Chapter Text
Yixing huffed quietly as he stepped around yet another elderly android between him and the neon-lit business he sought. Beside him, Youngjae strolled along, holding his flight jacket in place where it was draped over his shoulder. “You shouldn’t fear for me any more than you usually do, hyung,” Youngjae commented, voice naturally soft enough to go unnoticed by most of the beings moving through the station. The jacket’s cuffs were pristine, the stitching fresh, the medical patch on the right shoulder still bright crimson.
The pair made it underneath the bright white Lotto sign, their conversation forced to trail off as Yixing found spaces for them at the bar and held up two fingers to place their usual order. “I know, you’re certainly scrappy enough to survive out there.” Youngjae laughed at that, light and airy, making a few heads turn in their direction. The medic quieted after a moment and took a sip of his drink, the ice cubes knocking against the side of the glass when he set it down. “You just have to keep these in one piece so you can put others back into one piece,” Yixing murmured, reaching across the small distance between bar stools to take Youngjae’s hands. The younger watched him, expressive eyes wide, as Yixing lifted Youngjae’s right hand and kissed the back of it. Then the knuckles, then the pads of his thumb, index, middle, ring, pinkie. Palm, top of the wrist, pulse point. The bartender snuck surreptitious glances until Yixing set Youngjae’s hand back down on the bar top and the patrons a few seats down began complaining about their drinks not being ready yet. Yixing took Youngjae’s left hand and repeated the process; healer’s kiss, Youngjae had called it back when they were both in med school, suffering through practical after practical.
“Unit MBUN-12 report to Hanger 5 immediately for pre-launch flight checks.” Yixing stilled.
“They’re calling us early,” Youngjae groaned, shaking his head. “We were supposed to be leaving tomorrow. Guess I’d better leave that instead, then. Finish it for me?” He motioned towards his unfinished drink sitting on the counter.
“You packed your sensor mini-screwdriver and kit, right?” Youngjae nodded, dimples showing in a small, nervous smile.
“Yes, they’re with my med kit going into Joko’s storage hold. JOKO: run preliminary flight check. I’ll be down there in ten.” Youngjae stood, pushing his stool back and making it scrape across the floor slightly. Yixing watched as a few pixelated strands of light danced across Youngjae’s pupils, the officer’s AI replying to him; several less-than-savory characters were peering at Youngjae from shadowed corners, so Yixing gave him a nudge.
“Better go,” he said.
“Right,” Youngjae replied. Then he said something else, only a few words, but Yixing still smiled and told himself not to tear up in the middle of a crowded bar. “Matoki fighting,” Youngjae whispered, finally, and with that he slipped away.
“Matoki fighting,” Yixing whispered back.
There was something wrong about the sign of Yixing’s fingers wrapped around his own half-finished glass, with Youngjae’s abandoned but within reach. Finish it for me. So Yixing did, and as he set Youngjae’s glass down after draining the last of the liquid, a stranger slid into Youngjae’s old spot on Yixing’s right.
“Is this seat taken?” It was someone human, or at least humanoid in appearance, with pale blonde hair and grey eyes. They probably identified as male, but one could never be positive in the galaxy at this time.
“No, it’s open,” Yixing replied, curious. It had probably only been a few minutes, or at most half an hour, since Youngjae had gotten called to duty, and Yixing already had someone else introducing themselves to him at the bar. Perhaps he did need to get out of the operating room more, like Youngjae always teased him.
“Kim Minseok, he/him please.” Minseok was wearing a multi-patterned collared shirt—neat yet not dress—and dark-wash skinny jeans. The outfit alone didn’t give Yixing enough clues to verify that he was necessarily human, although he appeared to be, so Yixing began to check for jewelry. Pierced ears—a hoop in the left, nothing currently in the right; stacked black leather and silver chokers partially hidden by the shirt’s collar, likely expensive; a navy and white chevron belt to match the jeans; a chain clipped to the front right belt loop and curving around Minseok’s hip. The chain made Yixing pause; it was delicate and thin in appearance, but something about it made alarm bells go off in Yixing’s head, chiming one tone: weapon. Yixing forced his gaze away and quickly scanned Minseok’s hands. He wore one ring, a single band of silver on his left index finger, patterned with what Yixing suspected were true diamonds. At first glance, he assumed the pattern was a flower, but then he remembered a custom his university roommate had mentioned to him a couple of times. What Minseok wore was a snowflake, a snowflake on an elemental’s power ring.
“Zhang Yixing, he/him as well,” Yixing replied, thankful for the particular professor who had helped (tortured) him learn how to make quick observations and decisions on the spot. Minseok was watching him with charcoal-lined eyes, no doubt scoping Yixing out at the same time.
“Doctor Zhang the trauma surgeon, correct?”
Yixing wasn’t sure how Minseok knew, but didn’t want to ask too many questions. Minseok was evidently someone of status or close to someone of status, as one simply didn’t walk into a bar in an orbital station hub wearing diamonds. “That’s me,” Yixing chose to say, “but just Yixing is fine.” Minseok smiled at that.
“Do you have any experience in field medicine, Yixing?” Minseok’s Irish coffee arrived, and he began on the cream while he waited for Yixing to reply.
“I have not worked in the field,” Yixing admitted after a little pause, “and I do not currently feel particularly drawn towards enlisting.” He did not specify which war effort, nor why, but Minseok’s smile broadened.
Yixing was pretty sure it was because of what he said and not the drink, but then again one never knew.
“I am not here to enlist you,” Minseok assured. Not that Yixing had suspected that, but it was nice to hear. “I am a longhauler. My Captain and I have just gotten a run contracted that requires more…. specialized skills than either of us have. We thought you might be interested, and it is said that you are neutral on the terms of the war, so you do not have ties which might make the haul…. tricky.”
Yixing thought for a moment. “This run is controversial.” He murmured, keeping his voice low to avoid many other bar patrons overhearing. Minseok nodded.
He thought for a moment about Youngjae, now far into space, and his advice to live a little bit more. Well, what the hell did he have to lose? Besides his job, of course, and perhaps his reputation.
“Might we continue this discussion outside?”
There was something odd but not necessarily wrong about the picture of Minseok sitting in Yixing’s desk chair in the doctor’s apartment. They’d decided that it was for the best that they did not discuss the hauler’s next run in public, and Yixing knew that his apartment was not bugged. He had checked when he had bought the place. He had been involved with a minor noble from a nearby world at the time and had decided it was better to be safe rather than sorry (which he ended up being at the end, anyways, albeit for different reasons). Yixing had been almost glad when the whole thing had ended, because they wouldn’t have been able to keep everything under wraps for much longer.
“It’s a run on political funding?” Yixing thought that was at least relatively obvious. Minseok dressed well enough that Yixing could tell he and his Captain were successful haulers, and likely legal ones with some protection by the higher-ups if he was unafraid to walk through a spaceport wearing the kind of jewelry he was and emerge unmolested. Perhaps that was what the chain was for, after all, although Yixing had no naïve assumptions towards Minseok’s self-defense capability after the hauler had walked around the living room and sealed it shut in first ice and then snow to soundproof the area. The ice underneath shifted slightly every so often in a groan or pinging whistle.
“We have been commissioned by the leaders of both sides of the war to make a delivery to both on the same run, preferably at the exact same time. The armies of the Coalition of Planets and the Empire are both desperately low on supplies—not food or water at the moment, but medicine and medical supplies. We will be delivering this medicine to the medics of both sides on the frontline.
To ensure that the medicine is distributed evenly and not tampered with, it has been agreed a representative of each planet or planetary system actively involved in the war must travel with Captain Suho and myself, as well as one trained medical officer and one ‘officer of the peace.’” Minseok gave a half-smirk then, as if remembering something amusing from the government discussion. “You will also be, ah, handsomely reimbursed.”
Yixing raised both his eyebrows one after the other. “Pardon, did you say Captain Suho? You wouldn’t happen to be Xiumin from the Lucky One, would you?”
Minseok chuckled. “I see our reputation precedes us, then. Yes, I do go by Xiumin for work related matters.”
“Why did you introduce yourself by your true name, might I ask?”
The ice room went deathly quiet for once. Neither could hear the bustling traffic inside the spaceport, and no noise traveled through space, so they sat in silence. Both hoped it was complete silence, because both knew, whether fully or instinctively, that the haul needed to stay quiet.
“Our monikers are known; some we have worked with in the past would see the war ended, and they have no qualms with the war’s end coming from a lack of medicine. My Captain and I, however, happen to be of the shared opinion that without medical supplies, the basic being’s right to live, and to live with dignity and honor, is violated.”
Not exactly an answer to Yixing’s question, but good enough. “Yet you are serving two governments. If something were to happen during the run and the medicine to remain undelivered, yet the crew to survive, Lucky One would face enemies on both sides of the war. You would be crushed between them.”
“That is exactly the aim of the governments; they are playing a dangerous game. As soon as we deliver the first supplies, the first army will try to shoot us down before we can deliver supplies to the second. Our crew must avoid destruction by either warring side, sabotage by zealous pacifists, and, of course, capture by scavengers. I do not ask such lightly of anyone, but this is exactly the mission where your medical expertise and neutral presence are critical to the success of the haul and the survival of many.”
Yixing dropped his gaze to an ice crystal peeking out through the layer of snow as Minseok spoke, then thought for a moment before responding. “My guiding principle, as with all medics, is Primum no nocere. ‘First, do no harm.’ As you said, these medical supplies are vital to the survival of the troops of both sides. For this reason, and this reason alone, I agree to temporarily join the crew of Lucky One . However, my agreement is conditional: before we deliver the haul, we must gather as a crew and determine whether we believe the supplies will cause more harm or good for the lives involved. If we as a group determine that the supplies will cause the continuation of the war and cost more lives than the millions that have already been lost over the last decade, and that the armies can survive long enough with their current supplies to negotiate a surrender or ceasefire, we agree to withdraw on the commission and do not deliver the haul to either side. And both sides must receive the supplies if we decide it is in the galaxy’s best interests to deliver them.”
“We have a deal,” Minseok replied. Neither could smile given the subject matter involved, but both were distinctly relieved.
Yixing signed himself away in a room made of snow and ice that evening. It was an actual pen-and-paper contract; Yixing had never signed on paper before and found it slightly odd that the Lucky One’s crew would still use such antiquated methods— at least until he realized that paper and ink were much more difficult to track than a digital file.
He took temporary leave from his medical residency that same night. Yixing’s bags were packed before the station’s 21:00 chimes sounded, and he was following Minseok to where the hauler was docked within the hour. “Is there anyone you wish to inform of your absence?” Minseok asked Yixing as they reached the docks.
“I have already sent a message to my flatmate,” he replied, tone rather stiff. Minseok took a sideways glance at him but knew it was not any of his business to ask. “Hopefully he will receive it.”
Well, Minseok knew who that was now. Yoo Youngjae, second in his class at med school only to you, he wanted to say.
“This is her,” he said instead. Yixing blinked, trying to control his blatant disbelief. That was something she had definitely gotten before. “She’s from the 25 th century, retrofitted and modernized with improved crew quarters, increased storage space for hauls, and a secondary AI and computer system.”
What laid just behind Minseok’s words was that Lucky One was a stealth bomber, modified by clearing out most of the spacious weapons bay and uploading a more.... pedestrian AI to the ship’s battle computer.
Yixing couldn’t see these modifications yet, but he did notice the hardpoints mostly hidden under each wing. He wasn’t particularly familiar with ships, but they gave him the same back-of-the-neck tingle as when he first looked at Minseok’s chain, so he suspected they were weapon mounts. “We’re going to pick up a mechanic who can handle her soon; the Captain and myself are good at patches for problems, but not good enough to keep us in flight through hell or high water.” Yixing hummed in acknowledgement and followed Minseok across the gangway.
He was lucky he was not claustrophobic— Lucky One was a small ship, nine hundred sixty feet long by three hundred across at the wings. She would be barely a blip on a warship’s radar, even without her cloaking and other stealth tech activated. Yixing wondered if she would have simulated gravity for the crew—she wasn’t built like most long-term space-faring vessels, with centripetal force simulating the force of gravity through rotating disks.
Yixing stepped inside and was slightly taken aback by how homey the ship was. Given how formal Minseok seemed, Yixing had not expected to see that the hallway behind the entrance was covered in photographs. There was one directly before Yixing of Minseok and two others crouched in front of Lucky One in a hanger, several half-finished ships visible in the background. The one closest to Minseok wore a fireproof black jumpsuit, the top unzipped to reveal a tee-shirt with a 20 th century Earth band on it; heavy-soled boots; and a welding helmet and gloves tucked under one arm. The other one dressed much more like Minseok and was obviously the ship’s captain given the integrated bracelet he wore. He looked more approachable than Minseok, surprisingly, smiling with his eyes mimicking. Yixing didn’t realize he was smiling in response until Minseok shifted and the floor made a noise. “That’s Captain Suho on the right,” Minseok pointed, confirming Yixing’s suspicions, “and Jongdae, our mechanic.”
Now that Yixing looked closer, there were apparently a lot of pictures of just Jongdae and Minseok together, including the two of them in a cramped, dimly-lit booth enjoying ramen; Jongdae showing Minseok how to do a small repair to the electronics of one of Lucky One’s flight panels, both of them with matching grease smears from previous tuning on her turbojet engines for atmospheric flight; and a truly spectacular one of Jongdae standing on a table, holding a pitcher of what Yixing was pretty sure was alcohol right-side-up over a laughing Minseok’s head while seemingly…. Singing into a microphone held by someone off to the side while Minseok spiked the camera?
Huh. Yixing wasn’t sure he had words for that last one, but the whole thing was weirdly cute.
“Our elemental representative is already in the crew quarters, if you would like to meet him?” Minseok’s voice was guiding, trying to shift Yixing’s attention from the photographs of the second-in-command and ‘Jongdae their mechanic.’
“That would be lovely,” Yixing said, instead of the many things he wished to ask.
The crew quarters turned out to not be shared amongst everyone, after all. There was a common area with an actual sofa and a small table, and even a few datatablets on them, but there were four short hallways branching away from the central room, each with a number printed on the doorway above their entrance. “You’ll be staying in that second one there, if that’s alright,” Minseok told Yixing, “2.1: the left side. My quarters are in 1.2, the right side across from the Captain’s quarters. It looks like we might need to double up on rooms, depending on how everyone manages to get along, but you will have your own in case you need to perform any medical miracles on someone on our nice plush carpets.”
Motion attracted Yixing’s attention as someone who was not the Captain closed the door to their room and stepped into the lights of hallway from 2.2, the right side of Hallway 2. “Ah, Chanyeol! This is Yixing, our new medic.”
“Pleasure,” Chanyeol greeted, shaking Yixing’s hand in a human tradition which had for some reason survived many centuries. “I use he/him, if you wouldn’t mind terribly.”
“Not at all,” Yixing replied, “same for me.” Chanyeol was tall, he realized, taller than many individuals of humanoid species Yixing had previously met. He was dressed all in black, his clothing nondescript but flattering, and like Minseok, he wore an elemental’s power ring on his left index finger. Yixing couldn’t see what was engraved on it, but judging by the vibrant cardinal of his hair, Chanyeol’s element was likely fire. That explained the height— although by now they often appeared almost exactly like humans, elementals were a separate race. Before more recent generations changed what was considered popular and began intermarrying with humans, elementals had averaged eight to nine feet in height. (See, the little guide book Yixing carried in his zipped pants pocket was not useless, after all!) Yixing estimated that Chanyeol was approximately eight feet tall, long and lanky, with the heterochromia iridum seen in some elementals with human bloodlines.
For a second, Yixing wondered why Minseok seemed to have missed the whole height gene, before deciding that was definitely not a polite question to ask.
“Did you board here on KKB?” Yixing asked Chanyeol instead, and Minseok took a few steps backwards.
“I did, originally I was here for a reunion with a couple of old college roommates, but then I just couldn’t turn down this opportunity!” Couldn’t turn down this opportunity, or couldn’t turn down this opportunity. Yixing knew the two were decidedly different. “You’re spending your residency on KKB, right?”
“I am, or at least certainly was,” Yixing nodded. When he next took a glance backwards out of the corner of his eye, Minseok was gone. He wasn’t particularly surprised. “Have you happened to have met the Captain yet?”
“Captain Suho? Yes, I met him this morning. Even though his reputation makes him sound kind of intimidating, he certainly seems quite the gentleman!”
“The Captain will see you now in the cockpit.” Minseok reappeared, and once again, Yixing wasn’t surprised. What the elemental lacked in height, he appeared to have gained in stealth; it reminded Yixing of Lucky One herself. “Chanyeol, if you would like to tag along now you may, as the Captain will be calling you soon anyways.”