t know. I don’t know how I could be walking in a straight line and walking in circles at the same time.” 

“I don’t know either,” Impulse admits. “Reckon that’s why it took you so long to get to the crater in the first place? You were just… accidentally walking in circles somehow?”

“...I don’t know,” Tango says, voice quiet and troubled. “I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’m just gonna put my head down and keep walking.”

He cuts the line, and Impulse also puts his head down—but rather than walking, he’s just hoping the painkillers will have kicked in by the next time Tango calls.

The first thing Impulse hears when the static quiets is a giddy laugh. “I’m here,” Tango says, sounding breathless. “I’m finally here. I sort of can’t believe it. There was a part of me that was genuinely convinced I’d never make it, but here I am.” 

“See, I knew you could,” Impulse says.

“I made it. But, uh… Okay, so it’s way bigger than I thought it was from a distance. Not just height-wise, but the base is huge. There’s this, like, recessed area about fifty yards to my left—maybe a cave opening? So I could check that out. Or spend a couple of hours hiking around the edge.”

“Check the cave first,” Impulse says. “It might be useful if you need to make camp later.”

“Oh, I guess it is getting kind of late, huh.” Tango sounds suddenly nervous. “I was so distracted by the disappearing mountain I forgot to pay attention to the sun. Yeah, let’s check out this cave.” Impulse hears Tango walk and then come to a sudden stop. “Impulse?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to tell me not to freak out.”

“Don’t freak out,” Impulse says immediately. Then, “wait, why are you freaking out?”

“It’s not a cave,” Tango says. “It’s a doorway. Like. A doorway. With right angles and everything. At human scale.” He swallows loudly. “What the hell do I even do with this information?!”

“Um, go through the doorway?” Impulse says. 

“Are you kidding?” Tango hisses. “It’s. Impulse. This is an empty barren uninhabited moon on the far side of the galaxy. Why is there a manmade doorway carved into the side of a cliff?!”

“I don’t know,” Impulse says. “But there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? You’ve got to go through.” He won’t say he’s not nervous about the idea—his heart is pounding so much it’s making him feel ill. He can't imagine how much worse Tango must be feeling. But it’s not like Tango’s going to get back to the caravel before night falls on the distant moon at this rate, and Impulse doesn’t want him to die from exposure after everything he’d done to get here.

So there’s only one option: Tango has to go through the door.

“Ohh, I don’t like this,” Tango whines. “Okay, here goes nothing. Through the doorway is… a corridor. Plain stone walls. Human scale. There’s no light in here—well, okay, there’s light coming from the entrance, and then, further in, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m hoping that’s not an awful metaphor for anything. I swear, if this has been a dying fever dream, I’m going to be mad.”

“In this metaphor, does that make me the angel guiding you to heaven?” Impulse asks.

“Or the demon guiding me to hell, either one.”

“Hey!” Tango laughs. Impulse pouts. “Well, I’ll have you know that I’m the perfectly normal human being guiding you off of this moon.”

“Somehow, that’s weirder. Okay, I’m going to crack a glow rod because at this point the tunnel is pitch black and—BWAGHDS oh holy crap!” 

“What happened?” Impulse demands, sitting up against his pillows and staring at the radio. It doesn’t change the situation at all, really, but he’s too stressed to be lying down.

“It. It was. I heard the shuffling again, right? Echoing off the walls. So I turned around to see where it was coming from and I saw this faint red glow, near the floor. And it took a second, but it eventually resolved itself into… I swear, it was a bunch of little pairs of eyes. And then they ran forward and brushed against my legs as they went past.” 

“Did it hurt you?” Impulse asks.

“No. It just kind of bounced off and then kept going, further into the mountain. But I just. I mean. It’s real, isn’t it? All those things I’ve been seeing and hearing… I’m not alone out here.” A wordless moan. “I liked it so much better when I was alone out here.”

“I mean, on the bright side, you’ll go down in history as the guy who discovered aliens.”

“Yeah, presuming I don’t get eaten by them first.” Tango sighs. “Okay. Well, they’re going the same way as me—towards the light. So I guess I’m following them. Great.” Impulse can hear the echo of Tango’s footsteps as he walks, muffled by static. “The one thing I don’t get is why would it get brighter the deeper inside a mountain you go? That doesn’t make any sense, unless…” The footsteps stop. There’s a long moment of staticky silence.

“Unless?” Impulse prompts.

“Unless there were, I don’t know, electrical lights in here,” Tango breathes. “What the heck?” 

“What are you looking at?”

“I… don’t know if I can even describe this to you. I don’t know what I was expecting when I reached the peak but it wasn’t… it wasn’t this.”

“It’s okay, take your time,” Impulse says, even though his brain is screaming at him that there isn’t any time to take. It’s fine. Tango would be freaking out way more if he were in immediate danger. Probably.

“Okay,” Tango says after a long moment. “Okay. Um. I’m standing in a room. I guess you could call it a control room. I don’t know what exactly it’s controlling, but I also don’t think there’s an answer to that which’ll reassure me about this situation, so. It’s not very large, about as much room as you’d find in a ship’s control room, really, but… There’s these banks on the walls. Filled with computer systems. Functioning computer systems. Brand names I recognise, CPUs and monitors, even a couple of flight deck chairs repurposed to sit in front of these computers. In a room in a mountain on the moon.”

Impulse blinks. “What the heck?”

“Right! I think… I think these have to be salvaged parts from ships. It’s all mish-mashed and cobbled together. And the wiring is a total mess, it’s all bundled together and shoved up into a hole in the ceiling. God knows where that goes.”

“Could you follow it and find out?”

“No way. The opening’s way too small, and I don’t have a pickaxe of any kind. I do know my way around a computer, though, so let me see what happens when I wake these bad boys up.” There’s a pause, and then, “This is wild.”

“What are you seeing?”

“It’s a topographical map of the area. It’s a little pixelated, but there’s nothing else it can be. And, if I toggle out and scroll… There’s the caravel. Pan south… the Varia. How is it even receiving these images? Are there satellites around this moon? I didn’t think there were any. Certainly never saw them when we were up there. Wait. Wait. Oh my god.”

“What?” Impulse is beginning to feel like a stuck record. He’s never been so frustrated that he can’t actually see what Tango is seeing. 

“I scrolled out. And. And there’s another ship. Southeast of the Varia. So I’m scrolling out more, and there’s another. Pull it back, pull it back as far as it’ll go, and… There are dozens. Dozens of shipwrecks. On this moon.”

“How?” Impulse breathes.

“I don’t know. I… I need to figure this out. There’s something huge happening here, whatever it is, I need to…”

“Maybe you should leave,” Impulse says. “I don’t like this at all.”

“I mean, neither do I! But I can’t just leave. I don’t know what I expected to find here, but it wasn’t this, and knowing what I do now… This place has to be the reason why the Varia crashed. The reason Keralis and Holsten are dead. The reason why Bdubs is barely clinging to life, and the reason why… The reason why I’m trapped here. If there’s even a chance that this place has answers? That I can find out why everything went so horribly wrong? I can’t leave without an answer. I just can’t.”

“Okay,” Impulse breathes. “Okay. I understand.”

“I don’t think you can understand, but I appreciate it.” Tango sighs. “I just keep scrolling on this thing and there’s so many ships. I’ve counted at least thirty and I still haven’t seen the whole surface yet. This place is like the damn Bermuda Triangle of space.” A pause. “I don’t think I’m gonna get anything else from this monitor, though, other than make myself feel insane with how many crashes have happened here. So, waking up the next one… Huh. A language menu. Not quite what I was expecting to see. Well, let’s go with English, since that’s the one I speak, and… Oh. Oh, that’s not reassuring.”

“What is it?” 

“It says… All systems: operational. Broadcasting. Time to pulse—and then a bunch of numbers that are moving too quickly for me to read. But they’re clearly counting down. I don’t know what to. Okay, I don’t want to look at this one any more, let me jog the idle monitor next to it… Oh, it’s a proximity alarm! I know how these work, we had one back at the Varia. They basically just tell you if there’s anyone in the vicinity—no.”

“Please don’t tell me there’s something there,” Impulse says.

“Not something. Someone. A human-shaped figure walking straight towards me.” 

“How is that possible?”

“How is any of this possible?!” Tango laughs, a touch hysterical. “None of this makes any sense! But it’s happening. That’s a person, and they’re coming here. For me. They’re a little ways out, but…”

“Do you think you should go out and meet them?”

“I… don’t know. Like, is this a rescue? Or a survivor from another crash, in worse shape than I am? Or… I don’t know, some third equally impossible thing? I just—”

Tango’s voice suddenly cuts out, replaced by a blare of static so loud it makes Impulse’s head swim. He jerks forward, reaching to turn it off, then realises what he’s doing and freezes. The static is too loud in his ears. The line has been cut off. 

The line has been—

“Tango?” he calls, panic surging through his veins. “Tango! Tango, can you hear—”

“I just don’t—” Tango cuts himself off, distracted by a sudden humming that has filled the air. He blinks, his vision suddenly swimming, and finds himself glancing back at the previous monitors—only to find that the time to pulse counter is set at all zeroes.

“Oh no,” he whispers, and then the world falls apart.

Tango pitches forward out of his seat as it pulls away from him, dragged by some impossible force. In front of him, the wall falls away, taking the computers and wiring with it. The room grows larger, impossibly large, and gravity ceases to work, everything too slow and too fast at once. Tango hovers in the air, unable to move, trapped inside a frozen body as he floats, untethered. The world is moving away from him. He’s moving away from the world. Both of these things are true at once.

He’s moving away from himself, his consciousness somewhere above his head. He can see his own half-lidded eyes, the faint rise-and-fall of his chest. This isn’t panic. This is the opposite of panic. This is an odd sense of unnatural calm, impossible to fight against no matter how much he may want to. His body is moving away from himself, fingers detaching first, followed by toes, pulling away, only tied together by lengthening cables of nerves and tendons. 

He’s unravelling, piece by piece by piece, and the world around him is unravelling too. The computers are sharp metal angles and glass sheets and ones and zeroes, separate components confined in abstract space. The walls are shifting, stone crumbling back into sand and dust and dust and…

The world comes back together so suddenly that it leaves Tango breathless. He reels, buckling over on himself, and that’s when he realises that he’s still sat in the command chair by the monitors. His fingers and toes are still attached. His breath rattles in his chest. He’s alive. He’s alive, and not… whatever that was… and—

“—hear me? Please! Tango!”

Oh. Impulse is worried. That makes sense. 

“Hi,” Tango croaks. “I’m here.” 

“Oh, thank god.” Tango can hear Impulse slump against whatever soft thing he’s sitting on. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I… don’t know,” Tango says, slowly forcing himself to uncurl and straighten up as he turns and takes in the room. It’s fine. It’s normal. Nothing has changed or broken. The monitor in front of him is still counting down to pulse. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to just breathe. “It was like the world just… fell apart. I can’t describe it. But, uh, the time to pulse was at zero when it happened.”

“So, that was… whatever the pulse thing is?”

“I think so. I think… Remember what I was telling you about? With the peak shimmering and disappearing? I think that happened again. Except, since I’m in it—”

“You disappeared as well.”

“Yeah.” 

“That sounds scary. How’re you feeling?”

“Alright, I guess,” Tango says. “I don’t know… My brain, like, couldn’t even process that. I feel a little motion sick. I guess going out of phase with reality is a pretty good reason to feel motion sick.” He forces his eyes open and freezes. “Oh. Hey. I have some news to report. Not sure where it falls on the good news/bad news spectrum.”

“Please try for good.”

“Yeah, that’d be my preference too. Well, if it’s good news, then I’m about to be really really rescued, because where there was one human-shaped figure approaching me, now there’s four.” He can’t tear his eyes away from them, the four shapes on the radar moving towards him. 

“Stay where you are.”

“Yeah, that was the plan. If it’s a rescue, I can wait another few minutes. If it’s other survivors, they might be half-crazed from wandering around the desert, and I could probably use a couple of extra minutes to figure out how I’m going to negotiate. And if it’s neither of those things? I don’t want to go running into it."

“Sound logic.”

“Thanks, I try. Glad to know three days of wandering around this moon hasn’t reduced me to speaking absolute gibberish.” He pauses, debating whether he wants to say his next thought. “I can’t help but shake the thought that whatever’s coming towards me isn’t human.” He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf. “Which is kind of ridiculous, because I’ve seen no signs that this place can support life, but…”

“I mean, there were those creatures earlier.”

“Sure, but they were small. These things are human-sized, and there’s no vegetation, no water, no clouds, not on a scale that could support creatures that big. The only thing this place has got going for it is the breathable atmosphere.” 

“So they’re probably people?”

“Probably,” Tango says. “But I can’t stop thinking that—there’s that sound again! The shuffling!” He tears his eyes away from the monitors and towards the source of the sound: the wiring. “Man, this is the first time I’ve heard it with the lights on. Maybe I’ll be able to see what’s actually causing it. The creatures with the glowing red eyes.” 

He gets to his feet and backs away from it, to the other side of the room, never once glancing away from where he can hear something rummaging around in the wiring. His back hits the far wall, and he holds his breath, waiting—

A head pokes itself out. A familiar, furry head, with long ears, a twitching nose, and a brown patch over its glowing red eye.

“Oh my god.”

“What is it?”

“It’s my rabbits.” Tango laughs. “My lab rabbits. They’re alive!” 

“And they have glowing eyes?”

“Yeah, they, uh, didn’t before. They had regular rabbit eyes. I will admit, this is creepy.” 

“Did they follow you all the way here?”

“I… they must have done, right? Unless…” Tango trails off as something truly horrifying occurs to him. And as he runs the idea through his head, he finds that he can’t find anything to contradict it. “Oh no.”

“Tango?”

“Unless they were somehow drawn to the peak.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the peak’s been glowing red, the same as their eyes.”

“Maybe it’s to do with the stuff in the atmosphere, like you were talking about?”

“That’s the thing, though,” Tango says, heart pounding in his chest. “My spit’s been glowing bright red, too. And… Why did I come to this peak, Impulse?”

“Because you needed somewhere to go?”

“Maybe,” Tango says. “Or maybe that’s just what I was telling myself, because the idea that I was being supernaturally drawn to this place was too crazy to say out loud.”

“This is insane, Tango.”

Tango laughs, hysteria in his tone. “We’re far beyond the realm of insane at this point! This is impossible. None of this is possible but it’s the only thing that makes sense!”

“Occam’s razor,” Impulse says.

“Okay, then, tell me what the simple explanation is,” Tango challenges. Impulse is quiet. Tango blows out a breath. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He watches the rabbits. They are acting, against all odds, just like rabbits do. Just like these rabbits do. It’s almost like he’s back to running observations in the lab, except now his test subjects have bioluminescent eyes. It’s… eerie. Otherworldly.

This is wrong. This entire thing is so so wrong.

A monitor across the room lights up of its own accord and Tango is so jumpy that he can’t help but yelp, flinching back against the wall. He turns his gaze to the screen, expecting bad news.

It is, for once, good news.

“Oh my god.”

“What is it? What happened?”

“There’s a ship!” Tango laughs. “Oh my god, there’s a ship in this sector.” He walks closer, rabbits be damned, to get a better look at the screen. “I can’t tell yet if it’s on course for this moon, if it got my SOS, but…”

“I bet it did.”

“I hope so. Please, please let them have picked up my signal. I want to get off this godforsaken rock.” The monitor below it flickers, and Tango glances at it, frowning. “Oh, that doesn’t seem good.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The time to pulse monitor. Now it says: sector breached. Target acquired. Tracking…” He pauses. “They’re targeting the new ship, aren’t they? The one that’s potentially rescuing me.”

“Can you warn them?”

“I could try,” Tango says, finding the mouse connected to the new monitor and figuring out a way to open its communications system. “Hopefully they read English. And I don’t even know what I’d be warning them of, really. Like, what’s targeting them? Some kind of missile or projectile? Or—oh, no, wait. I’m dumb. It’s a pulse. Electromagnetic pulse, I’m guessing. Some kind of energy beam. Jeez, a strong enough beam like that, set loose in the vacuum of space? You could do some damage.” He pauses. When he next speaks, his voice is quiet. “You could tear a spaceship like the Varia in half.”

“Can you override it?” Impulse asks.

“I don’t know. Probably not. Unlike those b-grade science fiction movies I love so much, there’s no big red button with the words manual override stamped on top. I’m decent enough with a computer, but something like this is probably not my strong suit.” He takes a deep breath and sends the message he’d been typing out for the other crew. He hopes they receive it. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to try, though.” 

“I hope it works.”

“Me too.” He glances at the other monitor. His visitors are about ten minutes out. Okay. So he has ten minutes to try and do anything about this pulse. It’s not great odds.

But, hell, Tango’s been surviving worse odds this entire time. 

So he sits down and gets to work.

Impulse is quiet as Tango works, the only sounds in the control room the low hum of static and Tango’s frantic typing. At first, the rabbits had been noisy, but then he’d tossed them some food and they’d quieted down as they ate. They must be pretty hungry, he figures, having trekked about as far across the moon as Tango himself. He’s never been so anxious in his life, palms coated in a cold sweat, but the pressure has forced him into a state of focused calm. It’s not like the uncanny serenity from before, when the world had come apart around him—this time it’s just him, his brain and body slipping into survival mode.

He actually thinks he might be getting somewhere with this code, though, which is as much a surprise to him as anything, since he barely knows what he’s doing. He pauses for a moment, reading over a command that’s written as obliquely as possible, only to be distracted by a squealing sound from the corner.

“What is that?” asks Impulse, meaning that the squealing is certainly loud enough to be heard over the radio.

“The rabbits,” Tango says, glancing over to the corner and wincing. They’ve gotten through most of the food, and have turned to fighting over the scraps—it’s not behaviour Tango has ever seen from them, but these are desperate times for rabbits. He considers going over and trying to separate them, but there’s something about them that is still so uncanny, and so he sits in his chair and watches as the fight intensifies.

And then the rabbit squeaks go from normal, if a bit frenzied, to painful shrieking, and it’s all he can do to double over and clutch at his ears. His teeth ache from the vibrations, the static of the comm is beginning to whine, and his skull is rattling in his head.

“Move away!” Impulse calls through the cacophony.

“Moving!” Tango replies, half-falling out of his chair as he scrambles back into the opposite corner. 

“Those don’t sound like rabbits!”

“They’re fighting, but it’s so intense, I don’t— oh god.” The rabbits aren’t fighting anymore. They’re killing each other, tearing into flesh and flaying fur, and Tango—

Tango can’t watch this. He squeezes his eyes shut and falls to the floor, burying his face in his knees and pressing his palms over his ears. 

“Tango,” Impulse calls, and if Tango didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded tearful. “Tango, make them stop. Tango, please.”

“I can’t,” Tango chokes. “I can’t, I—”

And then the room goes silent. Tango barely dares breathe.

“What’s happening?” Impulse asks, voice hushed. “Tango? Are you there?”

“I’m here. I—I don’t want to look.”

“You have to look.”

Tango takes a breath. “I know,” he whispers. He breathes out, opens his eyes, and raises his head.

One of the rabbits is dead, its corpse open apart on the floor. There should be so much blood everywhere, but there isn’t—there isn’t any blood at all. And there, crawling out of its body, is something awful, squirmy, and bright, glowing red. As Tango watches, heart in his throat, it begins to reel sinews and veins back into its mass, retracting them from the rabbit’s body and into its own. A puppet master, cutting the strings.

Tango can’t help it anymore. He screams.

Chapter Text

If the rabbits’ screaming had been agonising, making Impulse feel like his already-aching head was about to burst, Tango’s screaming is somehow worse. Not because it’s more physically painful—he doubts it could be—but because it makes his heart race so fast he feels ill.

“Tango?” he calls. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“It’s—it’s—look I was just kind of joking about the aliens before but I don’t think it’s a joke any more.”

Impulse blinks. “There are aliens?”

“There are—yes there are aliens! They’ve been inside the rabbits, controlling them somehow, with all these tendrils… It’s. One of the rabbits died, and it started sucking back into itself, it’s like… A weird glowing red blob. It’s made of the same stuff as the rabbits’ eyes. Ohh, I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all…”

Impulse doesn’t like this either. “You need to stay calm,” he says, despite the hypocrisy of it. “Is there… can you like, trap it or something? Or kill it?”

“I—with what? There’s no boxes in here or anything, I left my helmet at the caravel like an idiot, and even if I trapped the alien inside of that specific rabbit, there’s still three more!”

“And killing it?”

“Again, with what?! I don’t have anything that could kill it from this distance and I am not getting close. That thing… oh, what now?!”

“What is it?”

“An alert on one of the monitors. It’s… oh. Oh, wait, that’s good news, actually. Remember that ship from before? They’re definitely on a flight path straight for this moon. They… they actually got my SOS. Oh my god.”

“Okay,” Impulse says, sucking in a breath and holding it for a moment before continuing. “Okay, that’s good. Now you have a goal. You just have to survive until the rescue crew gets here.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m almost… I’m almost saved. Okay. I can do this. They’re still being targeted though, which means I need to finish trying to override this pulse, which means getting close to the rabb—”

Once again the speakers blare with static. Impulse groans, clapping his hands over his ears. It only takes about ten seconds for the line to reconnect, but it is ten seconds too long.

“...happening again. No, come on, this is the last thing I need!”

“We’re back,” Impulse says.

“Yeah, for now! What do I do if the ship comes to rescue me and the peak decides to freakin’ disappear with me inside of it?” 

“Just don’t be inside of it, then,” Impulse says. “Get out of there.”

“Yeah, one problem with that—well, actually, several problems with that. But the biggest one? The proximity alarm just dropped from four figures to three. Two. One. Zero. Because they’re no longer in proximity. They’re in presence. They’re blocking my only exit. So unless I want to go out and meet them in the dark, spooky corridor…”

“No, you should stay where you are,” Impulse says. “Maybe one of them knows how to deal with the aliens?”

“Maybe.” Tango sounds doubtful. “God, I hate waiting, though. This is the worst.”

“Just, you know, act casual.”

“Casual?” Tango snorts. “What, like I’m a Bond villain, welcoming them to my super-secret lair inside a mountain? For all I know, this is their super-secret lair and I’m just crashing their party.” Tango pauses. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

“Something weird—well, weirder—is happening with the little E.T. inside of the rabbit.” 

“How weird are we talking?” 

“I mean… I have no idea how to describe this to you. So it’s been… pulling parts back into itself from the rabbit’s corpse? Which is exactly as gross and disturbing as it sounds. I’m trying my best to ignore it. It’s like… like it had tendrils woven through the rabbit’s body, a whole network just enmeshed in my poor bunny’s nerves and musculature and organs and everything.”

“So it’s like a parasite?”

“Yeah. A passenger just wearing the rabbit like a suit. But the weirdest part is… it wasn’t clumsy about it, you know? It acted just like a rabbit. Just like that rabbit. If it hadn’t been torn open, I would’ve just thought it was a rabbit with weird eyes, not… not an alien.” Tango swallows. “And then there’s that sound.”

“I’ve never heard anything like it,” Impulse admits.

“Yeah, me neither. Anyway. It’s reeled all the tendrils back into itself, and now it’s just… sitting there. It’s this sleek, kind of featureless thing, like a, a blob, or a worm, or… something. I dunno. But Impulse? It’s bigger than the rabbit was. Like, there’s no way this thing fit inside of that creature. It’s not physically possible.”

“A lot of impossible things have been happening today. What’s one more on the list?”

“Ha. Yeah, well. I definitely didn’t have ‘aliens turning my rabbits into zombies’ on my moon stranded bingo card.” 

“Zombies?”

“The way these things are piloting the rabbits around? There’s no other word for it than undead. They may be acting mostly the same as always, but they’re not the same rabbits as before. They’re just corpses on strings, and I’m trapped in the world’s most nightmarish puppet show.”

Impulse doesn’t know what to say to that. The silence stretches on for a moment too long, punctuated only by static, and the hesitant sound of Tango typing.

Then, “Oh, crap!”

“What is it?”

“The visitors are here. They’re just… standing at the entrance. Staring at me. Um, hi? Hello. Do you speak English? Español? I’m pretty terrible at Spanish but I can give it a go if—um. Uh. Oh no.” 

“Tango?”

“I don’t… They’re in spacesuits. Helmets and all. So I can’t, can’t see their faces, but they have name patches, and I don’t. I don’t recognise most of them but the one in front? The one looking straight at me? The name tag says Keralis.”

“Like… like the guy on your ship?”

“I want to believe that they’re just survivors who stumbled past the Varia’s wreckage and needed to borrow a suit, but after everything I’ve seen… Impulse. Impulse, he’s taking off his helmet, he’s… Oh, god.”

“What is it? What do you see?”

When Tango speaks, he sounds on the verge of hysteria. “It’s Keralis. And his face is still all… And his eyes are… No, no, no. This isn’t happening. This is a dream and I’m going to wake up now.”

“Aww, Tango, what’s the matter?” says another voice, one Impulse doesn’t recognise. It’s quiet, hard to hear beneath the static, but Impulse thinks he can make out the hint of an accent, though not well enough to place it. “Do you not want to see me? I wanted to see you! I’ve missed your face.”

“Uhhh.”

“You’re not Keralis,” Tango says.

“No? I thought I was Keralis! Who else would I be?”

“I don’t know, some kind of—of alien thing, I don’t—don’t come near me!”

“Tango,” Impulse says. “Tango.”

“His eyes are red, Impulse,” Tango hisses. “His eyes are—I said don’t!”

“Hey, hey, I don’t want to hurt you!” Keralis soothes. “We’re friends, Tango, see? You and me.”

“I don’t know what you are but you are not my friend. Stop acting like him!”

“How else would I be acting, though? You’re not making a lot of sense.”

“Tango, you need to get out of there.”

“They’re standing between me and the door! There’s no way I can get past them and oh. Oh no. Oh, crap crap crap.”

“Tango I cannot see what you’re seeing, please, I know you’re freaking out but—”

“The others, they’re. They’re taking off their helmets. I don’t recognise them, but their eyes, they’re the same as Keralis’. The same as the rabbits. Pure red. No sclera, no pupil, no iris, just this otherworldly glow. I… Huh. You know, suddenly I don’t feel so freaked out.”

“What do you mean, you don’t feel freaked out?!” asks Impulse, who is feeling so freaked out he can barely breathe.

“I mean, Keralis is my friend. And… y’know, I think this is the first time in the past few days I’ve felt truly calm. Not, like, panic-calm, or the world-is-falling-to-pieces-around-me calm, but… calm. Serene. Maybe things are just fine.” 

“Do you even hear yourself right now?!”

“Are you hearing me?” Tango laughs. “I know what I need to do now, Impulse. I finally understand what it was all for! Everything has been leading up to this. This union. Keralis is picking up the creature that was inside of the rabbit. Now I understand. It was waiting for me. I was waiting for it. That’s why I came here. I just need to relax. Smile.”

“Tango. Tango, you need to wake up, now. Stop looking in their eyes. Close your eyes! Come on, anything, just—fight this! Don’t let them take you!” 

“I… I can’t…” Tango makes a strangled sound. “Oh! Oh, god, what am I doing?!”

There’s a clatter, a crash, a fleshy impact, and Impulse is getting real sick of not being able to see what’s going on. “Did you get away?”

“I’m trying!” Tango gasps. “They get in through the mouth, these things, that’s why I was waking up with red spit, they were trying to climb inside of me while I was sleepi—MMGHAPH!”

“Okay, I changed my mind, if they get in through the mouth keep yours closed!”

“Mmhm!”

“Come on, Tango, there’s no need to be so difficult about this!” Keralis calls. He doesn’t sound angry—more teasing, if anything. He has a nice voice. Soft. Impulse would almost call it soothing if it weren’t for the circumstances. “It’ll be fine, see?”

“Mm-nn!”

Impulse hears the distant sound of frantic typing, followed by a few more grunts and slams. And then, just when Impulse thinks the situation can’t get any worse, there’s that sound again.

The screaming.

He can’t fight back the pained whine that escapes him this time, burying his face into his knees and pulling the pillow behind him over his head as he blocks his ears. Even muffled, the screaming hurts, fire rattling around in his skull. He thinks his ears are bleeding. He thinks he can’t breathe. He thinks he might die, here and now, from the sheer agony of the cacophony battering his brain.

“I got it!” Tango calls. Impulse can barely hear him. He latches on to that thread, to Tango’s voice, trying anything he can to not pay attention to the screeching. “I can reroute this pulse to hit the control room. And if this thing is powerful enough to rip starships out of the sky? It’s powerful enough to fry this peak to a crisp.”

“Um.” Impulse somehow manages to find his voice. “You mean the peak that you’re in?”

“I’m going to try and make a break for it. Keralis stopped trying to grab me when he and the others started screaming, so—yeah. I’ll set this to go off in here and then run. Time is… Time is going weird, I think, when the pulse hits. It seems longer for me than it does for you.”

“It was only a couple of seconds for me,” Impulse says.

“Yeah, it was way longer on my end. Maybe like ten minutes? Anyway. So I’m going to set this off, and then try my best to get out of here before I’m fried too.”

“You have to survive until you get rescued, Tango.”

“I know. I’m gonna try. I really am. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I really don’t want to die out here.” He takes a breath. “So. See you in a few.”

“See y—” The audio feed is replaced by static. Impulse breathes a sigh of relief, because despite how awful the static is, the alien screeching was way, way worse. He pulls his hands back from his ears and looks down at his palms. 

Yup, that sure is blood on his fingers. Great. 

The static quiets and the line comes back. “Tango?” Impulse calls.

“Oh, you’re back! Thank god. Okay, so, uh, I’ve got some bad news and some good news. Bad news: I didn’t manage to get out in time. Good news: I’m not dead! Worse news: neither are the aliens.”

“What’re they doing?”

“Right now? Guarding the entrance. They’re not making a noise, they’re just… staring. But, hey, better news: the rescue ship is coming in to land! So granted I can get past these guys…”

“You’re saved.”

“I’m saved!” Tango pauses. “I just have no idea how I’m actually meant to get past these guys.”

“I… don’t know,” Impulse says. “Could you just run past them?” 

“It’d be a long shot. These guys are fast and strong—I’m gonna go ahead and call it supernaturally fast and strong. I know Keralis was not this strong before.”

“So you need to get them out of the doorway.”

“Yup. Any ideas?”

Impulse thinks for a moment. “These creatures… what’s the betting they’re the ones who made this control room?”

“Uh, pretty good, I’d reckon.”

“So they’d care about what’s inside of it?”

“I’d assume so.”

“Great. Tango? You need to start breaking as much stuff as you possibly can.” 

“Now that’s an instruction I like to hear! Uh. Why though?”

“Well, say you took their computers and smashed them against the wall…”

“They’d try and stop me,” Tango realises. “And the door would be unguarded. You’re a genius! Or, you will be if this works.”

“Here’s hoping,” Impulse says. “Purely for the sake of my ego. Nevermind your survival.”

“Oh, no, that’s entirely irrelevant.” Impulse thinks that Tango might be smiling. “Okay, well here goes nothing.” Impulse hears Tango huff, then a loud clang and the sound of something shattering. “Come and get me!” Tango taunts, and then there’s another crash. “I’m gonna—oh, whoa, you’re moving fast!” 

Another bang, and then there’s various sounds of movement Impulse can’t make out, followed by Tango’s breathy laugh. “Did it work?” Impulse asks. 

“It worked!” Tango cries. “I’m running as fast as I can down this hall, and—yes! I’m out! Oh, I can see the rescue ship. Oh, thank god.” Tango laughs. Or maybe sobs. Impulse can’t quite tell. “It’s about the length of a football field away. I’m gonna make it. I’m gonna—WAUGH!” 

“Tango? What happened?”

“The moon,” Tango breathes, voice strained. “It’s cracking open. And inside the cracks… Oh. Oh, no, no, no, c’mon. I was so close. Please.”

“What is it? What do you see? What’s inside the cracks?”

“Red,” Tango says. “It’s all bright, glowing red.”

The wind howls across the barren landscape of the moon, and Tango has fallen to his knees at the edge of a canyon that’s just opened up before him, hopelessness finally setting in. 

He’d thought he was saved. He’d thought he’d only had eight little red alien creatures to worry about.

No. No, there are thousands of them, maybe millions, squirming and writhing red things slowly surging up to the surface. The ground is now covered in deep, jagged cracks, all of them spilling an eerie red light. Tango should move. He should try and run, before the canyons are too big to jump over, before the rescue ship goes tumbling down into one. Before he goes tumbling down into one.

He can’t move.

“Tango? Tango. C’mon, buddy, answer me. What’s going on?”

“It’s over,” Tango says. “It’s… I’ve lost. It’s over.”

“You need to run for the rescue ship. You can still make it!”

“I can’t.” A sob bubbles its way out of Tango’s chest. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t, I’m done. To hell with it. To hell with me.”

“So that’s it?” Impulse sounds at the end of his rope. “You’re quitting? After everything we’ve been through?”

“I was never gonna make it out of here alive anyway,” Tango says. The mass of red seethes and flails below. 

“Do not give up right now! I can’t believe you!” 

“Giving up is the only thing that makes any sense right now!” Tango cries. “Everything I’ve done, this moon has just always been one step ahead. Has fought just that little bit harder. I’m tired of fighting. If it wants me, it can have me.”

“Just shut up and run for it!”

“The ground is literally giving way beneath my feet!” Tango laughs. “I’ll never make it. There’s no point.”

“Dying right now is selfish.”

Tango blinks. “Selfish? What do you mean, selfish? You have no idea what I’m going through!”

“You have to warn others. These aliens, this moon—other people are going to get hurt if you don’t do anything about it.”

…He’s right. God fucking damnit, but Impulse is right. Tango thinks of Bdubs, of Keralis, of the crew coming to rescue him—he can’t let them end up like the Varia. Them or anyone else.

“I hate you,” Tango says, forcing himself to his feet. The effort feels excruciating. “You’re right, and I hate you.”

“As long as you live to hate me, I don’t mind.”

It’s about a hundred yards, from where Tango’s standing to where the ship has landed. A hundred yards of increasingly uneven terrain. He has to make it, though. So he starts running.

“See,” he says as he runs, “where all of this started to go wrong was when I first made contact with you. If it weren’t for you, I’d have just rolled over and died back at the start of this, and everything would have been so much easier.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah, well. You’ve kept me alive this long, and I’m massively grateful, and now I have to repay that kindness. Keep other people alive too.” He sighs, jumping over a narrow crack and just barely avoiding a glowing red tendril that’s snaking out to grab his ankle. “So, you know… thanks.”

“Sure. Now, run!”

“I’m running!” Tango pants back. 

The red things are beginning to breach the surface now, and he can see four potential hosts: himself, and the three figures that have emerged from the rescue ship. They’ve all got their helmets on, though, which is smart—Tango’s got to try and do his best to keep his mouth covered with his hand, which is making it increasingly difficult to run and dodge the red tendrils reaching out for him. They’re everywhere now, the red things, covering the ground, and it’s hard not to look at them when he needs to see where they are in order to avoid being dragged under.

“I’m never gonna make it,” he whispers, breathless. “I’m never gonna make it.”

“You’re gonna make it!” Impulse calls back. 

Thousands of red eyes are locked on Tango as he runs. He wants to ignore them, wants to ignore them so badly, but he can already feel his panic dying down, his limbs slowing as the adrenaline leaks out of him, replaced by an eerie, surreal calm. All at once, the creatures around him begin to scream, but unlike before, it doesn’t hurt. It’s haunting, but inviting, an otherworldly siren song.

Tango isn’t strong enough not to answer it.

“God, I hate this screaming,” Impulse says, sounding on the verge of tears.

“I’m starting to understand it,” Tango says, dreamlike. “It’s sweet. Like… music. Remember when you played me music? That was nice. This is… nicer. I think I should stay here.”

“Ignore their eyes!” Impulse cries.

“I can’t ignore their eyes. There’s nothing to look at anymore, except for the eyes. I’m looking at them, and they’re looking at me, and they’re seeing deeper into me than anyone ever has. They need me, Impulse. They need me to bring them more hosts.” There is something red on Tango’s face. There’s something red everywhere. It fills his eyes, his nose, his mouth. “There aren’t enough hosts on this moon, so we call them from other sectors. There aren’t enough hosts in this sector, so we call them from other times. We reach into the future for our prey. We fish from the past for our sustenance. We pull spaceships from every space and time to fill our needs, and still it is not enough.”

“Tango!”

“We are missing something, and we will find it again. And so we bring everything here, from all times and all places, until every living thing is our host, and we are within every living thing. And then we will have what is ours again. And then we will— MGHANK!”

The world is red, and then it’s black, and then it’s nothing at all.

Tango comes to with a pounding headache and a taste in his mouth like something crawled in there and died.

Which, uh. It probably did. 

He groans, forcing open his eyes. It’s too bright in this room. He squints, trying to make out what he can. He’s leaning back against a pillow on some kind of bed, he can tell that much at least. There’s a sharp clinical scent to the air. Like he’s in a hospital.

He turns his head to the side and there’s another bed beside his, made up in medical blues, and lying on it, surrounded by tubes and wires and beeping monitors, is Bdubs. That’s enough to make him start, only for the movement to make his head swim and another groan to escape his throat.

“Oh, you’re awake!” says a voice. Tango glances up to see an unfamiliar man with white hair standing over him, half of his face covered by a surgical mask.

“Uh.”

“Sorry about that, Doc didn’t mean to hit you quite so hard enough to knock you out, he always forgets that his arm is made of metal and most humans’ faces are not.” Tango thinks the man might be smiling. He can’t quite tell, on account of the mask and all. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like hell,” Tango croaks. “What happened? Where am I?”

“Well, we rescued you from that moon! Seemed like a pretty sticky situation you got in there. Doc did accidentally give you a concussion, though, so now you’re in the medbay. And we rescued your captain friend here, too! So it’s all good.” 

Tango can’t fathom the notion that it’s all good, not after everything that’s happened. But the man seems genuine enough, grey eyes crinkling at the edges, and Bdubs is here, so… So maybe it is all good. As unlikely as that seems.

“I’m Tango,” he introduces himself.

“Oh, I know, your suit has a name tag on it.” The man keeps staring at him.

Tango clears his throat. “And, you are…?” 

“Oh! Dr. Etho Slab, nice to meet you,” the man says. 

“Nice to meet you too, doc.”

“Oh, no, just Etho is fine. Otherwise you’ll end up getting me confused with Doc. He’s one of our other crewmates.” 

“Okay.” Everything feels really big right now. Tango glances across at Bdubs again. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll make a full recovery,” Etho promises. “We’re keeping him in a medically-induced coma until we get back to Earth, just in case, but he’ll be just fine.”

Something in Tango that he didn’t even realise was tense relaxes. He sighs. “Well, that’s good news.” His eyes feel heavy. He feels like he’s forgetting something. What is he forgetting? “Oh!” he jerks up, his head swimming with the movement.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I… my IEVA suit. Is it here?”

Etho gives him a strange look. “It’s in the ready room, with the rest of the crew’s IEVA suits. Why?”

“I need it real quick,” Tango says. At Etho’s continued staring, he pleads, “please?”

Etho sighs. “Well, I don’t know why you need it, but I guess it won’t take me too long to get it. Wait here.”

“Where else would I even go?” Tango asks, leaning back against the pillows.

Etho leaves. Tango watches Bdubs as he waits for him to get back, mesmerised by the slow rise-and-fall of his chest. They made it. They’re going to live.

It’s nothing short of a miracle. Tango can barely comprehend it.

Etho returns, Tango’s IEVA suit in tow, and it’s certainly seen better days. It’s covered in tears and stains and wouldn’t be any good in most situations you’d need an IEVA suit for, but the in-built comm is still working. Or, well, working enough to connect to the one frequency Tango needs it to connect to.

He takes the suit from Etho and hesitates. “Um. Can I have a little privacy, please?”

Etho looks, if possible, even more weirded out by that. “Dude, it’s a suit. What’re you gonna do to it that I’m not allowed to see?”

Tango flushes. “Please, just—I need to call someone.” He points to the comm. “I need a moment.”

Etho still seems confused, but nods. “Alrighty then. I’ll just… be outside the door.” He gestures. “Just shout when you’re done, I guess?”

He leaves. Tango sighs and presses the suit comm. It feels weird now that he’s no longer wearing it, but the motion is familiar: one tap to open the line, and one to keep it open.

“Impulse?” he calls. “Are you there?”

There’s a long moment of silence during which Tango thinks that Impulse must be gone, and then, “Tango? Oh my god. Is that you?”

“It’s me,” Tango says. “Sorry about that. I got kind of knocked out at the end there.”

“I heard voices,” Impulse says. “After you stopped responding. They turned off the comm pretty quickly, but I heard enough to know that you were with someone. You’re safe?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m safe. I’m on the ship that came to rescue me, headed home to Earth.” He lets out a breath. “So, hey, you don’t have to worry about me anymore! I survived.”

“I’m glad,” Impulse says. “That you survived, I mean. I was worried there for a second.”

“You and me both.” The life support machines beep in the background. “So, uh, I guess this is it, huh? Where we part ways?”

Impulse is quiet for a moment. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“You can’t live your entire life chained to that radio. And I can’t carry around my IEVA suit all day.”

“What about, like, once a day? We check in before I go to bed. I don’t… I don’t know if I can just stop worrying about you. I know you’re safe and all, but…”

“Yeah, alright,” Tango says, because if he’s honest, he doesn’t like the idea of never speaking to Impulse again either. “Once a day check in. Sounds good.” He sighs. “Well, I’ve kicked the doctor out of his lab in order to talk to you, and I should probably be nice and let him back in. I… Thank you, Impulse. For everything. Really. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“It was the least I could do,” Impulse says.

“It really wasn’t. I get the feeling most people would have decided the situation was too crazy and hung up day one.”

“You needed help. I couldn’t just leave you with no one when I was there.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. I’m really…” Tango swallows. “Okay, I really gotta go. See you later, buddy.”

“Bye, Tango. Enjoy your proper bed.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m going to.”

Chapter Text

The first day after Tango gets rescued, Impulse calls in sick. 

He still hasn’t quite recovered from his headache, is the thing, and he really doesn’t want to be in the workshop today with all its noise and light. So he stays in bed with the curtains drawn and the radio quietly blaring static beside him.

He could turn it off. He probably should. But he’s waiting on a call from Tango, so he leaves it open and listens to the static as he recovers.

Tango does call eventually, sometime in the evening, and when they’re done Impulse finally finds it in him to turn the radio off. The silence feels weird, after several days of background static. He’s not sure he likes it.

And then Tuesday dawns and Impulse drags himself out of bed and out to work.

PWG’s bioinstrumentation labs are a decent trek outside of the city, and further still from the little suburb where Impulse lives, in the little house he’d inherited from his parents. It’s not a bad drive though, the Arizona desert flying by as he makes his way down the lonely road to the large white metal box that is the labs. 

The workshop is busy when he enters, filled with chatter and the low hum of machinery. He waves to Mumbo as he passes by—his coworker is elbow-deep in some tricky-looking wiring, and attempts to wave back before he realises that it’s probably a bad move and cuts off the movement with a yelp. “Oh, dear!” 

Impulse bites back a snicker. “Morning, Mumbo!”

“Morning, Impulse, don’t mi—oh, c’mon, please don’t do this.”

Impulse heads on back to his own workstation, leaving Mumbo to desperately attempt to salvage his work. The blueprints for his latest project are spread out across his desk, messy notes and calculations outlining the stasis pod he’s been assigned to develop. Impulse pauses, looking over them, attempting to refresh the design in his memory. It feels like years since the last time he was here—has it really only been three days?

“You called in sick yesterday,” calls an accusing voice.

Impulse sighs. “That’s a very astute observation, Zedaph,” he says. “It’s almost like there’s only four of us in this workshop.”

Zed, who has appeared at the edge of Impulse’s workstation out of seemingly nowhere, scowls, crossing his arms across his chest. “Well maybe I demand an explanation,” he says haughtily. “For this out-of-character behaviour.”

“Out-of-character,” Impulse echoes, bemused.

“Last winter you came in with the flu. X had to call Skizz to send you home, you were so out of it, and you argued the entire time. So, yes, it’s just a little weird that you called out sick.” Zed pulls a magnifying glass out of his pocket and peers at Impulse through it. “So, come on, spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” Impulse says. “I had a migraine, is all.”

“A migraine?” Zed frowns. “Well, that’s even weirder. You don’t get headaches.”

“I’m pretty sure I do?” Impulse blinks, baffled.

“With your cyborg brain?”

“That’s—Zed.” Impulse laughs. “That’s to stop seizures. I still get headaches.”

“Sus,” Zedaph says, eyes narrowed.

“I—It’s not sus! How is that sus?”

“Sus,” Zed says again and, as quickly as he’d appeared, disappears again. 

Impulse stares at the space where he’d been standing and shakes his head, bewildered. “Okay, then,” he mumbles to himself. “Glad to know Zed’s still the same as ever.”

He turns his attention back to the blueprints. They’re beginning to make sense again, which is good. After looking at them for a long moment, he wonders if he could add something more—maybe he could try his hand at some kind of hover transportation feature, like the ones at HASA. If they could figure it out, Impulse is sure he can.

He sits down, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper and getting to work. It feels… weirdly normal. It’s nice, that things can still feel normal again after the whirlwind of a weekend he’s had. 

“Impulse,” Xisuma says, and Impulse looks up to see his boss hovering over him. He looks awkward, fidgeting like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, a look of concern on his face. “Are you feeling better today?”

Impulse nods, smiling up at him. “Right as rain!” he says brightly. 

Xisuma looks relieved. “Good, that’s—that’s very good,” he says. He hesitates, visibly struggling to pick his words. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he lands on.

“Me too,” Impulse says. “Excited to get back to work!” 

Xisuma nods. “Well, best get back to it then,” he says, and lingers a moment too long before making his leave.

Impulse likes Xisuma, though he isn’t exactly the best boss in the world. He’s good at the paperwork side of things, at the bureaucracy of management, but his people skills could use a little work. Still, he means well, and Impulse finds himself humming contentedly as he gets on with his design adjustments.

He’ll lose himself in his work for now, and then he’ll go home to an empty house and call Skizz, and then he’ll turn on the radio and wait for Tango’s call, and maybe soon this will all feel routine.

Being on a new ship feels weird.

The Hermethius is much bigger than the Varia had been, home to a crew of six rather than their measly three. It’s a mining vessel, too, meaning there’s room for equipment and cargo much larger than anything the Varia had had to carry. It’s a spaceship, so it’s automatically cramped, especially now that Tango is here filling a space no one had accounted for, but it feels far more vast than it should.

Despite how weird it is, though, Tango can’t deny that he’s grateful to be here. Grateful to be rescued. Grateful that the crew are stretching their resources enough to account for his presence. Grateful that they’re being so nice to him. 

“Sorry, these might not fit great,” Beef says, coming into the crew quarters with an armful of folded laundry. “We tried our best, though!” He places the clothes down on the bed where Tango’s sitting, still dressed in the hospital gown Etho had given him to wear when he’d stripped out of his filthy undersuit. 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Tango says. “I mean, you didn’t have to give me your clothes. I appreciate it.” He glances through the pile—there’s a pair of standard-issue pyjamas, some sweatpants, a pair of jeans, two plain t-shirts, a hoodie, and a plaid shirt. Judging by the sizes, most of the crew have donated him a piece of their wardrobe. 

“Well, you can’t be walking around naked all the time, now can you?” Beef says, bemused. “I’ll leave you to get dressed now. See you, Tango.”

“Yeah, see you!” 

Beef leaves. Tango runs his fingers across soft worn fabric. His throat feels tight, which, really? It’s just clothes. It’s just total strangers literally giving him the clothes off his back because he lost everything he had in a spacecraft crash. It’s fine.

Tango gets dressed. It’s a little awkward, with his arm in a sling, but he makes do. Beef’s right in that the clothes don’t fit right—the sweatpants are too large, the t-shirt too small. He uses the latter to keep the former up, tightening the drawstring as tight as it’ll go. He feels a little ridiculous, so he pulls the oversized hoodie on top. It’s warm. Cosy. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes in the scent of fresh laundry powder.

It’s not a far walk from the crew quarters to the galley. The ship’s kitchen is designed to be utilitarian, but the crew of the Hermethius have certainly gone out of their way to make the place feel homely. There are personalised mugs sitting on the shelf, post-it notes stuck on the fridge, and a crude drawing of the crew pinned over the sink. The light is on and the air is filled with a soft hum as one of the other members of the crew—Doc—hovers over the coffee machine.

Doc looks up as Tango comes in and offers him a small smile. “Hi, Tango,” he greets. “Coffee?”

God, Tango doesn’t remember the last time he had coffee. He nods. “Please.”

He sits down at the small dining table in the corner. The chairs are metal and uncomfortable, the surface of the table cold beneath his hands. Doc leans on the counter, humming as he waits, eyeing Tango up. It’s hard not to feel intimidated—Doc is a large guy, metal arm and artificial eye notwithstanding. Tango fiddles with the fabric of his sleeves and pretends he doesn’t know that he’s being watched.

“Are you settling in okay?” Doc finally asks, looking away as the coffee finishes brewing to pour it into the mugs. Tango’s not sure whose mug he’s being served coffee in—there are only six on the ship, so it must be someone’s. 

“As well as I can, I guess.” Tango blows out a breath. “You’ve all been very kind to me.”

Doc scoffs. “Well, it’s not as if we could leave you on that moon now, could we?” He places the half-full pot back into the coffee machine. “Cream, sugar?”

“Creamer?” Tango asks, and Doc nods, getting some out of the cupboard. 

“You’re more than welcome here,” he reiterates, adding the final touches to the coffee and picking up the mugs. Tango takes his, the ceramic warm against his palms in the otherwise chilly ship. 

“And you’re sure—I mean, you have enough resources?”

Doc shakes his head. “That’s for us to worry about, not you,” he says. “You just focus on getting better.” He glances at Tango’s arm. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Alright,” Tango says. “Etho gave me some painkillers so it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” He sighs. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do around the ship to help?”

“We’re fine,” Doc says. “Honestly. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

Tango takes a sip of his coffee. It’s most likely not great—space coffee never is—but in this moment it’s the best coffee he’s ever tasted. “I just don’t like feeling useless,” he says.

“Useless? Tango, you discovered aliens! Real, bonafide aliens.” Doc grins. “We’ll get you a laptop and you can write up your findings, how’s that for something to do?”

Tango snorts. “Oh, yeah, it’ll be the most scientific of scientific papers. Specimen was observed from a distance as the researcher was shitting his pants.” 

Doc laughs. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he says. 

“How’s your guys’ research going, anyway? I hope I haven’t derailed it too much.”

Doc waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, no, we weren’t getting much done anyway. Now we just have an excuse for that.” He winks. “It’s fascinating stuff, tunguskite, but a nightmare to work with. Last time we tried experimenting with it Ren almost blew a hole in the ship, and False very quietly banned messing with it after that.”

“Oh, wow, sounds like pretty powerful stuff.”

Doc nods. “It can be. Say, if you’d like, I can show you some of the stuff we’ve found about how it works sometime. Get your opinion on it.”

“I’m a biologist, not a geologist,” Tango says automatically. Then, “but sure, sometime, I’d love to take a look.”

Doc nods. “It’s a plan then,” he says, and takes a sip of his coffee. 

Tango mirrors him. Sat here, in the cosy space the crew have made out of the galley kitchen, Tango doesn’t feel like the ship is quite so big after all.

Tango hears voices floating down the corridor as he approaches the cockpit. 

“—be fun!” says Ren. “Come on, False.”

False’s sigh echoes around the metal frame of the ship. “Can this wait?” she asks. “I’m a little busy.”

“Space isn’t going to change in the next two hours. It’s going to keep being big and boring and empty.” 

“That wasn’t what I was—” False pauses as Tango appears in the doorway. “Tango! Hi!”

“Hi.” Tango waves awkwardly. “Am I interrupting something, or…?”

“No, no, Ren’s interrupting us,” False says with a glance at her crewmate.

Ren holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, my dudes! You didn’t say you had a meeting, False.”

“Well…”

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Ren says, backing away from the console. “But, hey, afterwards, Tango, dude, I’m trying to get the crew together for a game of Uno. You in?” 

Tango blinks. “What, like the card game?”

“Yeah, exactly! It was small enough to fit into my baggage allowance—I’d wanted to bring monopoly but it just didn’t fit.” 

“Are you trying to start a fight?” Tango asks, baffled.

Ren grins. “I want to see who gets kicked out of the airlock first. Stress, Etho and I have been taking bets.”

“Can I place a bet?” False asks.

“Of course you can!”

“I’m betting on you.”

Ren’s face falls as he splutters. “Wait—but I—”

“Go on, get out of my office,” False instructs, visibly holding back laughter. 

Ren hangs his head as he leaves. He pauses as he reaches the doorway, Tango stepping further into the room to give him space to pass. “But we can play later?” he checks, glancing back at False.

She sighs. “Yes, we can play later,” she says, a long-suffering air about her. “Close the door on your way out, won’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am!” 

The door closes. False sighs again. “Come and sit down, Tango,” she invites, gesturing to the other chair at the console. Tango takes it. “Sorry about him.”

Tango shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. It’s, uh, I appreciate being invited to play, actually. As long as I’m not the one getting kicked out of the airlock.”

“Nobody’s actually getting kicked out of the airlock,” False says. “I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, it’s never something you can rule out,” False says, somewhere between thoughtful and uncertain. “Anyways. How’re you, Tango?”

“Oh, you know!” Tango shuffles awkwardly. “I’m doing okay. I really appreciate everything you and your crew have done for me.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “There’s no need to thank us,” she says. “Is there anything else we can do to make you feel more at home?”

“No, no, you’ve done more than enough,” Tango insists, flailing slightly. “I’m fine, honestly.”

She nods. “I’ve been in contact with the folks back on Earth today,” she says, a more serious tone to her voice. “You’re HASA, right?” Tango nods. “We’re out here on behalf of Pearson Astronautics, but the ship itself, a decent chunk of our equipment, and about half the crew are on loan from HASA, so we have pretty decent connections. The guys back at ground control are gonna pass on your information, see what can be arranged for you when we get back to Earth—including potential resupply vessels meeting us half-way.” 

Tango lets out a small sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s good.”

She nods. She hesitates, and when she next speaks, there’s an awkward sort of gentleness to her voice. “Pearson also said that, if you need to, you can access their counselling services remotely.”

It takes a moment for Tango to understand what she’s saying. “What, like, therapy?”

She nods. “You’d contact them through our QTC system in here. I wouldn’t be in the room—I mean, unless you wanted me to be in the room, then I guess I could stay, but I figured you’d want the privacy.” 

Tango’s throat feels weirdly tight. “I, um, I mean—I appreciate it, but I think I’m good.” At her doubtful look, he adds, “I’d kind of rather just do it in person when we get back to Earth.”

She seems much more understanding of that. “Alright, I’ll pass it on,” she says. “But if you change your mind…”

Tango nods. “I will. Thanks.” Then, “is there anything else?”

“No, that’s about all I had to pass on,” False says. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Tango shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

She looks at him for a long moment. She has a sharp gaze, Captain False Symmetry—Tango wonders what she sees when she looks at him. 

“Alright, then,” she says. “I’ll see you later Tango.” Her face darkens. “For Uno.”

Tango snorts. “Don’t get too trigger-happy with that airlock door,” he says as he stands.

“No, I won’t.” She sighs wistfully. “It’s very tempting. But I won’t.”

Tango leaves the room, a smile on his face. Later, they play Uno, and whilst Ren doesn’t get kicked out of the airlock, he does get locked in the pantry for ten minutes, only being set free when False decides that the risk of him eating his way through their food if left unsupervised is worse than having to suffer his presence and his constant plus fours. 

Tango laughs harder than he has since before the Varia went down, and thinks he could really grow to like the Hermethius crew as something less like saviours and something more like friends.

“I,” Stress proclaims, hovering over Tango as he blinks sleepily over his breakfast, “have a gift for you.”

Tango looks up at her. “A gift?” he asks, mouth half-full. At her disapproving glare, he quickly chews through the rest of the food and swallows. “A gift?” he repeats. 

She nods, brightening almost immediately. “See, I’ve noticed you locking yourself up in the Ready Room every evening, and I was like huh, that’s weird, but then Etho told me you were talking to someone on your IEVA suit comm. So I did this!” 

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out some kind of device. It’s a black box about the size of a smartphone but much thicker, wires poking out of gaps in the casing and buttons stuck awkwardly to the side. There’s a grate on one side that Tango thinks might be for ventilation, but it’s hard to tell. She hands it to him. He takes it, turning it over in his hands. “Thanks,” he says automatically. Then, “what… is it?” 

“It’s your IEVA suit comm!” Stress says brightly. “I just removed the circuitry from the suit and added it to this. Since the suit’s pretty busted anyway I figured it wouldn’t really do any harm.” She shrugs. “It should be tuned to the exact same frequency, so now you can talk to whoever it is you’re talking to without having to trek all the way to the ready room!” 

Tango runs his finger over the grate—the speaker, he realises now, looking at it closer. “I… don’t know what to say,” he says. “Thank you, Stress.”

She grins. “You’re welcome, love,” she says. “Just don’t keep poor Beef up all night chatting, you hear?”

Tango shakes his head. “I won’t. Seriously, thanks.”

“Aw, it was nothin’,” she says. “Think of it as a welcome present!” She pats him warmly on the shoulder and then heads off to get her own breakfast. Tango can’t help but smile, his eyes stinging as he looks down at the little comm device. He’ll have to do something to make it up to Stress—not that he knows what, of course, but he can’t let such generosity go unrepaid.

Especially when, a week after he’d first crash-landed on that moon, Tango finds himself lifting the comm to his mouth and calling, “Impulse, are you there? I need some help.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Impulse hears upon waking is Tango’s voice calling, “Impulse, are you there? I need some help.”

It’s not what wakes him up, though; the thing that wakes Impulse up, but takes a few moments to register to his conscious brain, is the alarm blaring in the background. He groans, blinking open his eyes to see the familiar darkness of his bedroom.

Right. He left the old radio on his bedside table, didn’t he? In his defence, he’s been finding it harder to sleep these days without the constant buzzing of static as background noise.

“Impulse?” Tango calls again.

“‘M here,” Impulse mumbles. “Jus’ waking up. What’s up, buddy?”

“Well, uh, you hear that alarm in the background?”

“Hard not to.”

“That’s this ship’s proximity claxon. Which means there’s something coming close to us. And thanks to this big window I’m currently standing next to, I can see said coming-closer-thing! And it’s way too shiny and way too fast to be an asteroid.” 

Impulse sits up, rubbing at his eyes. “So, what, it’s a ship?” he asks.

“A manmade vessel of some kind, yeah, has to be. I’m not sure if it’s necessarily a crew ship, though. But I’ve just got this feeling…”

“It’s bad news?”

“I’m hoping it’s not, but I think it might be, and… I dunno. You got me off that moon, so I thought hey, if things are potentially about to break bad, I want Impulse on my side.”

“Well, you’ve got me,” Impulse says, pulling the covers off and stepping out of bed. “Anything you can do to find out more about the situation?”

“Head to the cockpit, probably,” Tango says. “I bet the captain’s there, if no one else, and they have a bigger window and, like, radar devices and stuff.”

“You don’t sound particularly thrilled about that course of action.”

“No, it’s fine, I just…” Tango sighs. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Not knowing will make it worse,” Impulse reminds him.

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, time to head to the cockpit.” 

Tango’s footsteps echo metallically through the static as Impulse makes his way downstairs and too his coffee machine, blinking sleep from bleary eyes. The time it takes for the coffee to brew is about the time it takes Tango to get to the cockpit—Impulse starts to hear low voices in the background of the feed. At some point the alarm goes off, too, which is good, because Impulse doesn’t particularly want a repeat of last weekend’s headache.

“I’ll leave you on the line,” Tango whispers, “so you can hear what’s going on, but try and be quiet, okay?”
“As a mouse,” Impulse whispers, and leans back against the counter with his coffee to listen.

He knows a little about Tango’s new crewmates—Tango’d told him about them during one of their nightly check-ins. They’re a mining-research vessel, collecting some weird space crystals, with a crew of six: a captain, a navigator, a doctor, and three miner-geologists.

“Here’s what we know, people,” says a distant voice—Impulse thinks it may be the captain, based on what he’s been told. What was her name again? Something Symmetry? “The alarm that woke us all up? That’s reserved for unexpected craft entering the sector. And at this point, any craft out here, other than us, counts as unexpected. This isn’t space debris: this is an operational ship with someone piloting it. Someone who’s returning week-old codes in response to our hailing signals.” She lets the thought hang for a moment. “We do have a visual on them, which is good—except for the fact that they’re on an intercept vector.”

“So what you’re saying is,” chimes in another voice—it’s a soft kind of voice, Impulse thinks. Accented. German, maybe? He’s never been very good with accents. “We’ve got company.”

“That we do, Doc, that we do.” There’s a soft rush of murmurs, too garbled by static for Impulse to make out words. The captain raises her voice above them. “Now, let’s not panic,” she says, and Impulse doesn’t know her but he thinks he can hear an edge of panic in her voice. “We don’t know what they want. They may just be looking to resupply—not that we have any supplies to share, given our situation, but I’m sure we can reach an agreement peacefully.”

“Who’re you trying to convince?” asks another voice, one Impulse can’t place. “Us, or yourself?”

The captain sighs. “Etho, come on now.”

“I’m just saying!” the voice—Etho—says. “If we should be preparing for hostiles—” 

“You’re not on a military craft anymore,” the captain says, her voice suddenly firm. “We’re a corporate venture. There’s no reason for us to be a target.”

“Yeah, because no one’s ever had a reason to hate corporations,” says a third person. 

“Okay, dudes, let’s all calm down,” says someone else. “I know this is stressful, but as cool as space pirates would be, it’s probably really unlikely. So let’s all listen to the captain and chill out, okay?”

The room falls silent in what Impulse can only presume is grudging agreement. “Thank you, Ren,” the captain says, and Impulse is glad he has a voice to the name. “Honestly, there’s not much any of you can do in this situation. Stress has plotted an evasive manoeuvre for if it comes to that, but we’re not expecting it to. You’re free to all return to your rooms and wait on standby.”

There’s a low, discontented grumble that’s then followed by footsteps—people moving, following the captain’s orders. Impulse stays quiet. After a moment, Tango speaks, but he’s not talking to Impulse. “You’re sure everything’s fine?”

The captain sighs. “No. But this isn’t your problem to worry about, Tango. Go back to bed. We’ll deal with this—whatever this is.”

Tango sounds uneasy as he replies, “alright.” Impulse hears Tango walk away, and then, “you know, that didn’t make me feel any less anxious.”

“They’ve got it handled,” Impulse says. 

“Do they, though?” Tango sighs. “They’re all pretty cool people, the Hermethius crew, but being cool doesn’t stop things from going wrong. The guys on the Varia were cool too, and look at us now.” He laughs derisively. “But, yeah, no, you’re right. I should probably just… go back to bed. Not that I’m gonna sleep after this.”

“I’m probably not going to either,” Impulse says, staring down at his half-drunk cup of coffee. 

“Well, I’m glad we’re at least in this together. Um, sorry for waking you up, though.”

“It’s fine,” Impulse says, picking up the radio and heading into the dark living room. It’s darker in here than the kitchen—the kitchen faces the front of the house, so there’s the light of the streetlamp outside streaming in through the blinds. Here, it’s just dark shapes. Impulse pulls on the string to turn on the lamp and, blinking in the sudden light, lowers himself down onto the sofa. “I don’t mind.”

“You have the patient of a saint.”

Impulse snorts. “Oh, trust me, I really don’t,” he says. “I used to have pretty bad anger issues, actually.”

“Really?” Tango sounds surprised. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Yeah, well…” Impulse is too tired to explain that whole thing right now. Maybe someday. He sips on his coffee to fill the silence. 

“Touchy subject?”

“A little bit. Don’t worry, I’m the one who brought it up, I just…”

“Right, gotcha. And I’m probably going to go quiet for a bit, because I just got back to the crew’s quarters.”

“People are sleeping?” Impulse asks, voice hushed.

“Maybe? Everyone here has their own room—or, well, it’s more like a nook, or a pod, than a room, but everyone has their own private space. Except for me, because this ship was built for six, not seven. I’ve been bunking with Beef—one of the miner guys—but if he’s sleeping…”

“You don’t want to disturb him, right, got it.”

Impulse goes quiet again as Tango walks through the crew’s quarters. He hears the quiet hiss of a powered door opening, and then a voice—the one from the meeting, who had pointed out that some corporations do have enemies. “Oh, there you are! I was beginning to wonder where you’d wandered off to.”

“I was just chatting with the captain,” Tango says. “She told me to go back to bed.”

“That sounds like a good call. You look exhausted. Tell you what, you can even take the bed, I won’t be using it.”

“You’re leaving?” 

“Yeah, I think Ren, Doc and I are going to head to the ready room, just in case. I know False says everything’s going to be fine, but…”

“You have a bad feeling about this too, huh?”

“Well, you know, I’ve encountered space pirates before,” Beef says.

“You—wait—huh? What? Oh, I need to hear this story.” 

Beef laughs. “I’ll tell you later, after all this is sorted out, yeah? I’ll see you later, Tango.”

“Aw, come on, you’re really gonna leave me hanging on the space pirate story?” Tango sighs dramatically. “I see how it is. See you, Beef. Good luck.”

“Hopefully we won’t need it.” 

The door hisses closed. Tango says, “okay, the coast is clear.”

“Hi,” Impulse says. “I’m kind of disappointed, honestly. I also wanted to hear about the space pirates.”

“Who doesn’t? They’re space pirates!” Impulse hears movement—if he has to guess, Tango has just flopped down onto the bed. After a moment, he says, “I don’t know why the idea of not being alone out here is way more terrifying than the alternative.”

“Because the last time you weren’t alone, you were surrounded by aliens?” Impulse guesses.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably a solid bet, huh?” Tango blows out a breath. “I feel like the ground just keeps getting pulled out from underneath my all-terrain boots. It’s like—BWAGH!” 

Impulse hears movement, a thud, and some kind of vague, distant screeching. “What is that?” he asks. “What’s going on?”

“The whole ship just… lurched,” Tango says. “Like something hit us pretty hard topside.” 

“Are you hurt?”

“Eh. I’ll live. But seriously, what the heck was that?! I need to—” 

The door hisses open. A voice—Doc, Impulse thinks the name was—says, “Oh, Tango. Do you know where Beef is?”

“He, uh, he went looking for you. Over towards the ready room, I think?”

Doc hums. “Alright. I’m going to go find out what this is. You stay here, okay? Keep your shipboard comm channel open, and I’ll radio you once I get there.”

Tango sighs. “Yeah, alright. See you, Doc.” The door hisses once again. Tango groans. “What is this, everyone sideline Tango day? I feel so useless just sitting here!”

“It’s probably the best thing to do, though,” Impulse says. 

“I know, I know, I just—ugh! I survived three whole days by myself on an alien moon, and now people are acting like I’m too fragile to leave this room.”

“Honestly? You’ve earned the right to sit back and relax and let other people deal with anything potentially dangerous.”

“See, in theory, that sounds nice, but in practice? Early retirement kind of blows.” He pauses. “Well, at least these guys are way more equipped to handle this than me. A bunch of them are ex-military—Doc, Etho, and False for sure. Maybe Beef and Ren? I’m not sure. Stress is actually HASA, believe it or not.”

“What’re a bunch of ex-military folks doing on a corporate mining mission?”

“Eh, it’s actually where a lot of people like that end up. Corporate missions tend to be kind of cobbled together, since they don’t have the means to actually build spaceships or train astronauts.”

“I guess that makes sense. I’ve never really put that much thought into how space missions work, really.”

“Never wanted to go?”

“Oh, when I was a kid, sure. But as I got older it kind of lost the appeal.”

“Can’t relate.” Impulse snorts. “What do you even do, anyway? You said you’re an engineer?”

“Yeah, I work in bioengineering. Our lab does all sorts—prosthetics, neural implants, monitoring systems… I’m currently working on a stasis pod design.”

“Oh, so it’s not just my life you’re saving on a regular basis, then?”

Impulse flushes. “I—” There’s a garbled crack of static from the other side of the line. “What was that?”

“My shipboard comm. Hang on, let me—”

The static resolves itself into a voice. Doc’s voice. “Tango? Send Ren! Send Beef! Send anybod—”

“Uhh. Doc? Hello? Can you hear me?” Nothing. Tango swallows audibly. “That’s… huh.”

“Is your comm dead?” Impulse asks. 

“No, it’s not dead, there’s just nothing coming through this chan—AH!” Impulse winces at the scream of feedback that comes through the speaker. “Nevermind, scratch that. The comm channel just went dead. In fact… In fact, all the comm channels are dead. There’s just silence.”

“Like… someone just killed all your communications?”

“Yeah. Yeah, almost exactly like that. This is—oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What is it?”

“The lights all just went out. Even the emergency lighting. It’s pitch frickin’ black in here. Dead silent and dark as the grave.”

“You’re not dead, Tango.”

“Not yet.”

“Come on, don’t think like that. You’ll be fine. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

“Nothing’s ever helped by panicking.”

“I know, I know. Okay. I don’t… Do I just stay here? Do I try and find out what’s going on?”

“You want to walk around this ship in the dark?”

“...No. No I do not. You make an excellent point, Impulse. I am going to stay right here and, uh, hope we don’t all die in the next… however long it takes for them to get the lights working again.”

Tango’s been thinking a lot about eponymous laws.

It’s probably a weird thing to think about, but he’d been told once, by a roommate back in college, that those sorts of things were meant to be comforting. To make life more straightforward. And, well, Tango could do with a bit of comfort and straightforwardness right now.

The only issue is that the old adages are making his anxiety worse, not better.

Like, okay, take Murphy’s Law: whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. Finagle—and what kind of name is that, anyway?—then had the gall to add at the worst possible time to the end of it. And, yeah, Tango’s certainly experiencing that phenomenon now, huddled up in the corner of a pitch-black room with no way to know what’s happening on the rest of the ship. Then there’s his good old buddy Occam’s Razor, which also isn’t particularly comforting, because it’s hard to believe that the simplest explanation here is that the comms and lights had just so happened to go out at the same time as that strange ship arriving. Coincidence requires more explanations than it’s all connected, after all. 

Even Littlewood’s Law (individuals can expect miracles to happen to them, at the rate of about one per month) isn’t helping, because Tango is sure he’s far exceeded his quota of miracles this month. Who even told him these dang things were meant to be comforting, anyway?

Oh, yeah, Zedaph. And maybe Tango shouldn’t be taking advice from Zedaph, whose favourite eponymous law had been Newton’s Flaming Laser Sword: what cannot be settled by experiment is not worth debating. On the surface, that one doesn’t sound too bad, until you remember that Zedaph is an unhinged individual who had used it as an excuse to pull Tango into experiments that had been less experiments and more elaborate ways to tempt fate into condemning them to an early grave.

…Yeah, maybe Tango should stop thinking about random laws made up by probably dead guys. The only problem with that is that he then has to actually think about his current situation, and he really doesn’t want to do that.

And that is about the point where Tango starts to hear something he really doesn’t want to hear: footsteps, steadily echoing closer to his door.

“Impulse?” he whispers.

“Yeah?” Impulse whispers back.

“There are footsteps. In the corridor outside. Coming closer.”

“It’s probably just a member of the crew,” Impulse reasons.

“But what if it’s not?” Tango can hear the hysteria in his own voice. 

“Then, I don’t know—hide?”

 “They don’t exactly build many hiding spots into these bedrooms!”

“Well, I don’t know! Try your best!”

The footsteps stop outside the door. Tango fights back a squeak and attempts to wriggle into the space between the mattress and the wall, grabbing the blanket from the bed and pulling it over himself like that’ll hide him from whoever’s out there.

Well. He’ll just have to hope that, if they come in, they won’t be able to make him out in the darkness.

There’s a familiar beep, beep, beep —whoever it is knows the door code, and they’re coming in. Tango sucks in a breath and holds it, hoping that the intruder can’t hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Tango? Are you in here?”

Oh. It’s Beef. Tango feels suddenly stupid. He sits up, pulling the blanket from his head and hoping Beef can’t tell that he’s wedged himself against the wall. “Um, yeah, I’m here,” he says. “Just… taking a nap, you know?”

It’s hard to make out Beef’s reaction, even in the dim light of the glow rod he’s holding. “Yeah, right. Listen—I was just back by the ready room, and I saw something. It, uh, it scared the heck out of me, I’m gonna be honest.” And now that Tango’s paying attention to it, he can hear the way Beef’s voice is shaking. 

“What happened?” he asks.

“I saw three people—strangers—come in through the dorsal airlock and into the ready room. Which was already weird enough, but before I could say anything—Doc was in there, and they just started beating the crap out of him. No words, no explanation, not even a hello, they just went to town on him.”

Tango stares. “On Doc?”

“I tried to go and break it up, and one of ‘em shoved me real hard—and I mean, real hard. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so strong. I think I might’ve cracked my ribs.” He laughs. Or maybe wheezes. It’s hard to tell. “So I took off. Maybe it wasn’t the right choice to make, but I figured, if I could find one of the others—False or Etho maybe, or Ren—together we’d maybe stand a chance.”

Tango swallows. His mouth feels suddenly dry. “I… Yeah. If I see them, I’ll let them know. I hope Doc’s okay.”

“You and me both.” 

“The—the strangers. What did they look like?”

“Hard to tell, it’s so dark in here,” Beef says. “It was… two men and a woman, I think? One was still wearing a helmet, so it’s hard to tell.” Tango nods. Beef pauses. “Oh, speaking of the darkness—here.” He holds out the glow rod to Tango. “I grabbed a bunch of these when the power went out. I’m gonna head out, now, do a sweep of the ship before holing up with the drill—you let people know where I am, alright?”

Tango nods. “Alright. Good luck.”

Beef doesn’t have a retort for that one. He leaves. Tango sits, holding the newly-acquired glow rod in his hands. For some reason, being able to see doesn’t exactly make the situation look any better.

“Is he gone?” Impulse whispers.

“Yeah, he’s gone,” Tango says. He stares down at the glow rod once more. “I can’t just sit here, can I?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I can’t just… I need to do something. I mean, I can’t… If those guys, whoever they are, could juggernaut Doc and Beef like that, I stand no chance, but… I can’t just sit here and wait. I need to find out what’s going on.”

“I’m not gonna be able to convince you this is a bad idea, am I?” Impulse asks.

“I already know it’s a bad idea,” Tango says, standing and slipping the comm device into his pocket. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

“Alright,” Impulse says, serious and steady. “Then let’s do this.”

Tango nods. “Let’s go.” 

Chapter Text

“I feel like I’m going so slowly,” Tango says, voice hushed. “I mean, this place is bigger than the Varia, but it’s not that big. But between the darkness and the trying to be quiet thing, this is taking for-ev-er.” 

“Better than going fast and headbutting a wall or running into one of those strangers,” Impulse points out.

“Yeah, yeah, slow and steady wins the race, I get it. Would love to be a hare right now, though.”

Impulse blinks. “What?”

“You know, that old story? Though actually, it’s not even the speed—I would kill to have some night vision right now. This old glow rod isn’t really cutting it. Also, I’m pretty sure they lay chocolate eggs at Easter time. That’s science.”

“I—you know what, sure.” Impulse chuckles. “Why not.”

“Did you know there’s not any chocolate on board this ship? I asked. If I started pooping little chocolate bunny eggs, I’d be the most popular guy at Uno night. No getting kicked out of the airlock for me.” 

“I don’t think I wanna know.”

“I’d explain, but lucky for you, I’ve just about reached the ready room. Okay. Okay, going quiet.” 

“Okay,” Impulse whispers back, and sits quietly and listens to the static as Tango quietly moves forward. 

“There’s no one here,” Tango says, finally. “The ready room’s empty. Wherever those guys are now, it’s not here.” 

“What about Doc?”

“...No sign of him either.” Tango sounds uneasy. “I hope he got away.” He clears his throat. “Okay, well, since I’m here, I may as well try and get some stuff. My IEVA suit’s here—it’s pretty busted, honestly, but it’s probably better than nothing in terms of protection. I’d borrow one of the crews’ spares, but I don’t think any of them would fit me.”

“Are you short?” Impulse asks, it suddenly occurring to him that he has no idea what Tango looks like.

“What? No! No, I’m not short.”

“You sound awfully defensive about that.” 

“Why would you even ask me that question?”

“I just realised I don’t know what you look like, is all.”

“Well, okay, I’m like, average height, okay? And, um, I dunno, blond?”

“This is an amazing word picture you’re painting here.”

“Well, why don’t you describe to me what you look like in perfect detail?” 

“Um…” Impulse flounders. “My hair is… brown?”

“See! It’s not so easy now, is it?”

“Okay, okay, point taken. So you’ve got your suit—what else?”

“Well, I left my helmet back on that moon like a moron, but luckily helmets aren’t individually sized, so I’m just gonna borrow Stress’ spare. I’m sure she won’t mind. Then there’s… Oh, hey, backpacks! They’re pretty bulky, but they hold a lot of stuff, so it might be worth grabbing one.”

“Sure,” Impulse says. “Worst case scenario, you can hit someone with it and run.”

“I like your thinking. Just, boosh! and leg it. I don’t know if there’s gonna be much else around here, honestly, this is mostly for suiting up before going on planet-side missions. Not sure anything will be helpful for running around the ship—oh. Well. Shut my mouth.”

“What did you find?”

“An old-model pulse rifle.” Impulse hears the distant sound of movement. “I’ve never actually handled one of these things in real life. Oh. Ohohoho. It works! It doesn’t have a lot of charge left in it, but I am officially armed.” Tango makes a shrill sort of excited noise. “I feel like I belong on the cover of a sci fi novel, this is so cool.” 

“Don’t get too trigger-happy.”

“No, I think this thing’s only good for one or two more shots, max. I should save them.” Tango sighs wistfully. “Okay, gun, you’re going on my hip and you’re gonna make me look so cool, okay?”

“Anything else interesting in there?”

“Not really, unless you count Ren’s old sweat socks as interesting, and if you do, we should probably have a serious and troubling chat.”

“Uh, no.” Impulse wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

“Alright, guess it’s time to get moving. I think next I should… probably head to the cockpit? See if I can find the captain and or Stress. Of course, that’s on the exact opposite side of the ship.”

“Oh, of course,” Impulse says. “Because nothing can ever be convenient.”

“It really can’t.” Tango sighs. “Okay. Time for Tortoise Simulator 2: Cockpit Edition. I’m gonna try and be quiet, so if you could keep it down over there…”

“Okay, I’ll start blasting the loudest music I have, got it.”

Tango sighs. “This is gonna be a long journey.”

Despite the grouching, it doesn’t take Tango too long to get to the cockpit. The trip passes mostly in silence, and then Tango calls, “okay, I’m almost there. It’s weird, though.”

“Weird how?”

“Just… dark. And I know that’s stupid since, you know, the power’s out, but normally this place is super bright with all the buttons and screens and stuff. I think most of the instrument panels must be out.”

“That’s… not great, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah, no, definitely not reassuring. Okay, hush up, let me see if anyone’s in here.”

Impulse hears the hiss of a door opening, and then, “oh, hi Stress.”

“Hi, Tango.” 

“Um, how’s it going?”

“Oh, you know, we’ve got these marines giving us a piggyback, half our systems have gone out, and everything’s just completely chaotic, really. Chaos isn’t exactly the best state for a ship to be in.”

“Oh, no, I am well aware. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh, you know what, actually, you might be able to. You any good with computers?”

Tango blows out a breath. “I mean, I can give it a go. I’m no master hacker or anything, but—”

“That’s fine, I just need to try and get the nav system running. It’s gone completely haywire, and honestly, I’m at me wits’ end.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, I can take a look.”

“Thanks, Tango.”

It’s quiet for several moments, just the familiar staticky sounds of clicks and typing.

Then Stress asks, “what’s that noise?” 

“Noise? What noise?”

“That, like, bsssh noise! It’s like—static? Sounds kind of like an open comms channel, but the comms are down, so it can’t be—wait! Tango, are you using the portable comm I made you?”

“Oh, yeah!” There’s the sound of movement, and then the sound on the other end of the line becomes a lot less muffled. “I guess you already know about this thing, so there’s no point being secretive about it.”

“Are you talking to your friend?”

“I am, yeah.”

“Hi, Tango’s friend!” Stress’ voice suddenly sounds much louder—if Impulse had to guess, he’d say that Tango had just handed her the device. “Nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too,” Impulse returns. “You’re Stress, right?”

“Aww, you’ve heard of me? Yes! Stress Mon Ster, navigator, at your service. And you are…?”

“Impulse,” Impulse says. 

“Impulse! Well, welcome to the Hermethius, Impulse, we’ve gotten ourselves in a real pickle here.”

“I heard! I’d offer to help, but I’m kind of far away right now, so…”

“I’m sure Tango’s got it covered, don’t you, Tango?”

“Uhh… Sure. Let’s go with that.”

“You can’t fix it?”

“It’s not that I can’t fix it, it’s that it doesn’t seem to be broken. It’s like… everything’s perfect, working as it should be, but there’s something throwing it off and I’ve got no idea what it could be.”

“Oh,” Stress says. “Oh, no, I think it might be the payload. I was warned this might happen, but I didn’t really think…”

“The payload?” Impulse asks.

Stress pauses. “How much do you boys know about the Hermethius’ mission?”

“You’re mining magic space crystals, right?” Tango says.

“Right. Tunguskite. We were mining it from one of those planets so far out in the galaxy it doesn’t even have a name, just a number—U33J6.”

“The sort of place you’d have a summer home,” Impulse says.

Stress snorts. “I like your friend, Tango. Yeah, it’s lovely out there, lots of craters if you’re into that sort of thing. But the important thing about U33J6 is that it’s in a tight orbit around a black hole. Just far enough that it’s stable outside the event horizon, but being that close has strange effects on the planet. On the tunguskite, specifically.”

“Well, what kind of effects?” Tango asks.

“I’m no astrophysicist, or geologist, or any of those fancy things—I look at star charts and plot maps, okay? I do a lot of numbers and not a lot of weird crystal mining. But from what the guys have told me? It weirds them minerals up real nice. It’s… crystalline, is I think the word Doc used? With a complex lattice structure. I remember that because we were talking about pie. But apparently that structure appears to be uniquely efficient at capturing and storing negative energy generated by… some kind of radiation. I dunno.”

Impulse takes a moment to parse that. “You’re… hauling negative energy?”

“Pretty much. But they told me… You know, I didn’t believe them? But I was told apparently these things have, like, weird time dilation effects. So that’s probably what’s messing with the system. But I have no idea how to stop that from happening.”

“Wait,” Tango says. “Time dilation effects? Impulse, you don’t think…”

“You think there was some tunguskite on that moon?”

“Yeah. Yeah, the whole thing with the pulse, and the disappearing peak, and whatever was happening when it hit—seriously, that whole thing was a fever dream, it felt like I was riding a rollercoaster made out of broken watches.”

“Wait, you’ve encountered this effect before? How’d you stop it?”

“Uhh, I hit it with a massive EMP particle beam?”

“Well, we can’t do that. We’ll fry the entire ship.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. I mean, I can go down to the cargo bay, take a look and see if there’s anything there that’ll give me a hint of how to fix this.”

“You’re a gem, Tango, thank you. In the meantime… I guess I’ll just stay here and keep running these numbers. Oh! Here, take your friend back. It was lovely meeting you, Impulse!”

“You too!” Impulse calls. “Stay safe, okay?”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me!” Stress laughs. “I know my strengths. And my weaknesses! Which is why I’m sitting locked up in here rather than roaming around like everyone else seems to be doing. I’d probably trip and break me neck, knowing me.”

“Oh, speaking of. Stress, whoever was in that ship—they’re marines, did you say? They’ve boarded the ship. And from what I’ve heard, they’re not friendly.”

“...Ah. Right! Well then. All the more reason to stay in here, then, ain’t there?”

“Yeah, good call. I’m going to go out there like an idiot, so…”

“Have fun with that. Also, if you see False, tell her to get back here already, alright?”

“Will do. See you, Stress.”

“Bye Tango, bye Impulse!” 

“Bye!” Impulse calls, hearing the hiss of the door as Tango exits the cockpit.

“Alright,” Tango says. “Time to head to the cargo bay.”

“I like Stress,” Impulse says. “She seems nice.”

“Oh, she certainly seems it,” Tango says, voice dry. “Don’t let the sweetness fool you, she’s a menace.”

“What did she do?” Impulse laughs, holding back a laugh.

“You don’t want to know,” Tango says darkly. “Anyway. To the cargo bay we go.”

“A fun little adventure.”

“Yeah, dark cramped corridors potentially roaming with people who’ll kill me on sight, exactly how I want to spend my evening. You know, before I got woken up, I was having the first good sleep I’d had since I got rescued, and now—well, now I’ve got to deal with this mess.”

“I’m sorry, Tango.”

“No, don’t be—don’t you be sorry, jeez. I just meant… I don’t know what I meant. Okay, I’m gonna shut up now, because sound carries real well in these corridors and it’s making me nervous. See you in a few.”

It takes Tango a few tries to enter the correct door code for the cargo bay—False had given him all the passcodes for the ship when he’d first gotten onboard, but he’d been a little preoccupied with processing the whole moon incident at the time. After the third attempt, he begins to worry that maybe he’s actually forgotten, and he’ll have to try and guess which of the million possible six-digit codes is the correct one, only for the fourth attempt to beep softly and open the doors with a hiss.

He lets out a sigh of relief as he steps into the cargo bay, only for his breath to catch in his throat at the sight in front of him.

The thing about cargo bays is that they’re very utilitarian: built to leave earth empty and come back full of precious space resources. There are no windows, here, just walls covered in shelves stacked with boxes, and usually it’d be lit by the ugly sodium lighting. This room was not built for beauty.

Tango thinks that it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The tunguskite crystals are glowing. Like, actually glowing, not in the way a fluorescer does: they all have their own inner light, and they don’t seem to be in danger of going out anytime soon. As he turns, the crystals glitter different colours—gold and purple and white and pink and blue and green and yellow. Tango’s a scientist, he doesn’t believe in magic, but this, right here? This is straight-up magical.

“Whoa.”

“What is it?”

“Turns out tunguskite glows in the dark. This is… Not that I want you to be stranded on a pitch-black ship in deep space, but I really wish you were here to see this.”

“I wish I were, too.”

“You say that, but you really don’t.” Tango swallows. “Sorry, yeah, wow. This is kind of mesmerising. I feel like I’m in a deleted scene from some fantasy movie.”

“See anything out of the ordinary?”

“I… don’t know. Unless the glowing is what’s making the systems go haywire—which, hey, it might be—there’s nothing I can see that’s unusual. And if it is the glowing, I don’t think I can exactly make that stop.”

“So, dead end, then?”

“Yeah, looks like it. Hey, crazy idea: I think I might take some of these rocks with me. I mean, I’ve got this backpack, and if my glow rod runs out before this situation gets fixed, these seem like they’d be a pretty good light source.”

“Yeah, go for it. Maybe you’ll need them.”

“On it.” Tango swings his backpack off his shoulders and grabs the nearest box of tunguskite from the shelf. He pours it into the main pocket of the pouch, and then he’s got an empty box and a bag full of crystals. “Okay, done. And since that’s the only cargo in this cargo bay, I should probably get on out of here. Just… wander around until I find someone!” He laughs miserably. “Why do I do this to myself?”

“Because the alternate was sitting around doing nothing?”

That is worse. “Yeah, you’re right. Okay, let’s go wander around in the dark!” 

Wandering around the Hermethius in the pitch-darkness, wearing his old IEVA suit, with only a single glow rod for light reminds Tango a lot of his time exploring the caravel. The problem with that is that Tango really doesn’t want to remember his time exploring the caravel. That place had given him the heebie-jeebies, and also been infested with alien rabbits, and now Tango once again has the heebie-jeebies and is hoping to any god that will listen there won’t be any alien rabbits hopping around. He’s had enough of those for a lifetime.

The other thing that’s bothering him is it’s annoyingly hard to be stealthy in his IEVA suit. His own footsteps are echoing too loud, and—wait. No. Those aren’t his footsteps. Those are someone else’s footsteps, slowly growing closer through the dark. “Oh, crap.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Footsteps. Coming this way.”

“Can you hide?”

Long, narrow, featureless corridor. “Nope.” He presses himself against the wall. “Maybe if I just… I am a wall, I am a wall, I am a wall.”

“Very convincing.”

“Thanks, I hope the killer marines believe it because if not I am toast.” 

Impulse doesn’t reply, which is probably good, because Tango is trying to be quiet. He tries his best to shove the glow rod up his sleeve, where the light won’t be quite so noticeable, and holds his breath. I am a wall, I am a wall, I am a wall…

In the dim light, he sees a figure materialise from the darkness. They walk closer, and closer, and slowly realise themselves into a recognisable person. “Oh, thank god,” Tango gasps. “It’s just you.”

“Who is that?” Etho calls. “Tango?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Tango reaches up and pulls off his helmet to prove it. 

Etho nods. It’s too dark to make out the expression on his face. “Do you know what’s going on?” he asks. “All the lights went out and my comm’s dead.”

“Yeah, all of our comms are dead,” Tango says. “That ship arrived, and they’re not friendly, and our ship has decided to poop itself at the exact same time. All the systems have gone haywire. Stress and I are trying to fix them, but no dice.”

“So they were hostiles.” Etho sounds weirdly vindicated. “Alright, change of plan, then. Come with me.” 

Tango starts, surprised as Etho reaches forward and grabs his arm. “Wait—where are we going?”

“Back to the medbay. If we’re being invaded, we need a base of operations, a place we can hole up and barricade ourselves in if need be.” 

“Um, shouldn’t we go to the cockpit then? That’s where Stress is.” 

“No, the medbay’s better, we have resources there. Tell you what—you go on to the medbay, and I’ll go get Stress.”

“Wait, but—aaaand he’s gone.” Tango sighs. “You there, Impulse?”

“Been here the entire time.”

“What do you reckon, should I do what he said?”

“I mean, he’s ex-military, right? He probably knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tango says, walking down the corridor towards the medbay. “Why does it feel like I’m just being told to sit around and wait again?” 

“Sometimes that’s the best thing you can do.”

“I think the world would be a better place if you could fix your problems by just running headfirst at them.”

“You think so?”

“There’d certainly be a lot more problems getting solved.” Tango reaches the medbay door. The passcode for this one is much easier to remember—with the several-times-daily checkups he’s been getting, he wouldn’t be surprised if the numbers had burned themselves into his brain. 

The medbay is also dark, which is pretty much a given for any room at this point. Tango knows it well enough to make his way over to the beds, where Bdubs is still lying, hooked up to a variety of monitors and life-support machines. Those are still working, at least. He sighs, placing a hand over Bdubs’ and squeezing slightly.

We’re gonna get out of this, buddy. 

“Tango? Everything good?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Tango clears his throat. “Just got to the medbay. It’s about as dark as the rest of this place. I’m just gonna… sit here and wait for Etho to get back and tell me what to do.”

“Are you okay?”

“As okay as I can be.” He sighs. “I’m just… tired, I think. I might see if I can get away with a little catnap while I wait for the doctor to get back. Not like there’s anything else to do.”

“Alright. I’ll keep the radio on, so I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thanks.” Tango curls up on the bed beside Bdubs’—the same one he’d slept on his first night on the ship—and closes his eyes.

Just a little catnap. Then he’ll figure out a way to fix this.

Tango wakes with a start, though by the time he’s opened his eyes the last dregs of his nightmare have already drained from his mind. He blinks to see the silhouette of Etho standing over him—not over him, he realises, but over Bdubs. 

“Oh,” he mumbles sleepily, “you’re back.”

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Etho says. “You’re slacking on the job, I see.”

“Not slacking, just…” Tango yawns. “Had to close my eyes for a sec.”

“Sure, sure.” Etho pauses. He’s just standing there, a shadowy statue in the dark. “Commensalism,” he says, finally.

“Um, what?”

“Commensalism,” Etho repeats. “Do you know what that means?”

“It’s, uh…” It takes a moment for the definition to come to Tango’s sleep-addled mind, but when it does, his blood runs cold. “It’s the… the relationship between a parasite and a host, right?” 

“That’s right,” Etho says mildly. Tango’s heart pounds in his chest as he attempts to sit up in a way that won’t draw the doctor’s attention to him. There’s something glowing in Etho’s hand, he realises now, something casting an eerie red glow across his face. “Did you know that the marine ship that’s docked with ours went to your moon?”

No.

No no no no no.

Tango’s mouth is suddenly dry. He can’t reply. He can barely breathe.

“They even brought souvenirs back with them! That’s nice of them, isn’t it, Tango?” Bdubs’ mouth is open. Bdubs’ mouth is open and Etho has one of them and he’s going to put it inside of him and— 

Tango surges forward, reaches out to grab the alien from Etho’s hand. Etho starts, jerking back and knocking against Bdubs’ bed, hand reaching up to move the alien from Tango’s grip. He spins with the movement, knee coming up to knock into Tango’s stomach, jolting the breath out of him and forcing him to the ground. Tango scrambles back under the bed, as far away from Etho as he can get before he bangs into something, and looks up to see—

Etho staring down at him, alien in hand, one eye glowing a bright, unnatural red.

Chapter Text

“Tango?” Impulse hisses. He’s been trying to avoid speaking when Tango’s crewmates are in the room, but judging by the clattering and clanging and panicked breathing on the other end of the line, this probably isn’t a situation Impulse is going to make worse by announcing his presence. “What’s going on?”

“He’s—He’s got one of those alien occupier things. And he’s going to put it inside Bdubs.”

Impulse’s heart drops. “You need to get it away from him.” 

“Easier said than done! I—NGH!” There’s a bang, and then a flurry of movement sounds that Impulse can’t make out. “Etho! You don’t have to do this!”

“Tango, you have to understand, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Bdubs will thank me for it!” 

“Thank you—?! That thing’ll kill him!” 

“Sure,” the doctor says, sounding dismissive. “But what comes after will be much better than the life he’s clinging onto now. Don’t you want your captain back, Tango? I can give him you back and better than ever.”

“Don’t you dare—”

More movement. Impulse leans forward, barely balancing on the edge of the couch cushion. God, he wishes he could see any of what’s going on.

“Ow! When was the last time you cut your nails? Those things are like claws! Stop that!”

“Give it here!” 

“I’m not going to—Tango, Tango no, Tango—”

There’s a loud bang, and a thud, and then nothing at all, just the quiet, steady beeping of medical equipment. “Tango?” Impulse calls. 

“I knocked him out,” Tango says. “That’s… You know, normally I’d be worried about him having a concussion, but I think all things considered, he’s got worse problems than that.” Tango laughs. It sounds more like he’s crying. “The alien’s just sitting in his hand still. He didn’t get Bdubs.”

“Should you get it away from him before it can get him, too?”

“Too late. It already has.”

Impulse’s stomach sinks. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Tango snorts wetly. “If they’ve got the doctor, who else have they taken? Who else have they killed?”  

Impulse doesn’t answer that. Can’t answer that. He swallows. “You need to try and contain the alien.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. The question is, how am I meant to do that?”

Impulse thinks. “I wonder if you could put it on ice.”

“What, like freeze it? You know, that’s not a bad idea. I’m pretty sure there’s a medical fridge in here. Of course, I’ve got no idea if the cold will actually slow these things down, considering where we found them, but if I wedge the fridge so that you can’t actually open the door, that’ll at least prevent it from getting out. They don’t actually seem that strong when they’re not wearing my friends’ corpses.” He sniffs. 

“I’m… I’m sorry, Tango.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop being sorry? You didn’t do any of this.” Impulse hears Tango moving around—presumably setting up what he needs for this fridge plan. “You didn’t do this,” Tango says again. “But somebody did. Someone set up that control room on the moon, and someone sent these marine guys after us, and someone is responsible for every terrible thing that’s happened in the last two weeks.” Tango sounds angry. “And I’m going to find them. I swear, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to find whoever’s doing this—and I’m going to stop them.”

Oh. Tango’s not angry. Tango’s furious.

“That… might be easier said than done,” Impulse tries.

“Oh, I know. But I’ve done, at this point, a statistically improbable number of impossible things in my life. What’s one more? And whoever this bastard is, they deserve what’s coming to them.”

Impulse doesn’t like the tone in Tango’s voice, but he’s not sure what he needs to say to get rid of it. He swallows. “Right.”

“Okay, alien secured,” Tango says, slamming the fridge door shut with an audible thud. “Now I just need to—who’s there?”

“Tango?”

“Someone outside the door. Hello? I’m armed!” Quieter, to Impulse, he adds, “I’m not armed!”

“Tango?” says a faint, muffled voice. “It’s just me.”

“Beef?”

“Yeah, just me. I’m gonna open the door now, if that’s okay. Please don’t brain me.”

“No, no, I won’t.” The door hisses open. “Take off your helmet for me, will you, Beef?”

“Take off my—? Yeah, alright. Here’s my face. Does that help?”

Tango sighs, relieved. “Yeah, yeah it does. You remember those aliens, Beef?”

“The little red ones from the moon? How could I forget?”

“Well, one of them’s gone and got the good doctor here. So we’re in a bit of a tricky situation.” 

“Crap,” Beef says. “Alright. Well, that changes things. We can’t just go wandering around without a plan.”

“Right. So what’s the plan?”

“The plan is that I’m going to try and lock off as much of the ship as I can, see if we can confine these guys to a single area.”

“And me?”

“You’re going to go back to the crew quarters, lock yourself in, and change the door code.”

“What? No, Beef, I’m not going to—”

“Tango. I appreciate that you want to help, I really do, but at this rate you’re going to run into one of those guys, and you’re not going to come out of that fight unscathed. If we want to have a fighting chance, we need as many people as possible to be on our side and not theirs. So you’re going to lock yourself up, and you’re going to stay safe, and when this is all over maybe I won’t have to mourn you as well.” 

“Fine,” Tango snaps. “I’ll do what you say. But Beef—you better actually solve this.”

“I’m going to try my best,” Beef promises, and then the door hisses again—he’s left, Impulse guesses.

“I’m not doing that,” Tango says. 

“Beef seems like he knows what he’s talking about.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t. Out of everyone, I’m the one who’s had the most experience with these things. I can’t just sit around and do nothing whilst everyone on this ship dies around me. Not again.”

“Tango…”

“If you’re going to argue with me, Impulse, I’m turning this comm off.”

Impulse freezes. “Okay, no, that’s not fair,” he says. “I’ve been with you this entire time. I’m here because you asked me for help! I know that you’re angry, and god, Tango, you have every right to be angry, this situation is so screwed up—but you don’t get to take that out on me.”

Tango is quiet for a long moment. “Sorry,” he says. His tone is begrudging, but not ingenuine. “You’re right. That was messed up.”

Impulse lets out a long breath. “I’m not telling you you can’t do what you want to. I’m just saying you should maybe think it through first.”

“Yeah, that’s not exactly my strong suit, thinking things through. I’m more of a make-it-up-as-I-go-along type of guy. Strategy? Yes. Planning? No.”

“Alright,” Impulse says, “so what’s the strategy?”

“We can’t leave these guys with free roam of the ship, Beef’s right. Ideally, we’d get them off of our ship and onto theirs, but I’m not sure how to get them there—unless.”

“Unless?”

“I bet I could sneak onto their ship. And if their comms systems are still running—it shouldn’t be hard to draw them back to me. Then I’d just have to figure out a way to get out of there before they catch me.”

“It’s risky,” Impulse says. “But it’s not a bad idea.”

“See, I have good ideas sometimes!”

“Once in a blue moon.”

“Or a red one.” Tango huffs, amused. “Alright. Okay. Another stealth mission. More slow-and-steady.” 

“I’ll sit tight,” Impulse says. On the other side of the line, the door opens again.

“Cool. Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Alright, I’m at the ready room. Their ship’s locked onto the dorsal hatch, so if I just—hey, what is that?”

Impulse blinks. “What’s what?”

“I hear voices,” Tango says. “That’s… Beef? And Ren and Doc. I… I’m going to go check this out.”

“Be careful.”

“Yes, dad.”

Impulse rolls his eyes. As Tango sneaks closer, however, whatever he’s hearing becomes loud enough to filter through the radio, and it doesn’t sound good. It sounds… violent, actually, if Impulse had to put a label on it. Like the vicious type of bar fight.

“Oh, god.”

“What is it?” Impulse hisses.

“Doc and Ren have Beef just… pinned up against the wall! They’re beating the hell out of him, and it’s gnarly. His nose looks broken, and his jaw, and—oof. Why would they—oh. Of course. They’re red, aren’t they? Same as Etho. Still, I don’t get why they’re beating him up and not trying to body snatch him.”

“I have no idea,” Impulse admits. “But I don’t think you should get involved.”

“You’re probably right,” Tango says. “But I can’t—I can’t just leave him like this! They’re going to kill him!”

“So what’re your options?”

“Well, I have that gun I found. It’s got one, maybe two charges in it? Which isn’t a lot, but if it’s enough to incapacitate these guys, then maybe…” 

“You think you can do it?”

“I think I have to try. I can’t just walk away.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks. Okay. Okay.” Impulse hears Tango stand, and then the thwm of a pulse, followed by a snarled cry. “Get away from him!” Tango shouts, and then there’s a sound that’s something like the pulse, if half way through it had turned into a dying goat. Tango hisses, and Impulse hears several muffled impacts. “Crap!”

“What’s going on here?” 

“I dunno, man, he just started shooting at us—”

“Why is he—grab him!”

“Um, nope! Bye!”

“Ow!”

“Agh! Hey—! He’s getting awa—”

A door slams shut. Tango gasps, “Okay, running, running very fast.”

“What happened?” Impulse asks.

“Pulse one took Ren out, the second one misfired, and then one of the marines made an appearance. I somehow managed to make a break for it.”

“Where are you now?”

“Um, I’m on their ship. Which is good, because this is where I wanted to be, except I have no idea how to get to the cockpit from here.”

“Is it a big ship?”

“About as big as the Varia, which is to say, not at all. But that’s not gonna help me navigate this maze. Also I don’t know any of the door codes, and I’m now realising this was a very stupid plan—” There’s a loud thud. “Crap, I don’t think I’m alone.”

“Can you hide?”

“I—yeah, wait, hang on, one of the doors here is open, I’m gonna—oh god.”

“What now?”

“I’ve wandered into their cargo bay. And their cargo? It’s all those little red aliens. They’re… Impulse. Impulse, I think they’re trying to get these things back to Earth.”

Impulse’s stomach drops. “Worry about that later,” he hisses. “You need to hide, now.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Okay. I’m just gonna… god, they’re everywhere, and if I look at them for too long it makes my head go all fuzzy. I can’t… there’s nowhere to…”

“Tango, don’t you dare do this to me now, not—”

“Well, well, well, look what’s crawled in,” says a—familiar voice. Impulse freezes. No, that can’t be right, he must be mishearing, or they must sound similar, or—

“Look, man, I must’ve taken a wrong turn or something, if you just let me past I’ll be out of your hair—”

“No, I don’t think I’m going to do that.” No, it is. It has to be. But how? That doesn’t make any sense! “I mean, you’ve practically delivered yourself right to our doorstep! It’d be unfair to turn you away now. Not when you’re right where you need to be.”

“I’m not looking, I’ve got my eyes closed, you can’t get me with your Jedi mind tricks—”

“Well, that’s just going to make this easier, now isn’t it?”

“What’s going on in here?” a third voice, a woman—the final marine. “Xisuma, what are you—oh!”

Impulse’s third cup of coffee falls from his hands and smashes on the carpet. 

Tango stands, braced against a shelf full of squirming alien things, two more aliens stood between him and the door. He watches them through half-closed eyes—they’re both tall, one entirely hidden from scrutiny by his IEVA suit. The other has her helmet off, long ginger hair spilling over her shoulders as she stares down at Tango through narrowed, red eyes. Tango’s trying his best not to look at them. He can hear the whispers again, dancing on the edge of his consciousness, begging him to give in—

He squeezes his eyes shut. Being blind in this situation isn’t any more comforting, but at least it makes the aliens shut up.

“Right,” the woman says. “Okay!” She laughs. “We can work with this. We can—you’re the guy from the Egg!” 

Oh. Oh, that’s a terrifying set of words. Tango swallows. “The Egg?”

“That’s what we’re calling it,” she says. “That moon you crashed on.” Her voice sours. “You’re the one who smashed our systems up. Do you know how much of a pain that’s going to be to fix?” 

“Um, that was kind of the point,” Tango says. “I don’t appreciate you tearing ships down out of the sky, actually.”

She sighs. “You wouldn’t, would you? No one understands the vision these days. Not even these guys.” 

“In our defence, Cleo,” the other one—Xisuma?—says, “there really is no vision at the moment.”

“You may have forgotten, X, but I remember just fine,” she says. “Anyway, that’s a discussion for another time. For now—oh, open your eyes, you look like an idiot standing there like that.”

“No, I don’t think I will!” Tango laughs, hysterical. “I know your weird mind tricks! I’m not falling for them!”

She sighs. “Fine, suit yourself. You know that won’t actually help you, right? We can just hold you down and force a grub down your throat. It wouldn’t even be difficult. There’s one of you and three of us—wait, where’s Jev?”

“Um, he’s outside with those guys we claimed from the other ship.”

“Right. And is he getting anything useful for us?” She sighs again. Tango’s getting the sense that she spends a lot of her time sighing. “I didn’t think so.” 

“I’m sure Jevin’s trying his best.”

“Yes, well, Jevin’s best and anyone else’s best are not quite the same thing. Where were we? Oh, yes, claiming this guy.”

Hm, nope, definitely not. Tango scrambles for a distraction. “Why are you guys doing this?” he asks. “I mean, what’s the point? Why go to all the effort of—of claiming all these people?” 

“Do you know what it’s like,” Cleo says, voice suddenly low and dangerous in a way that makes a shiver run down Tango’s spine, “to be a grub, Tango? To be—to be part of the whole, but so insignificant within it that your own existence is—well, it’s barely worth the effort of existing! To scramble and crawl and writhe and long desperately to be something of mind and body and self, something more than a mere existence?” 

“Um, no,” Tango says. “That’s crazy talk.”

“That’s what we are. We are existence without form, higher consciousness without mind, being without being— and we have adapted, so to speak. We’ve claimed host after host, explored the galaxy for any creature we could get our squirming self in, and then one day! One day, we discovered you! Humans. Such extraordinary creatures. Capable of so much. And somewhere out there, there’s a whole planet of you people! Just walking around, living your silly little lives—waiting to be claimed. To be part of something more. Well, here we are! And one of these days, Tango, there won’t be any difference between our people and yours.” 

“Well,” says Xisuma, “that’s what Cleo says, at least. I personally—”

“X, shut up.”

“No, you don’t get to tell me to shut up.”

“You’re embarrassing m—we’re trying to sound intimidating, here.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very scary. I’m scared of you! I’m sure this guy is too, right?”

Oh, Tango’s terrified, thanks for asking. “Yup!”

“But if he’s joining us, he should know the whole story, right?”

“What—this isn’t one of your sales pitches! He doesn’t have a choice.”

“No, no, but he should—so, look, our Queen is kind of missing? And she’s kind of the one who told us what to do. Cleo thinks we should be trying to take over the Earth, because that was the Queen’s last instruction, but I think maybe she just decided one day we shouldn’t do that, and that’s why she’s not giving us instructions anymore? I mean, think about it.”

“Can I, uh, have some time to think about it? A couple of days, maybe, just to really mull it over—”

“No, no, I think you’re quite out of time.” Cleo laughs. “I think we’re done talking, now. I mean, we can talk more when you’re one of us! We can definitely do that. But for now—oh for god’s sake, open your eyes!” 

Tango jerks, suddenly grabbed by the front of his suit. He opens his eyes against his will to find Cleo looming over him, pulling him off the ground like he weighs nothing, a ragdoll—

The red grubs all open their horrible, horrible mouths, and begin to sing.

Tango groans, digging his fingers into his ears. “Shut up!” he cries, kicking and flailing, but Cleo seems undeterred, reaching up with a clawed hand to pry at the corners of his mouth—

Tango opens his jaws and clamps them down on her fingers, biting hard enough to draw blood. 

Cleo yelps, dropping him hard on the ground. Tango gasps, the breath knocked out of him, the backpack digging into his shoulders the only thing preventing him from hitting his head on the ground. He scrambles, flipping over onto his hands and knees, only for a foot to come down hard on his back, pushing him back to the floor. Cleo continues to press down with more strength than any human should have, and Tango can’t breathe, and it’s all he can do to squeeze his eyes and lips shut and cover his ears and try not to give in—

He hears something crack. At first, he thinks it’s his spine, but there’s an odd twinkling sound to it, and that’s when he remembers: his backpack is full of tunguskite crystals.

He blinks his eyes open just in time to see the world fall apart, colourful shards of light piercing his vision so sharply he thinks he may pass out from that alone, the ship coming apart around him, reality fully undone, and Tango is falling into an endless white-colour-void—

And then he lands in his body in the medbay and Beef is standing in front of him, preparing to head through the door.

“I’m going to do my best,” Beef says, and Tango should say something, should warn him not to leave, but he’s frozen, unable to process what’s just happened.

The door slides shut. Tango stands in silence for a long, long moment.

“Tango?” Impulse calls. “Are you alright?”

Tango takes a breath. “Impulse, what I’m about to tell you is going to sound insane,” he says, “but I need you to believe me.”

“Everything you tell me sounds insane. What’s happening?”

“I think I just time travelled.”

Chapter Text

“Okay, yeah, wow, that does sound insane.” 

“You said you’d believe me!”

“I never said I didn’t! But— time travel?”

“Remember what Stress was telling us about the crystals, and their weird time dilation effects? Yeah, I think I just figured out what happens when these things break.”

“Well, how far in the future were you?”

“Ehh, maybe twenty minutes? Which is more than—oh, man, I have so much to catch you up on.”

“Come on, then, don’t just leave me hanging!” 

“Right, yeah, okay. God, where do I even start? So: Ren and Doc are gone. The aliens got them. They’re going to—Beef! Crap! I should have warned him, they’re going to jump him and he’s not going to stand a chance.”

“Okay, that’s bad,” Impulse says. “Can you go after him?”

“I…” Tango takes a breath. “I think it might already be too late for him. I tried to intervene, but one of the marines arrived, and I made a break for it onto their ship, wound up in the cargo hold, and. Well. It was full of those little red alien grub things from the moon! The ones that climb inside of you and… yeah. Those ones. And they’re gonna take them back to Earth. They want to claim every human being as their hosts.” 

Impulse swallows, feeling vaguely sick. “We can’t let them do that,” he says. “That’s…”

"I know. I know. We need to—anyway. I ended up talking with two of the marines, they cornered me. Told me some crazy stuff—a lot of it didn’t really make sense? But they tried to, to shove one of those things in me, and I tried to run, and that’s when the crystals broke and I ended up back here.”

Impulse blows out a breath. “Okay,” he says, “okay, that’s a lot. But we can do this!”

“At this point, I don’t even know what this is!” Tango says. “I had an idea, before all of that happened, but knowing what I know now… I can’t just do that. I think… I think I need to…”

“Need to what?”

“...It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out later. For now… God, I want to help Beef, but I know it’s not worth getting caught. No, for now I’m gonna head to the galley.”

Impulse blinks. “The kitchen? What, you gonna bake them some cookies?”

“What? No! Lemon squares are my specialty.” Tango snickers. “But… No, I’m gonna make some noise. I’m gonna make the last noise these monsters ever hear.”

Impulse has a bad feeling about this. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“...Yeah. About that? I think I’m about to do something pretty damn stupid. But, uh, don’t get too upset with me. It’s probably about to be the last stupid thing I do.”

“Tango.”

“Which, let’s be honest, will be the final item in a very, very long list. So wait until afterwards to say I told you so, yeah?”

“Tango, no.” Impulse shakes his head. Tango can’t see him, of course, but that’s not the point. His hands are shaking. “I don’t know what hare-brained scheme you’re cooking up, but you better live through it, you hear me?”

Tango is quiet for a moment. “Some dead guy once said that on average, individuals can expect miracles to happen to them at the rate of about one per month. And I feel like I’ve probably used up my lifetime’s worth of miracles in the past two weeks. But, hey, maybe I’ll get lucky, and my last miracle will be living through this.” He sighs. “Anyway. To the kitchen we go. Mind being quiet as I walk? I don’t want these guys to hear me.”

“...Sure,” Impulse says. He’s pretty sure that it’s just Tango trying to stop him from arguing, but his head is reeling so much that he doesn’t mind complying. He needs time to think about this.

He listens to Tango walk, quiet footsteps through the static, mind whirling with more thoughts than he can keep track of. Tango can’t die now. Not after everything. Impulse won’t let him. He needs to—needs to convince him not to do whatever crazy stunt he’s planning. Needs to give him another way.

…What if there is no other way? What if the only alternative to Tango’s suicidal scheme is the earth being overrun by these aliens? 

And why is Impulse the one who’s got to make this call?

“Okay, I’m here,” Tango says. “So, back in the medbay, they had these crack-and-shake ice pack things. The type made with ammonium nitrate crystals. Which is great for me, because it means with a handful of things found in this here kitchen, I can make myself some pretty decent explodificators.”

It takes Impulse a moment to parse that. “You’re making bombs?”

“Yup!” Tango giggles. 

“That doesn’t sound safe.”

“That’s because it isn’t! If I mess this up just a little bit, this entire place is gonna go boom.”

“Why do you sound excited about that?”

“Can’t a guy just be excited about explosions?”

“Not when you’re in space!”

“Pssh, it’ll be fiiine! By which I mean, it probably won’t be fine, but if I get this right it’ll be slightly more fine than the alternative.”

“So, what, that’s your plan? You’re just going to blow them up?”

“Kind of. I’m gonna smuggle myself onto their ship, and—you remember how Stress mentioned there’s a black hole nearby? Yeah, I’m gonna fly us straight into that, and as we’re crossing over the event horizon… kablooey. I’d like to see any of those grubs get out of that one.”

“I… That’s insane. You realise how insane that is, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but what other choice do I have? This is bigger than me and you, Impulse. This is bigger than this entire ship! This is the entire world at stake. I can’t risk that. Not even for the sake of my own life.” Tango’s quiet for a moment. “I’m not… I mean, I don’t want to die. The idea’s kind of terrifying, honestly. I wish I wasn’t… I don’t want to do this.”

“Then don’t.”

“Someone’s got to. And let’s face it, I was dead the moment I crash landed on that moon. This has just all been borrowed time.” He laughs wetly. “Time I wouldn’t have if not for you.”

Impulse’s throat is tight. He swallows. “You should have more.” 

“Yeah, well. Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want them to.” 

Silence stretches out between them, feeling as unbridgeable as the distance from Earth to the Hermethius. Impulse feels sick. Nothing feels real. This can’t be happening, can it? 

“Um.”

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s, uh. There’s someone outside the door.”

“Is it locked?”

“Yeah, but I can hear them trying the code.”

“Hide?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll—I’m gonna shut myself in the pantry. Hang on.”

Impulse hears movement, a door close, and then the muffled beep of a correct passcode entry followed by the hiss of a door. 

“Aw, man, I don’t think he’s here,” says a voice—Ren, Impulse recognises. 

“Have you checked everywhere? He might be hiding,” says a voice that’s—familiar. So familiar it makes Impulse’s heart pound. But it isn’t—it can’t be, right? There’s no way it’s—

“I dunno, X, there’s not really many places for good hideage in here.”

“What about that?” 

“About wha—oh, the pantry.” Ren’s tone turns dark. “No one in their right mind would willingly go in there.” 

“He’s splitting timelines, I don’t think he’s particularly sane. Here, I’ll check.” Impulse’s heart is pounding in his chest. He hears staticky footsteps grow closer, and a door open, and then— ”oh. It’s empty.”

“See, man, I told you! Come on, let’s get out of here—maybe he’s in his bedroom.”

“Yeah, alright, let’s go check it out.”

Footsteps fade away, voices grow even more muffled, and then the door closes. Tango lets out an audible sigh of relief. “They’re gone. Oh my god, my heart is racing, I had to hide behind this massive pallet of rations—”

“Tango,” Impulse says, tongue feeling too-heavy in his mouth. “Tango, the guy. The one who isn’t Ren.”

“Oh, the marine? Yeah, I saw him before the time travel thing happened.”

“Tango, that’s my boss.”

There’s a moment of silence. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t know, but I’m telling you, dude, that’s my boss.”

“No, it’s gotta be a different guy. This one’s name is—”

“Xisuma.”

“...It’s a common name?”

“Yeah, no.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense! When was the last time you saw your boss?”

Impulse checks the time. It’s nearly 4AM. “Uh, eleven hours ago?”

“What the hell?”

Impulse doesn’t have an answer for that. Impulse doesn’t have an answer for anything. “I don’t know. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“...I want answers but we just don’t have time to figure this out. I’m gonna finish cooking up these explosives, and then… I guess get this party started.”

“Right,” Impulse says. “Yeah.” He sits back against his couch and stares up at the ceiling. Had Xisuma been acting weird at work? No, not really, no weirder than normal at least. So how on earth…?

“Alright, we’re done,” Tango says. “I have four little jars of homemade gunpowder ready to go. Now I need to—” 

He’s interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Impulse tenses, waiting for everything to go horribly wrong, only to hear, “there you are, Tango! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Oh my god, captain, hi. You scared the life out of me!”

“Thank god you’re still alive.”

“Yeah, you too. And your eyes are still normal.”

“Yeah, no, your little aliens are here, aren’t they? I saw they got Ren and Doc.”

“And Etho. Is Stress…?”

“She’s fine, she’s in the cockpit still, I just touched base with her. They’ve left her alone up there for some reason.”

“I think it’s because they’re after me.”

“You?”

“I, uh, apparently screwed them over real good when I trashed things back on that moon.”

“So this is revenge?”

“I’m not sure what it is, honestly. Have you, uh… Have you seen Beef?”

“I saw his legs.”

“His… legs?”

“There wasn’t much else left of him.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. But, listen, Tango, we have a plan. There’s an escape pod with your name on it. One with Stress’, too. I’ll take a third, and then jettison the rest. Leave these guys floating here while we’re safe and sound. I was gonna save one for Etho, but if he’s—oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Oh what?” Impulse asks, forgetting that he’s not supposed to be speaking.

“Tango? Who’s that?”

“Oh, um. Right. This is Impulse, he’s a friend of mine.” The sound becomes slightly less muffled—Impulse has been removed from whatever pocket Tango keeps his comm in, he’s assuming. “Say hi.”

“Hi, Captain Symmetry.”

“Oh, uh, just False is fine. Hi—Impulse, is it? I don’t know what you know about our situation—”

“He’s been here all night.”

“Oh! Um. Right. Okay then. Well, I just realised—Captain Bdubs would need to be conscious to use an escape pod. And there’s probably not enough room in one for all the equipment that’s keeping him alive, either? So, that’s… Yeah. That’s not good.”

“It’s okay, False,” Tango says. “If all goes well, you won’t need to abandon the Hermethius at all. I… I have a plan.”

“It’s a stupid, insane plan,” Impulse pipes up. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” Tango says. “But it’s our best chance.”

“Care to enlighten me?” False asks.

“I’m going to commandeer their ship, keep them all at bay with fire, and then fly us straight through a black hole.”

“...Yeah, no,” False says. “Absolutely not.”

“All due respect, captain, you can’t stop me.”

“I can’t—! Tango, I will lock you in the pantry. This is insane.” 

“Thank you!” 

“There’s no other option! We can’t quarantine them. Even if we change the door codes, they’ll have to guess the right combination eventually, or else just bust them down with their super alien strength! And we could escape via pod, but that would mean leaving Bdubs behind to die, and I’m not willing to do that.”

“So, what, you’re just going to volunteer yourself to die instead?”

Tango ignores her. “Plus, if we leave them with the Hermethius, and they manage to get the systems working—or, hell, if they decide that it’s not worth the effort and hop back on their own ship? Their cargo bay is full of those things, those little red grubs. They’re going to take them back to Earth, and that’s a disaster that’s bigger than just you or me. I can’t let that happen.”

“So, so what, you, you made it off that moon just to die now?”

“I made it off that moon because I was stubborn. And I’m going to go ahead with this plan for the same reason.” There’s a pause—a long, stubborn standoff. “Captain,” Tango says, voice serious. “False. If you can think of another way to do this, that doesn’t involve jeopardising the Earth or Bdubs’ life, I’m all ears. I’m not exactly thrilled about this either. But from where I’m standing, it’s the only option we have.”

“...Goddamnit. Goddamnit, you’re right.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“You don’t—I mean, I—oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say!” False laments. “I’m sorry Tango. I’m really… We saved you. We saved you, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, you saved me. And I’m so incredibly grateful. So let me save you now, too.”

“Good luck, Tango.” She pauses. “And, um, Impulse too, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Impulse says, the backs of his eyes beginning to sting. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Tango says. “Get home safe, Captain.”

“I will. I’ll get us home.”

The preparations are made: the gunpowder jars are stored safely in Tango’s backpack, along with the tunguskite crystals. He has a lighter—a parting gift from False—tucked into his glove, and his portable comm stashed in his pocket. The static buzzes quietly. Impulse is even quieter.

Tango feels bad about what he’s doing to Impulse, but not bad enough to not go through with it—and not bad enough to say his goodbyes and turn the comm off now. Maybe it’s selfish, but he wants someone there with him at the end, even if that someone is literal lightyears away.

“Okay,” he says. “Now I just need to get from here to the marines’ ship, without getting caught, whilst getting noticed.”

“Oh, a piece of cake,” Impulse says. “No sweat at all.”

“Yeah, no, it’ll be easy!” He appreciates Impulse trying to play this off casually, like both of their voices aren’t shaking. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

He types in the passcode and opens the door. The corridor beyond is quiet. Eerily dark. He places the glow rod between his teeth, puts his head down, and runs. 

He’s not trying to be quiet now, but to be loud—he hears a yell as he passes the crew quarters’, hears the distant pound of footsteps coming after him. They don’t sound like people running anymore. They sound like bears, footsteps heavy with a strength and weight they shouldn’t have. He doesn’t dare spare a glance over his shoulder. He runs.

He reaches the ready room breathless, lungs and legs burning with exertion. He thinks he may die before he even gets to the cockpit, before these guys can catch up with him, just drop dead from heart failure. He gasps desperately as he stumbles through the dorsal hatch and onboard the enemy ship, and now he’s back in that maze of corridors. Run on, past the terrifying cargo bay full of squirming red grubs, past closed doors, on and on until he sees the familiar glow of a cockpit ahead of him, with all its buttons and instrument panels.

There are more footsteps behind him, now, more voices—Cleo and Doc and the other one (Jevin?) joining Xisuma and Ren, and he pulls the backpack off of his shoulder and pulls out one of the jars of gunpowder, drawing a line across the doorway and flipping out his lighter to set it alight.

It goes up in an instant, a wave of heat pushing him back—and, more importantly, pushing the aliens back, too. His head pounds in the sudden sweltering heat, and he can feel the skin on his face beginning to blister, but that’s fine. He can deal with it, for the short time he has left in which he’ll have to deal with things.

He hits the button to close the cockpit door as, beyond the inferno, the aliens begin to scream.

“I hate it when they do that,” Impulse says. “Makes my head hurt.”

“Yeah, they're real loud,” Tango says, making his way to the controls. “Okay, now I’ve just got to plug in these coordinates Stress gave me, and… here! Course set for U33J6, mag locks activated, and…” The ship hums to life. “We have liftoff!” He laughs, dizzy as he sinks down into the pilot’s chair. “It worked!” 

“There’s no going back from this, then?”

Tango shakes his head. “No,” he says, excitement suddenly dying down. “No, this is it. There’s only one way this ends, now.” 

They’re silent for a moment, the only noise the familiar buzz of static, the thrumming of the engine, and the distant wailing of alien screams. It’s starting to sink in, now, looking through the viewpoint at the dark expanse of space, and the even darker spot in the middle of it, what exactly Tango’s done. He’s been fighting back tears all night—angry, frustrated, grieving tears for all that’s gone wrong—and, staring into the heart of a black hole, that dam finally breaks.

Tango sobs, bringing his hands to his mouth to muffle the sound. He doesn’t do well enough, though, because Impulse calls, hesitantly, worried, “Tango?”

“Sorry,” Tango says wetly, scrubbing at his face. “Sorry, I—fuck, Impulse, what am I doing?”

“You’re… You’re saving the world,” Impulse says with a tearful laugh, and that’s the moment that Tango realises that Impulse is also crying. “That’s what you’re doing, Tango. You’re being a hero.”

“I’m being an idiot.”

“A heroic, brave idiot.”

“Maybe.” He sniffles. “I don’t want to die, Impulse.”

“...I know, buddy.”

“You won’t—I mean—” God, this is a selfish thing to ask. This is such a selfish, shitty thing to ask, and Tango is a terrible friend, but— “You won’t forget me, will you?”

“I don’t think I could,” Impulse replies. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

Tango laughs. They're quiet for a moment. Tango pulls the communicator out of his pocket and turns it over in his hands. For some ridiculous reason, he finds himself reminded of Zedaph, and his stupid emponymous laws. “You ever heard of Stein’s Law?”

“I don’t think so. What is that?”

“If something cannot go on forever, it will stop. I think it's meant to be about, like, perpetual motion machines, or something. But what I'm thinking about is how, w hen we get to the event horizon, and I set off that explosion… Well, it’s hard to explain, but from what I understand? It won’t stop. It’ll just blow up forever. So, when you think about it, I won’t really die. I’ll just… be dying forever.” He pauses. “I’m not sure that’s much better, actually.”

Impulse laughs tearfully. “I—” Tango can’t make out the rest of that sentence through the static. He glances up at the viewport, at the rapidly-approaching black hole, and then down at the comm.

“I think the signal’s cutting out,” he says. “I think… I think this is the part where we say our goodbyes.”

“I don’t wa—goodbye.”

Tango swallows. “Hey, I get it, it’s like putting it off means it doesn’t have to happen, right? But I’ll be honest, Impulse, I don’t think I have the time to put it off anymore. This is it. There’s no way out of this, not anymore. I’m…” He takes a breath. “I’m doing what I have to do.” 

“Y—hero.”

“Not really. I’m just doing what needs to be done. And I’d never have gotten this far without you, so if I’m a hero, then you are too.” Tango squeezes his eyes shut. “Thank you, Impulse. For everything. I’m glad you’re here with me. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“—love you, buddy.”

“Yeah.” Tango swallows. “Love you too.” 

“Ta—” There’s a sudden loud screech of static, and then dead silence. Tango stares down at the broken comm in his hands and tries his best not to burst into tears.

It’s not over yet. They’re almost at the event horizon—he can feel the pull of it, every hair on his arms standing on end—and he needs to act quick. He grabs his backpack, hits the button to open the door, glances at the aliens hovering on the other side of the dwindling fire.

Add one jar of gunpowder. Two. Three. The flames grow higher and higher, more out of control, sparking wildly, and Tango flinches back against the control panel. He hears something beep, but it doesn’t matter what, the black hole’s gravity has them in its hold and it's not letting go. The fire burns hot against his face, his IEVA suit beginning to char. And yet, the ship is still in one piece.

The flames aren’t enough. Not enough for what Tango wants. He feels his heart sink in his chest—no, no, not after everything, he can’t not have enough explosives.

And then he remembers something Doc had told him, a minor detail in a conversation about something mostly unrelated.

Tunguskite is explosive.

“Here goes nothing,” he whispers, grabbing a handful of crystals from his backpack and throwing them into the flame.

Time stretches out.

Everything goes white, brighter than Tango’s ever seen, blinding and filled with ephemeral, shifting colours, none of which he can name. Everything stops moving—the flames, the aliens, the ship, Tango himself—but everything is still moving, stuck in a constant state of motion-unmotion. The world turns upside down, inside out, every star in the cosmos freezes mid-twinkle, and the ship that should be blowing itself apart twists in on itself, wrapping around Tango like an embrace. 

Spacetime folds in on him, and suddenly Tango is being hugged by the universe itself. He hears whispers, blinding, burning, every person he’s ever known, ever will know, suddenly there, and not there, and has always been there, and always will be there, but never will be at all. Tango falls apart, falls together, falls back into the arms of the universe, and through half-lidded eyes he sees the face of forever.

And for an endless moment, everything is beautiful.

And then it’s nothing at all.