Chapter Text
Quick note before you begin reading: This is not a fanfiction, but a wholesome friendship story, but this interacts with the 60 Parsecs universe. For a reminder, this will not cover the true events in the 60 Parsecs game off the nuclear attack. It will include some elements from the game but not all. I'll be using my AU to this for the characters for this story.
Baby Bronco's Bio: Baby Bronco is a 29 year old man, has pale skin, ginger hair, light green eyes and a muscly build. He wears a green astronaut suit with yellow gloves, yellow boots, and a turquoise collar. He joined the Astrocitizen program for a second chance after being locked up in prison for his parents turning him in after a failed heist. Baby Bronco is kind, caring and sympathetic. He's very friendly towards the rest of the crew, though he can be dumb at times. Baby Bronco is aroace.
Emmet's Bio: Emmet Ellis is a 28 year old man, is African-American, has curly brown hair, a thin body shape, brown eyes, and wears white shield glasses, and has an orange astronaut suit with yellow gloves and boots. Seeking scientific challenge and to get away from his ungrateful job as a chemistry teacher, Emmet signed up for the Astrocitizens Program, hoping this will be the place where he can finally earn the appreciation and respect he deserves. Emmet is very bright and intelligent. He's resourceful, composed and has quick-thinking. Emmet is gay.
Date: October 14, 1959
Time: 06:30 AM
Location: Astrocitizen Program Headquarters – Main Launch Bay & Central Control Hub, Sector 4
The crisp morning air inside the cavernous concrete walls of the Astrocitizen Program Headquarters carried the distinct, heavy scent of freshly brewed dark roast coffee, ozone, and metal polish. High overhead, fluorescent lighting hummed with a low, rhythmic vibration, illuminating the towering steel scaffolding that cradled the long-range exploration shuttle.
At the base of the gantry, final preparations were underway. The trip to planet Robotofu was no minor outing; it was a multi-month scientific expedition that required maximum focus, coordination, and an absurd amount of equipment check-lists.
Deedee Dawkins stood near the primary boarding ramp, clutching a thermal mug like a lifeline. The steam rising from the cup curled around her curly blonde hair, which was tied up in a vibrant red bandana dotted with white polka dots. Her cyan spacesuit glinted under the bay lights, its bright red elbow and knee joints popping against the pale blue of her boots and collar.
"Okay, let me double-check." Deedee muttered nervously, taking a quick, frantic gulp of coffee. Her baby blue eyes darted across a clipboard. "Emergency rations, atmospheric scrubbers, extra navigation thruster fuses... Did we pack the back-up navigation fuses? Emmet, did we register the back-up fuses?"
Emmet Ellis smoothed out the crisp fabric of his bright orange suit. Adjusting his white shield glasses up the bridge of his nose, the 28-year-old former chemistry teacher pulled a sleek metal stylus from his breast pocket and tapped a line on his clipboard with calm, methodical precision.
"Rest assured, Deedee, the secondary and tertiary fuse banks were double-checked and stored in cargo bay B at nineteen-hundred hours yesterday." Emmet replied, his voice a steady, articulate cadence. His curly brown hair was parted neatly, and despite the early hour, he appeared completely composed. "Every calculation regarding payload weight and thermal threshold aligns precisely with standard operating parameters. You are thoroughly prepared."
"Oh, thank goodness..." Deedee exhaled, offering a sweet, relieved smile as she dusted a bit of imaginary lint off her suit. "You're a lifesaver, Emmet. I don't know what I'd do if we got all the way to Robotofu only to blow an indicator light."
"Nonsense! A true galactic adventurer fears no blown fuse!"
Tom Thomson swaggered over, his hands resting cockily on his hips. At thirty-six, Tom carried himself with the dramatic flourish of a pulp magazine hero. His golden-yellow suit, accented with navy blue joints, cream-colored gloves, and worn brown boots, looked meticulously polished. Pinned proudly to his chest was a makeshift badge fashioned out of recycled soup can metal, catching the light as he struck a dashing posture. His left eye was covered by a crisp leather eyepatch, while his open olive-green eye winked playfully toward Deedee.
"Should the heavens decide to throw a cosmic storm our way, I shall navigate us through the void by sheer instinct alone!" Tom declared smoothly, flashing a clever grin. "Though, I must admit, leaving behind such charming company at mission control makes the journey a far more bittersweet endeavor."
"Save the theatrical monologue for the alien lifeforms, Major." Maegan Mann chimed in, walking up behind Tom with her hands firmly planted on her hips.
At fifty-seven, Maegan was the undeniable bedrock of the crew. Wearing a deep red suit paired with a soft pink oversized collar, pine green joints, and delicate light pink boots, she radiated an aura of absolute authority. Her dark brown curly hair was styled with classic retro elegance, her amber eyes sharp behind round reading glasses, and her blush and red lipstick applied flawlessly.
She reached up and gently, yet firmly, straightened Tom's collar, pulling it into place with the practiced dexterity of someone who had raised an entire household while running a family business.
"And make sure you don't lose that tin badge of yours in the airlock again." Maegan added with a sharp wit, though a fond smile tugged at her lips. She turned her attention to Emmet and the towering figure standing right next to him. "Now, you two boys make sure you take care of this headquarters while we're away. I left detailed notes on the kitchen bulletin board regarding proper floor wax maintenance and the radio check schedule."
"We will follow your directives to the letter, Maegan." Emmet confirmed with a polite nod.
Beside Emmet stood Baby Bronco, a physical contrast in every conceivable way. At six-foot-four with a broad, muscly build, the twenty-nine-year-old gentle giant looked like he could lift a launch pad by himself. His pale skin was dusted with light freckles, his bright ginger hair fell in soft locks, and his light green eyes sparkled with a warm, earnest eagerness. He wore a vibrant green suit featuring bright yellow gloves, yellow boots, and a comfortable turquoise collar.
"Don't worry, Miss Maegan!" Baby Bronco spoke up, his voice booming with genuine warmth. He gave a huge, enthusiastic wave, his yellow-gloved hand cutting through the air. "Me and Emmet are gonna take real good care of the station! We won't let a single speck of dust get on anything! Right, Emmet?"
"Indeed, Bronco." Emmet smiled subtly, glancing up at his tall companion. "We shall maintain peak operational status."
"Hey! Don't forget this!"
April Angelle trotted down the gantry stairs, wiping a smudge of dark grease off her bronze-brown cheek with the back of her tan glove. The twenty-four-year-old mechanic rocked back on her white boots, adjusting the dark blue baseball cap resting over her curly pecan-colored hair. Her dull blue suit with turquoise collar and bendy yellow joints rustled as she slung a heavy utility kit over her shoulder.
She pulled a somewhat worn, silver flathead screwdriver from her tool belt, holding it up with a proud grin.
"Got the main engine seals tight as a drum." April announced cheerfully, her New Orleans drawl warming the chill air of the bay. "My dad gave me this screwdriver for my sixteenth birthday back at the shop, and let me tell you, it hasn't failed me once. If it can fix a stubborn V8 engine in the Louisiana heat, it can handle a rocket exhaust assembly on Robotofu!"
"A fine piece of craftsmanship, April." Emmet noted with genuine appreciation for proper tooling. "Your mechanical expertise ensures the crew's safe transit."
"Thanks, Emmet." April beamed, giving him a supportive pat on the shoulder before stepping toward the boarding hatch. "Keep the comms line clear for us, alright? We'll be beaming back data as soon as we make planetfall. And don't worry about telling us if something is failing i the ship. I can handle it and sense it on my own."
A loud, mechanical klaxon echoed through the launch bay, signaling T-minus fifteen minutes to cabin seal. The chatter settled into a moment of heartfelt farewells.
"Alright, dynamic duo." Tom said, dropping his grandiose tone for a moment to give Emmet and Baby Bronco a respectful nod. "Keep the home fires burning."
"Stay safe out there, everyone!" Deedee called out, giving a final, frantic little wave before stepping onto the gantry platform with her coffee mug securely capped.
Maegan paused at the threshold, turning back to give Bronco and Emmet one last caring, maternal look. "Eat your vegetables, keep the radios monitored, and look out for each other." Maegan instructed warmly before stepping inside.
"We will! Bye-bye! Safe trip!" Baby Bronco cheered, waving vigorously with both arms as the heavy steel airlock doors groaned and slowly began to seal shut.
Emmet stood quietly beside him, hands folded neatly behind his back, watching as the lock pressurized with a loud hiss. Within ten minutes, the massive blast shields lowered over the bay windows, and the deep, ground-shaking roar of the shuttle's primary thrusters echoed through the concrete structure. The floor vibrated beneath their boots as the expedition team lifted off, tearing into the atmosphere toward the uncharted reaches of space.
Gradually, the thunderous roar faded into a soft, distant hum, leaving the vast launch facility in a sudden, profound quiet.
Emmet adjusted his white shield glasses and turned to face the interior corridor. "Well, Bronco. The expedition is officially under way. It is time for us to assume control of central operations."
"Gee, it sure got quiet fast, didn't it?" Baby Bronco said, scratching the back of his ginger head as he followed Emmet down the brightly lit hallway. His heavy yellow boots clicked rhythmically against the polished floorboards. "It feels kind of weird with just the two of us here..."
"It is a considerable change in environment." Emmet agreed, walking with a measured, purposeful stride. "However, our responsibilities are vital. While the crew collects environmental metrics on Robotofu, we must manage signal telemetry, process incoming telemetry logs, and maintain the facility's power grid. It requires absolute focus."
They entered the Central Control Hub—a wide, retro-futuristic command center lined with bank after bank of vacuum-tube computers, glowing radar screens, flickering dial indicators, and spools of magnetic tape turning slowly on reels. The large center window offered an expansive view of the star-filled sky.
Emmet pulled out a sleek swivel chair in front of the main communications console, sitting down and flipping a series of toggle switches. A soft amber glow illuminated his face.
"I have established the primary tracking frequency." Emmet stated, adjusting a series of dials with practiced hands. "We will receive automated status pings from their vessel every four hours. In the interim, we shall maintain routine system diagnostics."
Baby Bronco walked over to the secondary console, pulling up a heavy steel chair that groaned slightly under his muscly frame. He sat down carefully, his broad shoulders resting near a cluster of green monitor lights. He looked over at Emmet, a bright, friendly smile spreading across his face.
"I'm really glad I get to do this with you, Emmet." Baby Bronco said warmly, resting his yellow-gloved hands on his knees. "You're super smart with all these buttons and numbers. I was kinda worried I'd press the wrong thing and make a big mess, but having you here makes it easy!"
Emmet paused, glancing sideways at the cheerful giant. A faint, genuine expression of warmth softened his usually composed demeanor.
"Your presence is equally appreciated, Bronco." Emmet replied smoothly. "Intelligence takes many forms, and your physical aptitude and unwavering reliability are invaluable assets to this facility. Together, our respective strengths form a highly efficient operational partnership."
"Yeah! Brains and brawn!" Baby Bronco beamed, chuckling happily as he settled back into his seat to watch the flickering green radar sweep.
For the first few hours of their shift, the station was a model of tranquil productivity. Emmet precisely logged incoming radio frequencies, cataloging atmospheric density readouts and orbital trajectories on neatly organized sheets of parchment paper. Bronco carefully followed Maegan's checklist, methodically inspecting the secondary control panels, checking emergency light battery levels, and ensuring the long-range antennae were aligned with perfection.
By 11:45 AM, the sun had reached its peak outside, casting long, geometric shadows across the console room floor. The quiet hum of the vacuum tubes created a calm, rhythmic backdrop. Everything was going smoothly. It was, by all accounts, an ideal first day on watch for the two Astrocitizens—a quiet, steady start to a long assignment under the stars.
As the clock on the control room wall ticked past noon, the steady rhythm of their routine continued uninterrupted. The heavy hum of the vacuum tubes provided a comforting background noise, and the faint smell of polished metal and ozone filled the quiet room.
Emmet meticulously recorded a fresh set of telemetry coordinates, his stylus scratching softly against his notepad. "The outbound telemetry remains entirely within predicted parameters." Emmet observed aloud, adjusting his white shield glasses. "At this velocity, the team will enter Robotofu's orbital perimeter right on schedule."
"That's swell news, Emmet!" Baby Bronco said cheerfully from his seat across the console. He was leaning forward, huge yellow gloves resting on the console edge as he carefully wiped a smudge off one of the brass indicators with a soft cloth. "I knew they'd have a smooth ride. Miss Maegan probably made sure everybody was strapped in tight before they even cleared the atmosphere."
Emmet let out a rare, quiet chuckle, capping his stylus. "A very safe assumption. Maegan's organizational discipline is unrivaled." He stood up, smoothing the front of his bright orange suit. "Given that the next data transmission will not occur for another three hours, I propose we take a brief intermission for lunch. Proper nourishment is essential for maintaining high cognitive function."
"Oh, boy, lunch!" Baby Bronco's light green eyes lit up, and he stood up so fast his heavy yellow boots made a loud squeak against the linoleum. "I can go grab those sandwiches Miss Maegan packed for us before she left. She said she put them in the breakroom icebox!"
"A logical course of action." Emmet nodded, offering a gentle smile. "I will monitor the primary receiver while you fetch them."
"Be right back, Emmet!" Baby Bronco said with an eager nod, turning toward the heavy sliding door of the central hub.
He walked down the long, quiet hallway leading toward the living quarters and mess hall. The concrete corridor was lined with thick pipes and exposed wiring, painted in the soft gray and cream tones typical of late 1950s government installations. Normally, this hallway was full of noise—Tom loudly recounting some embellished story, Deedee laughing or nervously clinking her coffee mug, or April clanking her wrench against a stray valve.
Now, with the others far away on their expedition, the silence felt heavy.
Baby Bronco pushed open the door to the breakroom. It was completely empty. The long wooden dining table where all six of them usually sat felt huge without anyone around. On the counter stood the coffee pot Deedee loved so much, turned off and cold. Beside it, a hand-written note from Maegan was pinned neatly to the icebox door:
Lunch in the cooler. Keep the counter clean. - M.M.
Baby Bronco smiled warmly at the note, opening the heavy metal door of the icebox to pull out two wrapped packages of sandwiches and two bottles of milk.
"Miss Maegan sure thinks of everything." Baby Bronco murmured to himself. He turned to head back to the control room, but as he stepped into the silent hallway, his gaze lingered on a steel door near the end of the corridor. It was the equipment storage room, but behind it lay the facility's heavy security vault—a room with thick, reinforced walls and heavy iron deadbolts.
Baby Bronco stopped dead in his tracks.
The heavy iron door looked startlingly like the cell doors at the county penitentiary where he had spent years locked away.
A sudden, sharp coldness washed over him, completely cutting through the warmth of the quiet afternoon. The gentle hum of the building's ventilation system suddenly sounded muffled, replaced in his ears by the heavy, echoing clang of iron bars slamming shut.
"You had one job, kid! Keep the bag shut!"
The voice echoed in his mind, sharp and angry. It was his father's voice, Brandon Bronco. Baby Bronco blinked hard, holding the wrapped sandwiches tightly against his chest. His heart began to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He was six years old again, standing in the dark alley behind the bank in the rain, his small hands slipping on the muddy leather canvas bag as the police sirens blared in the distance. He remembered his mother's cold eyes as she shoved him toward the flashing red lights, using him as a distraction so they could try to run. He remembered the cold steel of the handcuffs that felt way too big for his wrists, and the long, terrifying night in a holding cell while his parents blamed the entire failed heist on him to save themselves.
A six-year-old in a prison cell.
Baby Bronco squeezed his eyes shut, taking a ragged, shaky breath. No, no... that was a long time ago, he thought desperately, trying to force the memories back down. I'm twenty-nine now. I'm an Astrocitizen. I'm helping Emmet.
He looked down at his yellow-gloved hands. Even inside the thick, bright astronaut suit, he suddenly felt small, clumsy, and utterly out of place. Why had they let him join the program? He was just a dumb ex-con who messed up everything he touched. If anything ever went wrong on this station, if a radio broke or a system failed... it would be his fault, just like before. He wasn't a real team member. He was just a liability they felt sorry for.
"Bronco?"
Emmet's clear, composed voice cut through the fog in his head.
Baby Bronco flinched, opening his eyes. Emmet was standing at the end of the hall near the central hub entrance, holding a clipboard under his arm. He had come to check on him when the sandwiches took longer than expected.
Emmet's keen brown eyes behind his white shield glasses instantly picked up on the tension in Baby Bronco's posture—the hunched shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on the lunch packages, and the faint, troubled shadow across his light green eyes.
"Is everything alright?" Emmet asked softly, his tone completely devoid of judgment, stepping forward with calm, measured steps.
Baby Bronco forced a quick, nervous smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He lifted the packages hastily. "Oh! Yeah! Everything's great, Emmet! I just... I got the sandwiches! Roast beef, just like Miss Maegan said!"
Emmet paused, studying his tall companion for a brief second. He recognized the look. It wasn't confusion or physical tiredness; it was the quiet, sudden weight of a heavy memory. But rather than pressing him immediately, Emmet simply adjusted his glasses and offered a calm nod.
"Excellent." Emmet replied smoothly, gesturing back toward the control hub. "Let us head back inside. The primary console is quiet, and the radio telemetry is clear. We have plenty of time."
"Right behind you, Emmet." Baby Bronco said quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he followed the sharp, intelligent chemistry teacher back into the glowing room, the dark memory still trailing right behind him like a persistent shadow.
Time: 01:15 PM
The quiet return to the Central Control Hub carried a noticeable change in the room's atmosphere. The steady, rhythmic click of the magnetic tape reels and the soft, amber glow of the vacuum tubes usually offered a sense of predictable routine, but for Baby Bronco, the tall steel instrument panels suddenly felt imposing. He placed the wrapped sandwiches and milk bottles onto a small side table near the primary tracking station, his movements cautious and far too careful for a man of his size.
"Thank you, Baby Bronco." Emmet said, taking a seat at his designated workstation. He unspooled a fresh paper printout from the telemetry receiver, his white shield glasses reflecting the faint green glow of the radar screen. "The signal from the expedition craft remains exceptionally stable. At fourteen-hundred hours, we will initiate the routine check-in broadcast."
"That's real good, Emmet." Baby Bronco replied, his voice lacking its usual boisterous energy.
He sat down at his desk, his yellow-gloved hands resting flat on his knees. He stared blankly at the primary radio dial, his mind trailing right back to the dark corridor and the cold steel door of the vault. The memory felt heavy, pressing down on his chest until every breath felt forced.
A six-year-old in a prison cell.
The phrase kept repeating in his head like a scratched record. He looked down at his vibrant green suit and the bright yellow boots he was so proud of when he first signed his Astrocitizen paperwork. Back then, it felt like putting on a shiny new identity—a real fresh start where nobody knew him as the botched-heist kid whose own parents traded him to the law to buy themselves a few extra minutes of freedom. But standing in the empty facility today, surrounded by sophisticated equipment he barely understood, the bright green suit felt less like a uniform and more like a costume.
You don't belong here, the quiet voice in his head whispered. You're just brawn. The second something goes real wrong, you're going to break it, just like always.
Across the console, Emmet carefully unwrapped his sandwich, taking a small, deliberate bite before placing it neatly on a paper napkin. His sharp brown eyes never truly left his companion. Emmet was a man who noticed details—it was what made him an exceptional chemist and a sharp teacher. He noticed the slight slump in Bronco's usually broad shoulders, the way his light green eyes avoided the glowing dials, and the faint, nervous tremor in his yellow gloves.
Emmet picked up his stylus, tapping it rhythmically against his clipboard once, twice, before setting it down.
"Baby." Emmet began, his tone composed, calm, and utterly free of pressure. "According to the facility's maintenance logs, the secondary high-frequency receiver in Rack C requires a routine recalibration before our fourteen-hundred hour check-in. It involves a rather precise manual adjustment of the main copper core."
Baby Bronco blinked, turning his head slowly toward Emmet. Panic flickered across his pale face. "Oh... gee, Emmet, are you sure you want me touching the core? That sounds real delicate. What if I twist it the wrong way and break the whole radio? Maybe... maybe you should do it. You're the smart one. I might just mess it up."
Emmet adjusted his glasses, looking directly at Baby Bronco with steady, unbothered eyes." While it is true that I possess a thorough theoretical understanding of electromagnetic resonance, the copper housing on the Rack C assembly is an older, heavy-cast military model. It requires approximately forty-five foot-pounds of manual torque to align the primary housing—a physical threshold that exceeds my own structural capacity."
He gestured toward the tall metal cabinet in the corner of the hub. "I can calculate the exact degree of rotation required, Bronco, but without your strength, the core cannot be secured. The task cannot be completed by one of us alone. It requires both of us."
Baby Bronco looked from Emmet to the heavy steel rack. His chest tightened, but the absolute sincerity in Emmet's voice acted like an anchor, pulling him out of the spiraling memories.
"You... you need my help with it?" Baby Bronco asked quietly.
"I am stating a simple, objective fact." Emmet replied smoothly, standing up and grabbing a small steel wrench from his tool kit. "The Astrocitizen Program did not select individuals based on a single uniform trait. It selected us because our combined attributes form a complete system. Your strength is not a hazard, Baby Bronco. It is an essential component of this facility."
Baby Bronco stared at Emmet for a long moment. The heavy weight in his chest didn't vanish completely, but the cold edge of it began to soften. He stood up, his massive frame towering over the console, and took a deep breath.
"Okay." Baby Bronco said, a tiny spark of his usual warmth returning to his eyes as he walked over to Rack C. "Tell me which way to turn it, Emmet. I'll hold it steady as a rock."
"Precisely thirty degrees clockwise." Emmet said, stepping up beside him with the dial gauge. "On my mark."
"Hold it right there." Emmet instructed, his brown eyes laser-focused on the fluctuating needle of the brass frequency meter. He leaned in closer, his white shield glasses reflecting the faint, rhythmic amber pulse of the vacuum tubes inside the open housing. "Hold... hold... perfect. Right at forty-five megacycles. Secure the lock-nut."
Baby Bronco held the heavy copper core completely motionless with one yellow-gloved hand, his muscly frame barely straining under the effort. With his other hand, he carefully tightened the side bolt until it clicked firmly into place. He released his grip slowly, taking a step back as if afraid his sheer size might knock the delicate alignment out of balance.
The high-frequency receiver let out a low, smooth chime, and the static on the speaker melted into a clean, hum-free audio signal.
"A textbook calibration." Emmet declared, pulling a small linen handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe a faint trace of machine oil from his stylus. He looked up at Baby Bronco, offering a sharp, appreciative nod. "Your manual control was accurate within less than a millimeter. Had I attempted to torque that housing myself, the internal threads almost certainly would have stripped under uneven pressure."
Baby Bronco looked at his large hands, flexing his yellow fingers. The warm glow of the console lit up his pale skin and ginger hair. A genuine, broad smile finally broke across his face, pushing away the lingering shadows of the silent hallway. "Gee... thanks, Emmet. I was real worried I'd crush it like an old soup can."
"You possess a refined sense of spatial awareness, Bronco." Emmet said smoothly, walking back toward the primary command station and pulling up his notes. "Do not mistake physical strength for a lack of precision. In scientific endeavors, raw power without control is useless, but theoretical knowledge without the means to apply it is equally inert. We are an equilibrium."
"An eq-ui-lib-ri-um." Baby Bronco repeated slowly, testing the word on his tongue with a warm chuckle. "I like the sound of that. It sounds real official."
Emmet checked the large brass clock on the control room wall. The sweeping second hand ticked steadily past the hour mark.
Time: 02:00 PM
"Right on schedule." Emmet noted, flipping the heavy main toggle switch on the central console. The overhead communications array hummed to life, sending a high-powered radio beam piercing through the Earth's atmosphere, straight toward the distant coordinates of the Robotofu expedition craft.
For a few tense seconds, the central speaker hissed with the vast, empty static of deep space. Then, through the crackle, a familiar, slightly anxious voice broke through the speaker.
"—testing, testing! Central Hub, do you read us? This is Deedee! Oh, please tell me the long-range transmitter is working, I think I almost dropped my mug when the static started—"
Baby Bronco leaned toward the microphone, his face lighting up with absolute delight. "We hear you loud and clear, Deedee! It's Baby Bronco and Emmet!"
"Oh, thank goodness!" Deedee's relieved sigh was audibly clear over the comms line. "Everything is smooth sailing up here! Tom is currently trying to write a heroic ballad about our takeoff, and Maegan is making us all re-check our safety harnesses for the third time."
"Tell those two landlubbers in control that Major Thomson has the stars well under control!" Tom's dramatic voice echoed faintly in the background, followed by the sharp sound of Maegan snapping a clipboard shut.
"Ignore him, Emmet. He's been going at it like this since we left." Maegan's voice crisp and clear over the speaker. "Make sure you boys are keeping the station secure. Did you eat your lunch?"
"We sure did, Miss Maegan!" Baby Bronco called out happily, glancing at Emmet, who gave him a subtle, approving nod. "Roast beef! And Emmet and me just fixed up the Rack C core so we can hear you real good!"
"Good, boys. Splendid work! Already keeping things up to par until we return." Maegan said warmly. "We're preparing to enter the first gravitational slingshot vector. We'll check in again at eighteen-hundred hours. Keep down the fort."
"And keep an eye on my toolbox in the workshop, Emmet! Don't let Baby Bronco use my sixteenth-birthday screwdriver as a pry bar!" April's energetic voice chimed in, accompanied by the background clatter of wrenches.
"I won't touch it, April, I promise!" Baby Bronco laughed, waving at the speaker as if they could see him through the radio waves.
"Signing off for now, Central Hub. Out." Deedee concluded, and with a final crackle of static, the line returned to its quiet, rhythmic hum.
Emmet clicked the microphone off, marking the logbook with precise, fluid strokes of his pen. He turned in his swivel chair to face Baby Bronco, his expression calm and settled. "Communication successful, Baby." Emmet stated, resting his hands neatly on the console edge. "All systems operating at peak efficiency."
Baby Bronco pulled his heavy chair up beside Emmet's desk, sitting down with a satisfied sigh. The quiet of the facility didn't feel cold or scary anymore; the empty halls were no longer a reminder of old iron bars, but simply space waiting for their team to return. Looking at the glowing dials and the steady radar sweep, Baby Bronco felt his shoulders relax completely. He was right where he was supposed to be—standing guard at the edge of the unknown, side by side with a friend who saw him for who he truly was.
Time: 09:45 PM
Location: Astrocitizen Program Headquarters – Baby Bronco's Sleeping Quarters, Living Wing B
The deep, heavy stillness of the night had completely swallowed the facility. Outside the narrow, reinforced viewport of the sleeping quarters, the desert sky was a vast ocean of ink, sprinkled with thousands of cold, distant stars. The only sound in the small room was the low, electric hum of the radiator beneath the window and the faint, rhythmic ticking of the wall clock mounted near the metal doorframe.
Baby Bronco sat on the edge of his narrow steel cot, his massive frame hunched forward. He had stripped off his bright green spacesuit, leaving him in a pair of simple gray cotton thermal pajamas. Without the vibrant yellow gloves and thick, colorful padding of his uniform, he felt strangely bare, vulnerable, and far too big for the small, stark room.
He rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his large, calloused hands. His bright ginger hair hung down in messy tufts, catching the faint blue moonlight streaming through the windowpane.
He had tried to go to sleep over an hour ago. He had fluffed his pillow, tucked the heavy wool blanket around his toes, and closed his eyes, hoping to drift off with the comforting thought of Deedee's cheerful voice or the precise, reassuring steady cadence of Emmet's operational updates. But every time his eyes closed, the darkness in his room shifted into something far older, colder, and terrifyingly familiar.
The quiet night made the memories louder. In the dark behind his eyelids, he wasn't twenty-nine years old sitting in a modern space agency base. He was six years old again, shivering in the backseat of a stolen sedan, smelling stale tobacco smoke, cheap grease, and cold rain.
"Hold the bag, kid. Keep your mouth shut and don't drop it unless I tell you to."
Brandon Bronco's harsh, raspy voice echoed in his ears as clearly as if the man were standing right next to his cot. Baby Bronco's hands squeezed into tight fists, his knuckles turning white. He remembered the weight of that heavy canvas bag, stuffed with stolen bonds and rolls of cash from the bank teller's drawer. He remembered how his small six-year-old fingers had cramped from holding onto the rough handles, terrified that if he dropped it, his father would smack the back of his head.
Then came the red flashing lights... The screech of tires on wet asphalt. The sudden, blinding glare of police searchlights cutting through the dark alley where the getaway car had hit a dead end.
"He did it! He's the one who grabbed the bag! We didn't want no part of this!"
Katy Bronco, his mother's cold, hysterical voice cut through the memory like a rusted knife. Bronco flinched, a sharp, physical pain tightening in his chest. She had pushed him out of the car door first, shoving her own tiny six-year-old son directly toward the armed officers, using the confusion to try and vault over the chain-link fence behind the alley.
They hadn't even looked back at him. Not once...
Baby Bronco opened his eyes, gasping for air as if he had just surfaced from cold water. He stared down at his large, pale hands, trembling in the faint moonlight.
"I was just a kid..." Baby Bronco whispered softly into the empty room, his voice cracking with a quiet, heartbreaking despair. "I didn't even know what a heist was..."
But the court hadn't cared. The system hadn't cared. To the juvenile hall guards, the county judges, and the older inmates at the penitentiary where he eventually spent his youth, he was just a criminal. A heavy, dumb brute meant to be locked away where he couldn't cause any more trouble. Years in reformatories and concrete cells had taught him one primary lesson: he was a mistake. A mess-up. A liability.
He looked over at the corner of his room, where his green suit hung on a heavy metal rack. The yellow gloves dangled limply from the sleeves.
When the Astrocitizen Program had accepted his application for a second chance, he thought he could leave that cold, dark alley behind forever. He thought if he wore the bright colors, smiled big enough, and tried as hard as he could to be polite and helpful, the past would just dissolve away.
But sitting alone in the dark while the rest of the crew was out among the stars, the truth felt terrifyingly obvious to him. He was just pretending. What if he ruined this too? What if his clumsy strength caused an accident on the base while Emmet wasn't looking? What if the others came back from Robotofu, looked at him, and finally realized that beneath the bright yellow boots and green fabric, he was still just that same unwanted, worthless kid from the police report?
A tear welled up in his light green eyes, trailing slowly down his freckled cheek. Baby Bronco wiped it away angrily with the back of his hand, leaning his head back against the cold concrete wall. The heavy silence of the night pressed in on him from all sides, suffocating and vast, leaving the gentle giant utterly alone with the ghosts of a past he couldn't outrun. This surely was gonna be a long night for him...
End of Chapter 1
https://www.wattpad.com/1655662332-starlight-and-second-chances-baby-bronco-and-emmet