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The shuttle bay of the USS Camelot thrummed with pre-launch energy. The kind of barely contained chaos that lived in the bones of every starship on departure day. Cargo drones zipped overhead, weaving between scaffolds and suspended conduits. Engineers shouted diagnostics across the deck. The air smelled faintly of ionized metal and fresh polymer sealant, the scent of a vessel still new enough to gleam. The Camelot was a new ship, fresh from space dock, her hull still carrying the sheen of untested promise, and everyone on board moved with the urgency of a crew preparing to step into the unknown. Literally.
A small shuttle touched down on Pad C, its landing struts hissing as they met the deck, and the hatch slid open, letting in the last bit of crew joining the ship.
Among them, Merlin Emerysson stepped off the shuttle ramp with a single duffel bag slung over his shoulder and the vague expression that said he didn’t know what he was doing or where he should go. His boots clicked against the polished deck plating, and he paused, staring up at the vaulted ceiling where the Camelot’s internal shield grid shimmered like a net of starlight.
He swallowed. Gods, he was really here.
He had never been on a ship this large or important. Travelling vessels were much less… well, they were simpler, that’s for sure.
And, well, he’d certainly never been on a ship commanded by the son of the Fleet Admiral. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be an issue. He trusted Morgana’s judgement; he had to.
A woman broke away from a cluster of Operation officers, weaving through the launch-day chaos with practiced grace. Her uniform, with three silver pips on the right breast, the sign of a Commander, was immaculate despite the chaos, her smile warm enough to cut through Merlin’s nerves.
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Emerysson,” She said, offering her hand, “I’m Commander Guinevere Leodegrance, First Officer of the Camelot.”
Merlin shook her hand, grateful for her grounding presence, “Hi, um, thanks.”
Guinevere’s smile softened somewhat, “Mm, Arthur will be… glad you’re here, I should think.”
Merlin blinked, confused, “Will he?”
Guinevere seemed to look over his shoulder a moment, just long enough for Merlin to take note of it, “Eventually, he’ll need time.”
Before Merlin could ask what that meant, a voice cut through the bay like a blade.
“Davin, I said secure the forward cargo clamps, not admire them! Morris, if that shuttle isn’t cleared in thirty seconds, I’ll fly it out myself!”
Captain Arthur Pendragon strode into view, flanked by two harried officers. His presence hit like a shockwave; crisp uniform, sharp posture, the kind of authority that didn’t need to actually be announced. People just… paid attention to it. To him. He was mid-order to an ‘Eris’, when he finally noticed Merlin standing beside his First Officer.
Arthur stopped dead, “Who are you?”
Merlin resisted the urge to flinch; Morgana had warned him Arthur Pendragon was sharper than he looked. Merlin straightened instinctively as he responded, “Merlin, recent transfer. Your new xenolinguist.”
“My what?”
Merlin reached for the datapad in his bag, the one Morgana had told him to present if questioned, but Arthur’s stare froze him in place.
Guinevere stepped in smoothly, “High Command assigned him early this morning, did you not get the notification, Arthur?”
Arthur’s jaw tightened, “I did not.”
Merlin lifted his duffel slightly, “I can go home, if you want.”
Guinevere shot Merlin a look that said ‘please don’t make this worse.’
Arthur exhaled sharply, not quite a surrender but close, “No. You’re here now.” Arthur gestured vaguely towards the bay, as if the ship itself were a fragile artifact Merlin might accidentally detonate, “Try not to break anything.”
Merlin offered a helpless shrug, “No promises.”
There was a loud snort that echoed from across the small shuttle beside him. A gentleman with dark hair, two silver pins on his uniform. A Lieutenant, then, Merlin supposed, leaning against a crate with the relaxed posture of someone who had never*** once taken a regulation seriously.
“Oh, I like him,” The Lieutenant called out, “He’s got the right attitude for this mad mission you’re leading, Pendragon.”
Merlin flushed as Guinevere hid a smile.
Arthur did not smile, but stepped closer to Merlin, studying him with the wary intensity of a man who had been handed a puzzle he didn’t ask for.
Merlin felt the Captain’s gaze sweep over him, his rumpled uniform, his slightly un-human features, the duffel bag in his hand that looked like it had survived a meteor shower.
“You’re really a xenolinguist?” Arthur asked, skeptical.
“Yes,” Merlin said, “Well, mostly. I mean, officially. I’m trained, yeah.”
The Lieutenant laughed again.
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, “Gwen, why does High Command keep sending me people who say ‘mostly’?”
Guinevere’s voice was diplomatic perfection, “Because they trust your ability to turn ‘mostly’ into ‘exceptional,’ Captain.”
Arthur gave her a look that suggested he doubted the compliment but appreciated the effort.
A deck officer called out from the far side of the bay, “Captain! Pre-launch systems are green across all decks!”
Arthur straightened, “Good. Guinevere, finish the personnel check-ins; Gwaine, Leon, with me.” He turned to Merlin one last time, “Report to Science Deck Two once you’ve settled in, and try not to wander into restricted areas? Our Chief Science Officer, Selwyn, will figure out what to do with you.”
Merlin nodded, “Of course. I’ll only wander into slightly restricted areas, sir.”
Arthur closed his eyes briefly, as if praying for strength before turning around and walking away. Merlin noticed the Lieutenant leaning against the crate was following, which Merlin fathomed he must either be a Leon or a Gwaine. One of the two, potentially.
Guinevere leaned toward Merlin, “He’ll warm up to you, don’t worry. He’s just stressed for the launch.”
Merlin watched Arthur stride away, commanding the bay with effortless authority, “He seems rather intense.”
Guinevere laughed softly, “He’s a Pendragon, they’re all quite intense. I’ve been a friend of the family for years.”
A Blond Commander, at least that’s what Merlin could assume from the silver pips on his uniform, came up and clapped Merlin on the shoulder hard enough to jostle his duffel, “Welcome to the Camelot, Lieutenant Commander Emerysson. We’ll see you on the bridge soon enough, I’m sure.”
Merlin wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring or a threat.
But as he looked around, at Guinevere’s steady confidence and Arthur’s fierce command, the shimmering expanse of the shuttle bay… something in his chest tightened.