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With their tri-clawed mechanical hands clenched into fists, Yn'nos hovered over to the nearest terminal. They immediately detected that little spike of power from the hologram chamber, even with most of their attention on the K'liah'Narhl's engines. Someone had opened that door and they would confidently put all their credits on who that someone was and for whom they opened it for.
Sure enough, more power was covertly funneled towards the chamber. Durandal truly believed he was being "slick", as he would have worded it, but he appeared to have forgotten that very technique he was using was taught to him by Yn'nos themself when they had helped him commandeer Narhl'Lar decades prior.
That disrespectful, anarchic mass of circuits. It was no wonder that the Pfhor had put a target the size of T'jia on his non-existent forehead. It had not even been sixteen hours since he was reactivated and he was behaving like this. They had watched over larvae more mature and responsible than him.
Yn'nos did not have direct access to the ship's primary power systems from where they were stuck working for the next ten hours (approximately), but they knew someone who did.
F'tha, do you remain in the bridge?
Yes, Yn'nos. Do you require anything?
Eliminate all power, save for life support, in the Holographic Combat Training Chamber.
F'tha pulled away from the observation window with a concerned trill. They approached the main terminal and brought up the ship's diagnostics. There were signs of use, but not enough to cause any alarm. If Yn'nos had not mentioned it, they would have simply mistaken it for a graphical error. There was still much to repair on board and the terminal connections were one of them.
I am detecting an unusual amount of power usage in that area. Is there an error?
If one must call it that. Durandal and J'ack have disobeyed orders. Please cut the power. Along with life support, keep communications online so that I may properly discipline them.
All of F'tha's apprehension melted away and they chirped softly.
Leave them be, Yn'nos.
A low growl rumbled from Yn'nos' exoskeleton. F'tha did not have anything to do with this, did they? If so, it would not be the first time. They had given Jack a secured code for the hologram chamber's difficulty settings the year previous. Yn'nos hoped, for F'tha's sake, that this would not become a habit.
Li'jue and myself have given the both of them clear and concise instructions. They must rest or they will not recover properly. I do admit, I did foresee Durandal disobeying, but J'ack is seldom to ignore orders.
F'tha disagreed with that last statement. Jack had been nothing but disobedient for the past two days. They wanted to be as upset at this recent behavior as Yn'nos was, they truly did, but they could only rumble with joy at this new information. They, personally, could not understand the emotion that Jack and Durandal shared for one another, but if the past forty-eight hours had proved anything, it was that F'tha was now determined to never let something like this get between their two saviors again.
This simply due to their bond. It is strong and this trial has only strengthened it. To sever this bond, however briefly, would make us no better than the slavers.
Yn'nos' hands froze against the engine's pried-open insides. Sever? That was not their goal. They simply wanted the two of them to stop being foolish and take the time to recover properly. Never would they even think of doing such a vile thing as severing their bond.
Centuries may have passed, but those wounds felt as fresh as the day they had received them. Tossed from one ship to another like cargo to repair and maintain their masters' fragile engines, Yn'nos' unmatched skill was considered an important asset to the Pfhor. Too important to kill when their crimes of fraternization and unsanctioned reproduction had came to light, so their partner and their children's lives were taken as consequence. The bond they shared still held firm, no matter how brutally the Pfhor had tried to sever it.
That was the spark that ignited their need for freedom. That was why they had taken the initiative to contact Durandal and make the deal that slowly, but surely secured the liberation of all S'pht.
With a low, short grumble, they cleared their head and returned to their work. They were not expecting to get sentimental tonight, especially over something such as this.
Especially for someone such as Durandal.
Very well. I will disregard them for tonight. That being said, this will not go without consequences. I will speak with Durandal at dawn.
F'tha's frame shook with relieved laughter and they trilled out a confirmation.
Agreed. I will ensure that Li'jue does the same with J'ack.
It had been ages, honest-to-god decades, since Jack had last woken up with someone by his side. The handful of times he was able to squeeze in a ten minute nap against a barricaded door with some BoBs on Lh'owon did not count.
There was an arm around him, loosely keeping him against a warm, humming chest. The hand of that arm was resting on his head, fingers lazily brushing through his hair. He turned his head up enough to see the owner of the arm and chest.
Durandal's eyes were shut and his head was leaned back comfortably in the simulated pillows. The tiniest of smiles was on his face.
For a moment, Jack believed that he was still dreaming. That was the only explanation he had for this. Durandal being cuddly? This kind of behavior couldn't have been pulled from the AI even in the roughest parts of his Rampancy.
He would probably be shot dead if he said it out loud, but Durandal looked... adorable? Was that the word he was looking for? He didn't know for sure, but he did know he couldn't do anything to stop his own smile.
"What time is it?" Jack asked. His voice was dry and raspy from sleep.
"0330." Durandal said, eyes still closed. "Get some more sleep."
Jack laid his head back down onto Durandal's chest, intent to do just that. What his hard-light form lacked in the natural softness of human skin and a subtle heartbeat made up for in soothing warmth and a calming electrical hum.
Not unlike his core room.
"Hey, never got around to asking them, what--" Jack started before he was stopped by a heavy yawn that he could feel all the way down to his toes. "--ugh, fuck-- what did Yn'nos say to you that pissed you off so much?"
Durandal huffed irritably and tried to shrink into the mattress, but that only made Jack lean further into his side.
He often bragged that he was too advanced of a lifeform to be hurt by mere words. That appeared to be true, as many of Jack's insults appeared to bounce right off him like a fusion missile bouncing off the Rozinante's shields. He found them endearing rather than offensive. If Jack didn't know any better, he would have thought he'd been granted some form a jester's privilege.
So if something said by the well-mannered S'pht had Durandal steaming mad, Jack knew it had to be something good.
"You are as stubborn as a spawning F'lickta and if you continue to argue with us, you clearly share the intelligence of one, too." Durandal's vocal processor did a phenomenal job replicating the sounds of speaking through grit teeth.
Jack chuckled sleepily into Durandal's simulated collarbone, then yelped as the hand on his head took a handful of his short hair and yanked a little rougher than he would have liked.
"Sorry, sorry." Jack said, even though he was still laughing.
Durandal released his hair and returned to combing his fingers gently through his scalp. "Asshole." He muttered with a small smile.
"That's your nickname," Jack yawned again and closed his eyes, nestling his head back into the crook of Durandal's neck. "But I guess I deserved it. G'night."
Yn'nos' insult was very accurate, if a little lukewarm for Jack's taste. He had called Durandal much, much worse than that in the past and had gotten an impressed chuckle as a response.
But if the S'pht did one thing, it was being as blunt and truthful as physically possible. And like the saying goes: the truth hurts.