Chapter Text
07:21 Open Space Calibrated Time
They were stranded, stranded in the astral sea.
The spaceship’s auto navigational system spoke into the darkness with a request. “Would you like to set a course?”
“No.”
For now, they would remain adrift.
Untethered. Directionless.
A frail wisp of steam curled upwards from the cup Seonghwa was holding. A calming tea made of rare leaves from his home planet. One that should’ve relaxed him.
It should’ve been a day like any other in between jobs, floating along in their spaceship through the open space that connected distant planets just outside the Aten-Odae Asteroid Belt. A leisurely morning when the residents of SS Aurora took their time rising from their bunks and wandering to the central area.
But this time no one had gotten more than three hours of sleep, and instead of enjoying breakfast together, they were huddled around the table under the lowlight, waiting in an anxious silence.
Because today they were only seven, with their missing leader in the clutches of the Intergalactic Trade Guild, an empire with control over the farthest reaches of the galaxy that waged war on the surrounding systems.
He was gone and for three days now they had heard nothing.
“He’s dead,” Mingi whispered, terrified of his own words as he said them, while Yunho calibrated the holoscreen to tap into the Guild’s most popular news network. “They’ve killed him already, they’d be insane not to.”
“We don’t know that,” Wooyoung scolded, ever the optimist. “Even the Guild has to follow their own rules. He’ll be on trial.”
Seonghwa met his eyes with a wavering smile that quickly died out. He had no encouragement to give when his own breathing was laboured with the stress of the situation. He was a moment away from passing out if he forgot to breathe properly.
Inhale. Exhale.
Relax.
“But do you really think there’s any point in a court proceeding?” Yeosang questioned softly, picking at the food on his plate. “After what he did?”
He was referring, of course, to their Captain’s surrender. Hongjoong had insisted on being captured to allow the rest of the crew to escape the ambush three days ago with their loot and not even Yunho knew why. The credits they had been stealing at the time were not worth Hongjoong’s life.
And, loathe as Seonghwa was to admit it, Yeosang made a good point. They had more than enough evidence against him already, so why not put him to death and be done with it? It didn’t make sense for the Guild to make a judicial spectacle when the price on Hongjoong’s head had been astronomical.
Seonghwa should know, because that price had once been of great interest to him.
The sour taste of bile rose in his throat and he forced it down, focusing on the broadcast when San shushed the discussion and pointed everyone’s attention to it.
“A new case of great interest has taken over the intergalactic networks today due to the figure in custody,” the announcer was saying, his eyes practically devoid of life even as he spoke with an animated voice. “Notorious pirate Kim Hongjoong, whose full identity was revealed upon his arrest, has supposedly been a known public enemy to the Guild for fifteen years, about whom authorities have provided very little information from their investigation.”
A collective outburst of relief swept the room as it sunk in that Hongjoong was indeed alive. “See?” Wooyoung whispered encouragingly, squeezing Seonghwa’s hand from across the table.
Jongho, their mechanic, was shaking with rage. “Fifteen years— are they even hearing themselves?” He barked a mirthless laugh and scanned the room for approval. “That would mean he was branded a traitor when he was just a kid!”
Seonghwa trained his eyes on Yunho, technically their second in command, who had been quiet and singularly focused since setting up the holoscreen. “Did you know about this?” He asked him quietly, unable to keep a hint of betrayal out of his voice in his efforts to restrain the panic overwhelming him. That Hongjoong’s identity had apparently put him at risk since childhood was an unexpected blow on this morning of continuous punches to the gut.
“No,” Yunho responded solemnly, still not looking away from the screen. “But I can’t deny I had my suspicions.”
Seonghwa didn’t have time to dwell on that fact as the broadcast tuned back in.
“The proceedings today will be significant in uncovering potential rebel activities, terrorist acts, and connections to other anti-Guild factions,” the second news presenter continued with growing interest even as she read her lines from the prompting screen behind the camera. She glanced at her partner for a moment before returning to her mark. “And we’ll have all the coverage for you right here when we come back from the break.”
Frozen to his seat, Seonghwa tried and failed to wrap his head around what was going on. The botched heist and Hongjoong’s capture three days ago had already sent him reeling, and now their captain was about to be tried in possibly the most biased courtroom in the universe for all the galaxies to see. How could this be real?
How could he have let this happen?
Suddenly needing to busy his hands while the nauseatingly bright advertisements began to play, Seonghwa stood to collect plates. None were empty, most barely picked at, but he couldn’t blame anyone for their lack of appetite when he wasn’t able stomach anything at the moment either.
Alone in the galley, he wasn’t sure now which was worse; waiting to discover Hongjoong’s fate, or watching it be handed to him live.
Light hovered over him while he scrubbed with limp and useless hands. A stain of food still stuck to one of the plates despite his efforts.
When the obnoxious sounds died down, he hurried back from the galley to see the Guild’s high courtroom on the holoscreen.
It was too soon, much too soon.
“What did I miss?” He nearly choked out.
San’s hands were in his hair, tugging at unruly strands while he explained, “They’re expediting the trial process. His entire case is happening today, now.”
Seonghwa forced himself into a chair to quell his shaking legs. It was all so fast, with no chance for anyone to scheme a way out of the situation.
How would Hongjoong even formulate a defence for himself?
“This whole thing is a sham,” Mingi gritted out, getting up to pace the room angrily. “Just a media circus. They won’t even give him a chance.”
“He’ll find a way…” said Yeosang around an audible gulp, glancing at Yunho for confirmation. “Right?”
The second in command and aristocrat-turned-thief merely shook his head and sighed, jaw locked immediately after. He had known Hongjoong the longest by some slim margin, but evidently it wasn’t enough to be privy to some sort of secret emergency measures for this kind of situation.
There had never been a need to appoint an official second in command, a provisional captain of sorts. Not outside of targeted missions.
Seonghwa folded his arms across his chest to mask the way he shuddered and watched on the screen as their captain was led into the courtroom, an amphitheatre-type space with harsh lighting. The judiciary council remained shrouded by their dark robes and headpieces, a stark contrast to the spotless room and the white-clothed prisoner.
The moment he saw him, his eyes blurred with tears.
It was easy to assume Hongjoong had been locked in a holding cell for three days from his dark, unruly hair or the dull pallor of his skin but what really stood out were his eyes. They found the camera immediately and stayed there for just a second too long to be comfortable, betraying nothing about the feelings inside.
Was he afraid?
Was he angry?
“No visible injuries… that’s a good sign…” Wooyoung was muttering his observations in an effort to convince himself of his own words. As the team’s trained medic, he naturally scrutinised their leader’s physical condition first.
“Injuries we can see, anyway,” San pointed out and, despite having the same thought already himself, Seonghwa felt that much more uneasy hearing it voiced aloud. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and kept his eyes fastened on the display.
Hongjoong was ushered into the seat of the accused and the opening remarks were in full swing without any more introduction. He seemed to be listening with a disdainful expression on his face until the head speaker addressed him directly.
“Kim Hongjoong, you stand before this council accused of piracy. How do you plead?”
Guards on either side of the defendant’s seat dragged him to his feet and it boiled Seonghwa’s blood to see his captain manhandled this way.
He shook them off in annoyance and stated his answer clearly for even the drone cameras to hear.
“Guilty.”
Seonghwa’s jaw dropped.
“No!” Yunho burst out, bringing a shaking hand to his mouth in shock. Surely they had all misheard. “Pleading guilty?”
“What else can he do?” Jongho cried with a helpless laugh that quickly became tears and trembling lips. “They’ve already decided his punishment. If they set this up to make a fool of him, he has no reason to play along.”
Wooyoung’s breath hitched in an attempt to protest, “But—”
“Yes, I took those credits,” Hongjoong was continuing to speak, and silence fell in the Aurora while he commanded the stage. “But they never belonged to the Guild in the first place. Those served by cause I donated my share to are the rightful owners. So which one of us is the real thief?”
One flickering moment of silence resounded before shouts broke out from an unseen audience on the broadcast and the holoscreen’s display quickly switched back to the newsroom where the first presenter smoothly formulated an excuse.
“Our apologies for the disruption, but it appears there have been technical difficulties—”
“Censorship,” Yunho muttered, collapsing back into his chair with a shaky sigh. “They’re afraid of what he might say.”
Though he had likely sealed his own fate, he would speak without being silenced. Glancing between Yunho and the screen, San shook his head and added, “If they think they can control him… well, then they’ve lost their minds.”
Individual access to public channels via holoscreen had been a luxury in Seonghwa’s childhood, but even having become acquainted with the intergalactic network in recent years, he had never seen anything quite like this.
There was no question what the Guild was trying to do.
This was a performance. A taunt. A message— to Hongjoong’s friends and supporters, yes, but also to anyone who might even consider questioning the total authority of their government. It was a promise they would be silenced in turn.
It was a threat.
And Seonghwa couldn’t help but feel the guilt coursing through him, because he knew deep down, no matter what the others said, that this was his fault.
3 days ago
“Seonghwa, can I talk to you for a second?”
Hearing the captain’s voice behind him, the former bounty hunter glanced up from his weapons store. “Alright,” he agreed, joining Hongjoong in the hall and signalling the armoury door to slide shut behind him. “Something I can help with?”
Hongjoong opened his mouth to respond and suddenly thought better of it, dropping his head and allowing himself another moment to think.
Seonghwa could sense an unusual level of anxiety about the upcoming job and made an attempt to relieve it. “If this is about the plan—”
“It’s not the plan,” Hongjoong cut him off tiredly and finally looked up so Seonghwa could meet his eyes. They were as warm and trusting as ever, but with that calculating shine that hinted at a sharper edge inside. “How sure are you that Yang’s word is good?”
The source of the tip that had led to this job, the crime boss known only as Yang, had multiple systems under his control and the Intergalactic Trade Guild themselves struggling to operate on Venop 4, the planet he and Seonghwa himself hailed from.
He had sent route information about a Guild cargo ship, including the name of the planet where it would be refuelling, and proposed a generous split of the payload it would be carrying should the Aurora crew succeed in robbing it; 5 million credits.
Seonghwa hadn’t intended to have any business with the notorious gangster, but a life of poverty growing up on that world left few options. As a bounty hunter, he had taken what commissions he was given and without complaint. The strength of a client’s word was rarely part of his considerations.
And so Hongjoong’s doubts, while not entirely out of place, weren’t particularly relevant.
“Does it matter?”
“He wants me dead, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong reminded him, quietly but intensely. “Enough to make multiple attempts. I mean, do you really trust him?”
“Not completely,” Seonghwa admitted, because he knew the fact was hard to ignore. He had personally been extremely fortunate that Hongjoong had overlooked this earlier. “But Yang loves money more than anything else and he knows we’re the best crew to get it for him. I don’t think he’d pass up his share of the payload just for the chance to take us out.”
Hongjoong crossed his arms and glanced out the nearest hall window, withdrawn. There was just open space all around, a dark void for them to hide in, dotted with distant star systems. He was still thinking of an excuse. “It might mean more credits for him in the long run if he does, you know.”
This was more nervous behaviour than usual from Hongjoong. If he let his guard down around anyone, it was usually Seonghwa, but after the communal planning stage, the captain typically kept any further worries to himself.
“I realise that,” Seonghwa replied with a lighthearted shrug. “I’m just hoping he hasn’t.”
There was no more time to debate the future, and Yunho was already poking his head around the corner to interrupt them, “Hyungs? Time to space jump.”
“Alright.” With a final cursory glance at Seonghwa, Hongjoong moved past him and headed towards the cockpit. “Fire up the Infinity Drive.”
Cracking a smile, Seonghwa eagerly followed after a brief stop in the armoury to collect the weapons they’d need. He took the arming of his fellow pirates very seriously.
His position on this particular job was to remain onboard the Aurora keeping watch for enemies, providing a quick getaway, and managing communications between the members and, more distantly, with Yang. This was not a task to be taken lightly, and although Seonghwa’s skills usually lay on the battlefield, his personal relationship with the gangster was of greater value today.
“How did the crossbow work for you in practice?” He asked a stoic Yeosang in the seat next to him as the pair strapped in for the space jump.
“It’s excellent,” the mercenary responded, patting the compact weapon where it hung from his belt. “But is there a way to remove the stun feature? It makes that buzzing sound and I’d like it to be quieter.”
“Yes, there’s a switch to activate silent mode,” Seonghwa described and gestured with his hands. “You’ll just have to make sure your aim is perfect because a near-hit won’t take anyone down with the energy field turned off.”
“Not a problem,” Yeosang chuckled. He hadn’t missed a shot any time in recent memory, and both of them knew it. Life as a soldier for hire on a dying planet required a great deal of precision.
“Hyung,” Mingi suddenly gasped, turning around in his seat to face Seonghwa, clearly having just remembered something. “If you use the drones for intelligence, don’t forget to turn on the stealth feature! We do not want a repeat of QD81.”
From the way Yeosang shuddered next to him, Seonghwa could tell bad things had taken place at the aforementioned incident, but it must have been a time from their history together before he knew either of them.
Mingi and Yeosang both hailed from Diistro, a world so badly scorched by its expanding sun that the atmosphere was nearly sucked away by now, the planet itself turned oblong and misshapen from the pull of gravity. They had been born in different countries, but the arbitrary lines of territory became irrelevant in the worsening climate, leaving a wild and lawless place. The pair were not the simple refugees they appeared to be in the years that followed. They did what they must to survive.
“Right, I’ll take care of it,” Seonghwa assured Mingi, patting him on the shoulder and urging him to buckle up properly. The space jump was always a jolting experience.
“Engaging Infinity Drive,” Yunho called out after the final seatbelt clicked, and everyone braced for the coming plunge through bended space-time. “Prepare for a Level 10.”
Hit with all the G-force of hurtling past systems at indescribable speeds, Seonghwa gritted his teeth until the Aurora slowed to a normal pace on arrival and his tension melted away. The entire process lasted only a few seconds.
Travelling so unnaturally fast put a great deal of pressure on the body, making the highest setting—Level 10– only for emergencies. Going a fair bit slower was much more sustainable for the Infinity Drive as well, but today it couldn’t be helped.
“Approaching Eogawa,” Hongjoong announced as he again took manual control of the spacecraft, banking slightly to the left to bring the planet in view. “Prepare for atmospheric entry.”
Being a gas giant, Eogawa was essentially nothing but atmosphere.
Tinted a soft pink hue in the light of its distant sun, the planet’s peaceful appearance was riddled with hidden dangers. Aside from the storms that raged among surface gases, Eogawa was ringed with massive, thick bands of dust and ice. A lesser pilot might run afoul of such a hazardous minefield, but Hongjoong was careful to avoid the rings and zeroed in on the area Aurora’s radar was pointing him to.
“The refuelling station,” San called out, spotting it first through wispy clouds that flew past once they entered the atmosphere and splattered rain droplets on the windows. “It’s huge.”
Seonghwa shared his astonishment when he leaned forward to catch sight of the station and noticed its size. Not merely a lone rig floating in the sky. Much bigger than expected.
Taking in the sight, Hongjoong directed the ship downwards to the lower platform that appeared to be a service entrance. “First team ready?”
Jongho, Yeosang, and San rose from their seats and filed out, weapons in tow, to their starting position for the heist. Their next task would be to steal themselves some uniforms from the locker room to disguise as robot workers.
Yunho rose to follow them out, assigned to lead their team, but Hongjoong stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a nod to the right where their next objective lay. He would turn the Aurora eastward in search of a different station.
“When is the train coming next?” Hongjoong asked, sounding somewhat distracted while he scanned the layers upon layers of swirling clouds.
Yunho merely had to check the time to provide an answer. “Thirty seven minutes.”
Thanks to his extensive research, the pirates knew Eogawa’s fuel transportation system was fully automated and operated a levitating train which passed through the station every hour. For a ship as big as the Guild freighter they were after, it would take at least thirty minutes to refuel, likely having maintenance performed by the robotic service workers in the meantime.
This system provided both a way in and a way out with the credits.
“We’ll be on it and ready for transport,” the captain encouraged. “Be careful, the Guild ship should be docking any minute.”
“Understood,” Yunho replied with a smile, and he turned to disembark, sharing a glance with Seonghwa who patted him on the back with a measure of nervous excitement.
It was always a bit nerve wracking splitting up to do their various jobs during a heist or a boarding. Seonghwa knew the risk they were taking every time someone was sent off into hostile territory. If a member was caught, it was expected that they disavow any knowledge of the rest of the group and claim to be acting independently.
They may be pirates, but they all served a higher cause. Something a bit more substantial than mere interference in Guild activities.
“Comms operational?” Jongho’s voice crackled through the radio as soon as the Aurora had set off for the levitating train station.
“Loud and clear,” Hongjoong answered to the mechanic’s satisfaction, and soon the train station came into view. It wasn’t intended for humans, so aside from the cleaning droid bustling around, the platform was empty.
Hongjoong, Mingi, and Wooyoung would board the train to clear out a container and pick up the credits and their disguised members, much more discreet there than in the Aurora.
As he handed control of the ship over to Seonghwa, he gave the dashboard a loving pat. “Take care of things while I’m gone,” he instructed, a redundant request for the meticulous bounty hunter.
“She’s safe in my hands,” Seonghwa assured him anyway, saying his farewells and watching the door slide shut behind them.
Suddenly it was very quiet onboard, and put off by the silence, Seonghwa powered up the engines again and directed the Aurora to the waiting point, behind both stations in the direction the train was sure to come when the heist was finished.
Staying with the getaway vehicle made for a bit of a boring job, so for the next half hour there was nothing much to do but fiddle with his weapons and watch the sun set from gold into soft violet.
He listened in on the comms chatter as the teams informed each other of their progress; Yunho’s team securing disguises and Hongjoong’s team successfully entering a train compartment.
And then, fifteen minutes before the train would arrive, the moment he was least looking forward to arrived in the form of a call from Yang.
Schooling his expression into something vaguely neutral and unbothered, he accepted it and watched the hologram materialise on the dashboard.
The crime lord was evidently seated in his sunroom, snacking on a homemade flatbread that made Seonghwa’s stomach grumble just by looking at it. As glad as he was to be offworld, he had missed the tastes of home.
“Mr. Park, do you have a status update for me?” Yang asked him with a monotone voice, brushing crumbs from his shirt in boredom.
“Everything is proceeding on schedule,” Seonghwa answered, slightly reserved, knowing Hongjoong would prefer he keep the details private. “I’ll let you know when we have a count of the credits and—”
“We found the credits,” San’s voice interrupted through the comms, unaware of Seonghwa’s ongoing conversation. “Five million, it’s all here. We’ve been unloading one case at a time, there’s just two left.”
“Ah,” Yang chuckled, overhearing him. “How efficient, just as expected.”
Seonghwa resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the crime lord’s empty flattery. “Before I go, I thought I’d ask,” he regained control of the conversation while subtly muting the comm radio in the middle of Hongjoong’s response to San. “Where do you suggest we rendezvous?”
Yang glanced to the side, probably out his highland window at the marshes below. It was the time of year when Venop 4 enjoyed a brief reprieve from the rainy season and Seonghwa could practically smell it through the holoscreen.
“Surely it isn’t too much trouble for you to bring the money here?” The crime lord posed the question innocently, but his hard gaze was a clear indication of his thoughts on the matter.
“If I recall correctly, we agreed on a rendezvous, not a delivery,” Seonghwa answered him politely but with enough insistence of his own to carry the point across. “Perhaps with one of your currently deployed ships?”
Yang stared back for a moment, but his little blue hologram didn’t intimidate Seonghwa in the slightest. The boss had much less power in this form than he had last time Seonghwa had seen him, at his compound. Even if he was standing there now, there was something about the freedom of becoming a pirate that made him feel indestructible, like everyone else would simply bounce off his invisible shield.
“Halfway then,” Yang relented, flashing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “My ship Nexus is in the orbit of Sarkei. You can dock there and split the payload.”
“I’ll inform you when we’ve left Eogawa,” Seonghwa promised, satisfied with the answer, and moved to end the call. “Until then—”
“And Seonghwa?” Yang interrupted him, and it gave him pause to hear his given name spoken so easily by the criminal overlord. While it didn’t come as a surprise, it put him on edge knowing Yang had much more information than he was comfortable with. He chuckled like he knew something Seonghwa didn’t, “I look forward to working with you again.”
The bounty hunter didn’t plan to. He could get his intelligence on Guild operations elsewhere.
He was lost in thought for a while after ending the call with no further response, until something in the distance caught his eye. It was the levitating train, moving toward the Aurora quickly. A hatch was open in the top of one of the compartments, and Mingi halfway out of it, yelling something into the wind that Seonghwa couldn’t hear.
Jolting upright, he positioned the ship above the train and lowered the ramp from the undercarriage. He had completely forgotten to unmute the comms.
“Load up and go back!” Mingi was saying, bringing a couple of cases of money with him as he climbed up into the suspended Aurora and ran to the cockpit. “We have to go back, hyung!”
“Why?” Seonghwa watched with growing dread as the others quickly began loading the ship. “What’s going on?”
Yunho dropped a case in the cargo area and joined him at the controls while Mingi ran back to fetch another. He was visibly angry, face red and breath heavy, though at what Seonghwa couldn’t be sure until he opened his mouth.
“He stayed— the idiot!— he got out of the compartment and went back into the refuelling station just as the train took off,” Yunho panted with the effort of the words, clearly in disbelief himself.
“Who?” Seonghwa breathed the question out, strangled by it.
Yunho finally looked him in the eyes.
“Hongjoong.”
Cursing softly, Seonghwa set the Aurora to autopilot, precariously hovering above the moving train, and joined the others in moving the last few cases to their cargo hold.
The next train station was on the horizon when Seonghwa reached down for another case to pass along and was met with San emerging from inside the compartment instead. His instructions were curt, “We’re loaded, turn around.”
Seonghwa helped him into the ship and retracted the ramp, hurrying to the cockpit before being stopped by Yeosang. “Wait!” The mercenary insisted on it and wrapped a hand around Seonghwa’s arm. “The drone. Send in the drone first.”
He was right to be cautious, Seonghwa came to realise when he piloted the drone into the refuelling station from the safety of the cockpit a few minutes later. Guild officials had emerged from the freighter they just robbed and someone was watching them from the secrecy of a connecting hall.
Seonghwa could tell who it was the moment he saw the back of his head.
Lips pursed with worry, he navigated the drone closer. “Let me turn on comms and ask what he’s doing—”
“He already switched off his channel,” Wooyoung broke in before Seonghwa wasted time trying.
“But you can try to patch through to the drone,” Mingi reminded them both, reaching over to turn off the stealth feature he had insisted upon earlier. “There, now the speakers.”
“Hongjoong?” Seonghwa called immediately when it was clear the audio was stable. “Hongjoong, answer me.”
The captain turning his head toward the screen was confirmation he had heard him. “You all need to get out of here,” he said under his breath, returning his gaze to the platform. Clearly he knew something they didn’t. “This is an ambush, Yang must have tipped them off.”
Seonghwa’s stomach dropped.
He should’ve known. Yang would never let such a good chance pass him by, even if he had to work with the Guild for compensation. Even if it meant fewer credits. All his teasing had been meant to distract, and it had succeeded easily.
Hongjoong was hurriedly giving out last minute instructions, “Cut off contact and don’t bring him anything, just get the money to Aten-Odae. The Manager will know what to do. I’m counting on you.”
“Why can’t you come with us?” San protested, unable to keep his voice quiet in his distress. “What are you doing in the station? We could be picking you up right now. There’s still time!”
Hongjoong’s eyes fluttered shut with a sigh. “Check your radar,” he murmured, regret in his voice. “There are ten Guild dreadnoughts with hwacha missiles trained on the Aurora right now. We are out of time. You need to leave while I call them off.”
And when Yeosang pulled up the screen, Seonghwa had to catch his breath. Hongjoong was right. Exactly ten of the Guild’s most heavily weaponised spacecraft were advancing on their position silently and undetected until now. It was horrifying.
Wooyoung’s voice stuck in his throat wetly as he fought back tears, begging him, “Please don’t do this, hyung, we can figure out another way, there has to be something—”
“There isn’t another way, Woo.” From the way Hongjoong spoke, it sounded like it was breaking his heart, too. “I wish there was but… I know I have to do this. Don’t come back here, understand? I won’t let them take you.”
And Seonghwa knew he was right, even as he sat frozen in shock and let Jongho and Mingi argue with the increasingly unresponsive captain while he advanced through the hallway toward the Guild officers.
They’d been tricked and there was nothing else but to retreat.
Seonghwa didn’t realise there were tears streaming down his cheeks until he had already said in a haze, “Don’t go. Don’t.”
It was selfish and he should follow orders and be strong for the others but he couldn’t do it. If Hongjoong stayed behind, there was no way out for him. “I won’t forgive you,” he sobbed.
Hongjoong couldn’t see him but he knew.
“Hey, don’t cry. It’ll be alright,” he comforted softly, taking slow steps backwards away from the drone until a doorway separated them.
His hand hovered over the sensor. “I’m sorry.”
And then he hit the switch and the door slid shut, cutting him off from view.
The feed was blank without a subject in view and Yunho took the controls and directed the drone back out of the station, bringing it aboard the Aurora then suddenly tossing it to the floor in a burst of anger and dropping into his seat wordlessly.
For a moment it was still and silent, and then Wooyoung began to sniffle. Seonghwa reached out to comfort him, but it felt like he was underwater.
The world was moving in slow motion and he was drowning in his own despair. A distant beeping surfaced and he noticed the display, bright red with warning symbols and a repeating alert message.
Enemy ships approaching.
Spurred into action, he sent the Aurora upwards, up through waning sunbeams to the higher layer of clouds and then the next layer and then the next.
“You can’t be serious,” Mingi laughed emptily, glancing in disbelief between Seonghwa and the rest of the team. “We’re leaving him?”
Yeosang’s head was in his hands. “They’ve locked targets on us. There’s no choice.”
“Why didn’t he just call it off before we loaded the ship?” San was bargaining with hypotheticals. “We could’ve used that time. We all could’ve escaped together.”
And of course there was no point now in wondering. They might never know.
Rosy pink rays faded to dusk and seven pirates strapped into their seats and shot up past the highest layer of clouds only to be immediately faced with the enemy dreadnoughts.
Silent and hulking, they simply watched the Aurora fly past them, making no move to shoot the smaller ship down.
Wooyoung dried his eyes and craned his neck to look up at the menacing dreadnoughts through the front window. “They’re just… letting us go.”
“Hongjoong hyung. He turned himself in,” Jongho said mournfully and then braced himself for the space jump as soon as they were clear.
Seonghwa’s tears soaked into his collar.
The stars raced by like a stain on the black canvas and they left their captain behind.
18:47 Open Space Calibrated Time
Seonghwa’s light dozing was interrupted by the holoscreen broadcast. After a back and forth of testimonies and cross-examinations by the most incompetent legal representatives the Guild had to offer, a verdict had been reached.
San and Yeosang were called back in to the living area to watch from their various restless activities around the ship.
The head speaker removed her headdress and spoke, unveiled at last, to the accused.
“The council has deliberated at great length to determine an appropriate finding and will vote next on a punishment suitable for the nature of these crimes.” Her beady eyes looked up from the floating wall of text behind the camera she was no doubt reading from and in the direction of the seat of the accused, remorseless. “However, regarding today’s business, it is the decision of this council that on all counts of piracy, assault, corruption, illegal possession of firearms, possession of stolen property, fraudulent or unauthorised access to Intergalactic Trade Guild networks, conspiracy, theft of an Intergalactic Trade Guild spacecraft, and false personation, Kim Hongjoong is found guilty and sentenced to death.”
It was like his throat closed and then was forcefully reopened again as Seonghwa vomited and then blacked out. When he came to, San was rubbing his back. Every eye on him was ringed with red.
He had been expecting it, but the verdict stung like acid in his face.
The broadcast was off now and he hadn’t even been able to see Hongjoong’s face again.
Was he afraid now?
Mingi looked around and finally asked, voice hollow, “What do we do?”
“The Manager told us to split up and lay low,” Yunho scoffed. He was scary like this, stern and sarcastic and so far away from himself.
Hongjoong was their glue. Without him there to hold them together, surely they’d drift off, each going his own way with a heart full of regret and a useless supply of credits in his pocket.
But they hadn’t done so. No one had wandered off yet, ejecting themselves from the Aurora and wishing the rest good luck and goodbye. Even now they huddled together, waiting for something. A sign.
Seonghwa trembled in the cold of realisation washing over him. There was nowhere else to turn. The floor underneath him began to feel firm and he grounded himself in it. He clutched the blanket around his shoulders closer.
More than ever before he pined for Hongjoong’s help, for his guidance.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Seonghwa finally said, shaking his head with some sort of resolution.
He raised his head to see all the others looking at him.
They knew what needed to be done, but no one was ready to speak the words aloud. No one except Seonghwa.
“We break him out. We have to do it ourselves.”
He watched them realise, one by one, that it was up to them now. That they could not go on as a team without their captain. He had brought them together only to abandon them, but he would not be allowed to give his life for theirs so easily.
Jongho nodded and got to his feet, ready to contribute however he could. “All we can hope for now is that his execution is scheduled far in advance.”
Seonghwa did not care what it took. They had to get to Hongjoong first, even if they burned up on entry.
They could not escape the pull of his gravity.