Chapter Text
Okay, so. Easier to make the mistake than to fix it. There were a million things to consider- which he hadn’t when accidentally broadcasting Voltron’s performance. Hm. And now it was too late to take them back. Damage control was his best shot, planting rumors, casting doubt on those who tried to talk about where the broadcast signal came from, or other evidence of extraplanetary shenanigans, and deliberately dancing around the truth. It was bizarre, creating a social media account and figuring out how to type Latin alphabet characters on the fly, as well as monitoring his vocabulary. God, botting things was so much easier without the intergalactic (Imperial) watch dogs on his tail. Not to mention the technological difference.
His translation software even allowed him access to a few other languages, allowing his efforts to better spread beyond just the Anglosphere.
Ultimately, though, there was no way to undo this catastrophe, and that meant reaching out for help. Which he, uh. Couldn’t do.
See, this wasn’t a problem to go to the Resistance over. Given their lack of familiarity with Earth, and most of the members more-or-less being from planets which were long ago connected to the wider universe, he doubted most of his fellow rebels would understand the significance of what he’d done, let alone have the capability to help him. Really, Voltron themselves were the only ones who’d understand the gravity of this whole thing- and they deserved to know, too, considering it was footage of them which everyone on Earth had been exposed to. Alas, that option wasn’t available for him.
See, Pidge’s call hadn’t just been a catch-up, or for the younger to bitch about the Voltron Show. In between events, the Coalition had been building towards a climactic battle, revolving around the planet Naxzela. If they played their cards right, they had the chance to reclaim a third of the universe in one fell swoop. Now that the shows had concluded, the Coalition’s- and particularly Voltron’s- attention was entirely dedicated to the preparation required for such a feat, which was planned to take place in less than a movement. And their attention should be dedicated to such an event! Matt was only in charge- and sharing the responsibility, mind you- of a portion of the task, and already he had plenty on his plate. (He would probably be paying more attention to that, too, if it weren’t for the mess he’d created.) However, if he let them in on his accident, there was no way they’d take it like water on a duck’s back. At minimum, he’d be throwing a whole planet of stress onto their shoulders as they endeavored to push on like normal, which could lead to possibly fatal moments of distraction. Somehow, however, he doubted they’d take it so well. Especially considering the circumstances surrounding their departures.
(His adventures back on Earth's internet had led him to accidentally glimpsing a re-upload of an event. A large crowd gathered in front of the all-too-familiar Arizonan Garrison Base had caught Matt off-guard enough for him to forget to scroll past for a moment, just long enough to spy portraits of three very familiar faces up on a stage, right as the admiral began going on about cadets lost too soon… Yeah, he swiped away as soon as he realized what that was about.)
Anyway, he couldn’t afford to steal Voltron’s attention like that, couldn’t let this weigh over them at Naxzela. So, for at least the moment, Matt was zipping his lips. Once the battle was over- and once they hopefully won, without any extra complications- he’d be in the clear to fess up and ensure this whole conundrum got the resolution it deserved.
In the meantime… would hacking into the sorts of channels used to actually confront things like this be a better or worse idea? It’d certainly give him a more developed understanding of what Earth actually knew, but if they figured out he was there- well.
Nah, Holts don’t get caught. Cracking his knuckles, Matt got back to work.
—
Matthew Holt, astronaut extraordinaire, couldn’t lie and say he’d never hacked into classified databases before (really, he knew half the Garrison’s top secret files off the top of his head- turns out the other half were all about aliens) but apparently not knowing there’s more to the universe than your planet, and having a slightly less developed frontal lobe, makes the whole thing much more exhilarating. It was a little disorienting, in all honesty, how much easier Garrison servers were to infiltrate, compared to what he was now used to dealing with.
Same with the World Council, and its security sector. Guess that’s another thing Earth’ll have to improve on once it reaches out to the rest of the universe. For the moment, however, it served Matt quite well. His accidental broadcast had certainly spurred them into action, pages upon pages of meeting minutes and research shoved onto his screen. They’d figured out quite quickly, it seemed, that his signal wasn’t exactly the average TV program, and went straight onto trying to narrow down his location. He doubted they’d have any luck with that. Then it was meetings, meetings, meetings, an announcement about a press conference- seems the Under-Secretary-General of Global Communications used their veto to out-veto just about everyone else in the room when it came to that one- while analysts picked apart everything they could about the short clip they’d seen. Mercifully, the full sets of armor- though the helmets did the heavy lifting- blocked any attempts to eye the paladins themselves. A certain three being identified would sure blow this mess sky-high, not even considering Shiro.
Yeah, Matt had entirely fucked up on this one, but at least he didn’t fuck up that bad.
Within a couple of days, the implication of aliens was made public, and the planet collectively lost their shit. It barely took half a varga for Matt’s tech to short out its internet connection once that went live, the sheer volume of rapid social media posts too much for his tenuous connection to handle. It took a few very stressful vargas to get the signal working again, during which chaos reigned. One question seemed to take precedence as people began to process the information revealed to them: why? Why, of all things, were those few seconds of footage what aliens decided to contact them with? Matt read one very detailed theory speculating that it was an attempt by aliens to return human efforts to send valuable cultural information out into the universe, and put his head in his hands. Quiznak, kids were going to be learning about this in their history classes, weren’t they?
While the temptation to at least send an apology made Matt’s fingers twitch, he was well aware that silence was a much better policy, at least until Voltron was in the know, and could help. Anything he did to draw attention now would only cause the situation to spiral out of hand. But there was something so mortifying about such an accident being picked apart like this! So far as most of the planet was concerned, this was first fucking contact! Though, he supposed he now knew what it was like to be a celebrity in a new relationship. Except with geopolitical consequences.
(Plus, he could already see the posts flash before his eyes, that confusing enough broadcast replaced by a plain text ‘sorry’. In English.)
In addition to the center holographic screen taking up Matt’s attention, decorated with whatever section of the internet he’d narrowed in on for the moment, he had a screen up for the Garrison’s networks, as well as the World Council’s and the World Security Council’s too. When they didn’t sit directly in front of him, he’d set them to ping at any new activity, should it be related to any of the keywords he’d selected- mostly related to aliens, broadcast, you get the point, and the paladins. So when, a couple of days after the press conference, a new file connected to the ‘Lance McClain’ key phrase showed up, it quickly grabbed Matt’s attention. Initially, his stomach sunk. Had they figured out some way to identify the paladins in the video? He doubted it was possible, given the difference in technological capabilities, but the chance is never zero… Gulping, he dared to open the file.
It was a- job application. Someone with the same surname as Lance had applied to their local base. Looking at the attached photo, Matt made the safe assumption that she was a close relative. He’d check when he had the opportunity, making a mental note of the name. He frowned. She was applying for a job in communications, and so analysis was probably within her ballpark- would she have been able to tell it was Lance, even without seeing his face? Matt liked to think he knew Katie quite well, though even he’d struggle with the limits of only a few seconds of footage. Also the fact that she was acting would interfere. But Lance seemed the more flamboyant type, so perhaps that only made it more clear it was him? Or something like that. Point was, the fact that she was all of a sudden applying to that base, shortly after everything, made his classic Holt sense send out alarms. Surely there was some sort of connection there.
He hesitated for a moment, before swiping the Garrison screen into the center, shoving the ‘edit profile’ page away for the moment. Matt approved her application, sending an email from a hiring manager’s account to ensure her arrival would be anticipated. Then, he prepared the acceptance email to Ms McClain’s own account, using all the cookie-cutter phrases. (Thank WikiHow: the internet’s immortal advisor.) Just before signing off, he included the email of her new supervisor for any inquiries… and then his own, ‘in case she needed advice over issues her supervisor wasn’t able to solve’. He had a proper Garrison email and all, though not the one he’d used when he went there- they’d deleted that, after his supposed death. Regardless, it shouldn’t ring any serious alarm bells, unless she was looking for some to ring.
Sighing, Matt sent off the email, hoping this wasn’t a massive mistake. Back to business.
—
His newfound ability to make contact with Earth did leave one yet unexplored possibility: one even more tempting than apologizing for the mess he’d created. See, now that he’d figured out how to sneak his way into Earth’s telecommunication network, he was able to do a lot more than update his status (hopefully no one saw that) and engage in a fair bit of trolling. It also, well. It gave him the chance to call his mom.
It snapped his heart clean in half, knowing she likely thought all of them- him, dad, and Pidge- were dead. For as elated as he had been to reunite with Katie, the realization that mom had been left all alone (and, later, the realization that mom didn’t know her last remaining family member had gone hunting for the rest of them) was like sludge in his stomach. A thousand questions ran through his mind- had been for a long time now. He hoped, at least, that she had someone to talk to, and that she didn’t let this break her. He didn’t know what he’d do, if he played a part in ruining her.
(Single-handedly defeat the Galra Empire, perhaps. But those were plans for another day.)
In a sense, he might be able to fix that. It’d be child’s play to connect a line to her phone, and- fuck, hear her voice for the first time in far too long. If he just told her the truth, reassured her that he and Katie were alive and safe, and that they were going to find dad and reunite them all, then maybe he could help ease that pain.
He also just really, really wanted to talk to her again.
But what would Katie think, if he did that without her- especially after all this?
He stared, for a long moment, at the call button. He closed the window.
—
“Have you heard from Matt recently?” Lance asked, letting himself into Pidge’s room and flopping onto the floor unceremoniously, long limbs stretched out like a starfish. She didn’t bother to look up from her computer.
“Not in a few phoebs,” she answered absently, fingers typing at light speed. “We’ve both been busy. Why?”
“Not busy enough,” the Cuban boy muttered, before shoving his phone in her face. Pidge blinked, squinting, as she tried to make out the words before her. “He asked if I’m related to someone named Veronica.”
"Okay?"
“I am!” He squawked, somehow looking more outraged as he admitted this. “How does he know that?” Pidge stared, for a long moment, before shoving her glasses up her face.
“Does this really matter?” She shoved his phone out of her face and turned back to her computer. “I’m kind of busy right now.” She couldn’t see his face, but she felt in her soul that he was frowning.
(Damn, she thought she got rid of that thing ages ago.)
She seriously was ‘kind of’ busy, by the way. Given there were only a few vargas until they set their plan into motion, just about everyone was busy with something, in order to make sure the operation went as smoothly as possible. Adrenaline thrummed under her skin, as she thought about what they were hoping to accomplish. Damn right everyone was busy.
Well, apparently everyone except Lance.
“Yeah,” his tone hit like a dagger to the gut, and Pidge winced, suddenly swept by uneasiness. “Ronnie’s my sister, Pidge, and I was doing my best not to think about my family, but now I am thinking about them, and, like, we could die. Obviously we could die- we nearly die all the time- but, like. If I died, I’d never get to see them again, and then-” he continued on, and Pidge slowly extracted her fingers from the keys before her. Okay, maybe Lance was busy too, then. She chewed on her lip, watching him pace, wondering what to say. Man, why’d he go to her, instead of Hunk? Oh, right, Matt.
“Did Matt just now text you that?” A logical question which didn’t require acknowledging emotion. Plus ten points. Lance paused, checking the date on the text.
“I… don’t know. I don’t know what time it is.” Pidge glanced at the bottom right-hand corner of her screen, spying the answer to Lance’s conundrum- if they were on Earth.
“Well technically it’s about seven in the morning, on the thirteenth of July, but considering we’re in space-”
“Oh, then he sent this last night.”
“Wait, what?”
“Uh, I said he sent the text last night?” Lance’s face twisted into a smirk. “What, did poor little Pidgey try to contact her big bro then, only to find him too occupied talking with moi?” She gave him the dirtiest look she could muster, but the task only occupied a quarter of her mind, the rest focused on the orange glowing screen of Lance’s phone. She hadn’t paid it much attention before, but now it stood out starkly, like a hurricane alert.
“Give me that,” she demanded, already taking the phone, despite Lance’s protests. The message was still displayed. “This is SMS.”
“Uh, okay?” She sighed, pointing aggressively at the screen.
“SMS is an Earth way of communicating. It requires making contact with an SMSC and-” she shook her head. “Look, the details don’t matter. The point is, when Matt sent this message, it had to go from him to Earth, then from Earth to you. That means…” The realization lit up in Lance’s eyes. Guess there was something going on behind them after all.
“... He contacted Earth. Holy shit, he contacted Earth! To, uh, to ask about my sister?” A dark look crossed Lance’s face, as he mumbled something in Spanish under his breath.
“That can’t be it,” Pidge dismissed, her mind feeling a little like it was collapsing in on itself. “Maybe this was some roundabout way to let us know he figured out how to make contact with Earth? It can’t be because of an emergency, either- he would’ve said that otherwise.” Lance’s face bounced back to jubilance.
“So, he gave us a hint about figuring out how to contact Earth, presumably to get our spirits up?” A wide grin split his face. “I can’t wait to talk to my family again! Man, he should’ve told us after- that’s all I’ll be able to think about now.” Pidge’s lips twisted into a facsimile of a smile.
“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”
“Wait.” She squinted at the contact name. “Why do you have Matt’s number?”
“Oh, I don’t.”
“Uh, yes you do? The contact is named, Lance.”
“This is Shiro’s phone. He left it in the kitchen and I heard it ping. I was curious.” She made a face as an exaggerated look of innocence settled on the other’s features. Reading the message again, yeah, that added up.
“How’d you crack his password?” She wondered aloud, before snorting. “Never mind. He doesn’t have one, does he?” Lance just grinned, which was answer enough. “Okay, we solved the mystery. Leave me to my peace, dickhead.” He laughed, allowing himself to be ushered out, tapping away at the phone screen.
“Let me just reply, and then I’ll be back to Official Red Paladin Business, pinky promise!”
“You better!”
—
Frankly, Ellen was fuming. The Galaxy Garrison had spent decades carefully covering up all evidence of alien life, for the sake of protecting the everyday person. She’d even gone to the effort of keeping that to her institution, guarding that knowledge from even her bosses for the sake of greater good. Recent events had only further justified her in doing so. By acknowledging the existence of extraterrestrial life so frivolously, the World Council had done nothing but work the planet into a frenzy. And over a few seconds of a video!
(No, ma’am, she didn’t care that the vocalizations in the clip weren’t remotely like anything from their fair planet, and that it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world came to that conclusion too- the longer they gave themselves to prepare the better, thank you very much.)
She’d had to reorganize the next few shipments of supplies to her base, after frantic raids by citizens had looted the warehouses of her usual supplier, costing time and money that could’ve been better spent preparing for what first contact actually meant. Something she, thankfully enough, had been doing for a long time now. With no date in the calendar for when aliens would be once more turning their eyes to Earth, that was an advantage she’d take care to make the most of.
Though not one she could dedicate her focus to at the moment, since the same World Council who’d made the idiotic announcement had, just an hour prior, demanded her attendance at an ‘emergency meeting’. The phrase would have caused her eyes to roll out of her head, had she been a less controlled woman.
According to the World Council, every endeavor it personally undertook was an emergency.
Regardless, the admiral diligently made time out of her schedule, keeping her complaints for the privacy of her own mind. Taking her seat in the control room, Ellen crossed her arms over her chest, tapping one foot against the ground.
Maybe not quite saved for the privacy of her mind, then.
One of her subordinates set up the display, the face of Under-Secretary-General Qīng Tián of Global Communications: the latest source of her ire.
“Good afternoon, Admiral Sanda,” the other greeted, “I hope my meeting request hasn’t disturbed you.”
“No more than usual,” the admiral responded primly, sitting to the extent of her height. “May I inquire as to what is so… urgent?” They didn’t so much as blink at the hint of bite to Ellen’s tone, simply tilting their head in acknowledgement.
“Due to the recent situation, all communication centers have been instructed to automatically store a copy of any message they are to transmit,” the under-secretary-general informed, “and, should something about the message itself, or the location of either the sender or recipient, be unusual, an alert is to be sent to my department. This is one of the many measures we have put in place to catch extraterrestrial contact, should the party that reached out endeavor to contact us again.”
“I’m assuming you’ve picked up on something that concerns me?” Internally, her interest piqued at the implication of second contact.
“An SMS communication center received a message from an off-planet signal which seems to at least come from the same direction as the broadcast a few days ago,” Tián confirmed. SMS… Ellen frowned.
“If the alien was using SMS, they were contacting a particular person.” Someone on her base, perhaps? That would explain why she was being told this.
It also meant the alien was familiar with SMS- perhaps because they used it- and Earth’s use of it specifically. Ellen doubted any alien equivalent would so easily connect with their own networks.
“They were, though Earth seemed to only be being used as a middle-man for this contact, as the recipient was also off-planet, too far away for us to pin down. But, this time, we were able to identify the owner of the phone number.”
“So, the owner of the phone number is registered on Earth, but is currently in deep space.” You know, that almost reminded her of-
“The phone number is registered with one Takashi Shirogane. You might recognize that name.”
Ah.
Ellen did, in fact, recognize that name. Not only was it one on the memorial wall, but it was one she had, in the past, praised and scorned in equal measure. For such an amazing pilot, his condition had caused her innumerable headaches. His supposed death, too, had the same result. One of which was suddenly developing.
“So aliens have been to our solar system,” Ellen deduced, snippets of a harsh alien tongue echoing through her mind, “and potentially investigated the wreckage of the Kerberos crash.” Tián just watched her, for a long moment.
“That’s a possibility,” they acknowledged. “You might also find the contents of the message to be relevant.” A ping echoed from Ellen’s tablet, and she quickly pulled it out.
“Is Lance related to someone named Veronica McClain?”
“Lance McClain,” Ellen murmured under her breath, the boy’s funeral picture momentarily passing through her mind.
“He died in a meteor crash near your base, correct?”
“He did,” she answered on autopilot, mind racing. McClain had been one of the cadets that stole Shiro from their custody. She’d seen the footage of the alien ship leaving their planet the next day. Ellen almost heard the pieces click together in her mind.
(She’d scrutinized every pixel of that UFO. Now, thinking back on the broadcast, it seemed to match a particular individual. She wondered, if she compared that individual’s figure to what they had on record of the ex-cadets, what she might find. If she compared any of those individuals to the ex-cadets or a particular late member of staff.)
You know, the Galaxy Garrison was only meant to accept the best and brightest. Perhaps her standards had been slipping, as of late.
“Thank you for informing me of this,” Ellen finally replied, for once meaning those words wholeheartedly. “Is there anything else of relevance to know?”
“I might draw attention to a recent hire of yours.” The admiral furrowed her brow.
“I’d have to ask who you mean- I’m not aware of any new hires.” They had a few positions to fill, but she’d not been alerted to that having occurred, as much as it grated on her to admit. Alas, she was already hiding enough from the Council, best not to risk it on petty matters. Tián frowned.
“According to your base’s records, the application of Veronica McClain, sister of the deceased Lance McClain, was approved late last night.”
“How late?”
“Just past 2200, if I remember correctly.”
“That can’t be right,” Ellen refused. “Only the night guard are still active that late; no one’s approving job applications at that time.” A queasy feeling settled in her core.
“Well,” the under-secretary-general remarked, “looks like you might have a mole to hunt down.”