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Karkat looks up at the ship. The USS
Curiosity
isn’t big by Federation standards--or Alternian ones, for that matter--but it’s still sizable enough to comfortably house a hundred and fifty crewmembers. It’s a little daunting. But if he’d let
daunting
stop him, he wouldn’t be here in the first fucking place, would he? And if he panicked and found a broom closet somewhere to hyperventilate in, instead of boarding the ship he spent years training to earn a place on, Kanaya would never let him hear the end of it. So he walks over to the security officer standing in front of the boarding ramp and clears his throat.
“Doctor Karkat Vantas, Lieutenant junior grade, requesting permission to board.”
The security officer looks down at him, glancing over at the PADD in her hand to make sure he’s who he says he is. Not like it’s exactly hard to pick the only Alternian in Starfleet out of a crowd, but the Fleet sure does love its regulations.
After a second, she nods. “Permission granted. Welcome aboard, Doctor.”
Karkat climbs the ramp leading up and into the
Curiosity’s
cargo bay, trying to ignore his heart hammering in his chest. It’s just a hundred and fifty people. Whose lives and health he will be directly responsible for.
God.
The Captain—Rose Lalonde—is waiting for him at the top of the ramp, hands clasped behind her back.
“Welcome aboard,” she says, smiling politely at him. “I hope the trip to the space station was pleasant?”
Karkat shrugs, trying to assess her without seeming too obviously wary. Humans don’t like it when you blatantly scope them out as potential enemies. “It was a shuttle ride from Earth, sir. Nothing spectacular about it either way.”
Captain Lalonde nods and turns around, gesturing for him to follow. “Then we can get right into the tour, if you’ll follow me.”
Karkat nods and falls into step behind her, glancing around the ship as they go. He doesn’t know much about Captain Lalonde, outside of a medical standpoint. He knows she’s a lot harder on people smuggling liquor onboard than other captains. But he doesn’t know what she’s like as a
person.
How she handles command. How she’ll react to having Karkat, out of all the possible candidates, as her newest medical officer.
“This is, obviously, the cargo bay. We store our cargo here.”
Karkat snorts. “You don’t say.”
“I know, it’s all extremely titillating. We’ll head to engineering next, introduce you to everyone there, and visit the various departments as we make our way around. We’ll be a bit more thorough with the visit to Sickbay, make sure you’re familiar with the layout here and introduce you to your commanding officer. After that, I’ll give you a tour of the bridge and show you to your quarters. By then your things should be in your room.”
Karkat nods, again. He never did learn when not to run his fucking mouth, but there’s honestly not a lot to say. He’s busy taking in the details of the starship that’s going to be his home for the foreseeable future. Out on the border of Federation space, with a hundred and forty-nine strangers, for months on end.
He spins the jade ring on his pinky finger and tries to ignore the way his throat suddenly feels tight.
Engineering is...weird. Well. Engineering
itself
is bog fucking standard as far as a Fleet starship is. The warp core pulses with eerie blue light, a surreal inorganic alternative to the Empire’s helming techniques. Not that Karkat ever actually
saw
a Helmsblock, outside of movies, but still. Inside the Federation, there’s nothing unusual about the warp core. It’s not even malfunctioning.
The hushed whispers and poorly-concealed stares he’s getting aren’t what’s weird, either. It would be more unusual if no one reacted to the Alternian running around in a Starfleet uniform. They
are
at war, after all. Karkat’s spent twelve fucking years of his life proving he wasn’t going to run back to the Empire, but—whatever. He’s used to it.
No, what’s unusual is the fucking dog-woman literally barking instructions at the engineers. Her long black hair is done up in a messy bun, and poking out from it are two fuzzy white ears.
Theoretically, Karkat knew all this already. Lieutenant Commander Jade Harley, head of engineering. Apparently, she’d had a transporter accident with her dog during an ill-advised experiment and ended up like this. That kind of shit made her file one of the more memorable ones he’d skimmed, but reading about it in her file was an entirely different thing from watching her tail—she has a
tail
—start wagging as soon as she catches sight of Lalonde.
“Captain!” Harley beams, turning the full force of her grin towards Karkat. “We’re just getting started with maintenance, but everything is looking shipshape so far. Are you showing the new meat around?”
He grimaces. Captain Lalonde laughs quietly and steps to the side, turning slightly towards him.
“Yes, I am.” She nods at them both. “Commander Harley, this is Doctor Vantas. Do try not to pulverize him too thoroughly.”
“Oh please,” Karkat grumbles, “I do not
pulverize.”
Harley throws her head back with laughter, holding her hand out to shake once she recovers. Somewhat begrudgingly, he notes that at least her grip is firm. You know, for a human. Mostly-human. Whatever.
“It’s good to have you onboard, Doctor.” Her left ear twitches. It’s
almost
where horns would be, on a troll. It’s incredibly uncanny. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Thanks.” Karkat tries not to make too much of a face.
Everyone’s
heard of him, he’s one of two Alternians in the entire fucking Federation and the only one in the Fleet. Of course she’s heard of him. Past Karkat would have loved this kind of thing, all the positive attention. Past Karkat was such a stupid piece of shit.
They talk for a little more, just mindless nonsense. Being a member of the Fleet involves so much more mindless nonsense and nodding and “yes, sir”s than the glitzy recruitment holovids ever show. But eventually, Lalonde does free him from small talk purgatory, continuing along to the next stop on the tour. Thank fuck.
“I’ll show you the recreation deck next,” she says, walking briskly towards the turbolift. “This ship is small enough that the mess hall, holodeck, and recreation room are all on the same level. You’ll need to book holodeck time in advance, though, I’m afraid. It’s an awfully popular locale.”
Karkat snorts. He has less than zero interest in running around on the holodeck. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The ship is fairly small, but it still takes longer than Karkat expected to tour the ship. He’s been walking around and gritting his teeth through polite small talk for over an hour now, and it’s starting to get to him. They haven’t even toured Sickbay yet.
When Captain Lalonde leads him into the turbolift again, Karkat tries to sag against the wall as subtly as possible. He just needs...a fucking second, okay. One second that isn’t standing around or walking around or jogging to keep pace with this madwoman of a captain. She’s not even that much taller than him. Why does she walk so fucking fast.
She notices, because of course she does. The universe can’t stop dumping steaming loads of shit onto Karkat for one goddamn second, lest he start to think he might
actually
catch a break one of these days.
“Are you all right?”
He straightens back up, ignoring the ache in his chest, and nods. “I’m fine, Captain. Won’t happen again.”
She arches an eyebrow at him. “You are aware there are no accolades for pointlessly exhausting yourself, yes? I was briefed on the complications arising from your…”
Forgetting where he is and who he’s talking to, Karkat makes a derisive noise and rolls his eyes. “You can say mutation.”
“I was going to say condition,” Captain Lalonde says.
“Well, don’t,” he snaps, bracing himself for a reprimand that doesn’t come.
The turbolift comes to a halt and they both step out of it, but she doesn’t lead him anywhere. He hates that it’s actually helping him catch his breath. The last thing Karkat needs is
pity
from his commanding officer. It’s worse than the fucks who’re scared of him. At least he can
use
the intimidation.
“As I was saying,” Lalonde continues, “I was briefed on your...mutation, as soon as you were assigned to my ship, Doctor. I admit I was being overzealous with the pace I set, but there is no punishment here for asking for accommodations.”
“With all due respect, Captain,” Karkat says, trying and mostly succeeding at keeping the annoyance out of his voice, “I don’t need accommodations. I’m not going to pass out on your floor.”
Lalonde makes a thoughtful noise. “I wonder how you’d react to one of your patients saying that?”
Karkat growls under his breath, but—ugh. She has a point, and judging by the upward quirk of her mouth, she fucking knows it, too.
“Fine.” He inclines his head at the hall, towards where he assumes Sickbay is. “A chair or stool or something would be. Nice. I guess. Once we’re not loitering around in a walkway accomplishing nothing, I mean.”
Captain Lalonde nods and turns around, setting off down the hall. Karkat notices—begrudgingly—that she’s slowed her pace somewhat. It helps, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.
“I’ll have you know, a captain never loiters on her own ship.”
Karkat scoffs before he can think better of it. “I would beg to differ, sir.”
Lalonde’s smile widens almost imperceptibly at that, the corners of her eyes wrinkling with amusement.
She is really nothing like what he was expecting.
When they get to medbay, Karkat expects to be made to sit on a biobed, as if needing to rest just from walking around wasn’t fucking shameful enough. But Captain Lalonde turns to the nurse on duty, clearing her throat to get his attention.
“Would you get Doctor Vantas here a seat, please?”
The nurse nods and disappears behind a wall, likely heading towards the office. He returns a few moments later, chair held aloft to avoid ramming it into the biobeds. Following behind him is a woman with short black hair and red-rimmed glasses.
“Ah! Captain. Goodness, I wondered who was making off with my furniture. You’re a bit later than I was expecting.”
The nurse sets down the chair, going back to whatever it is he was doing, and Karkat tries not to look too pathetic as he sinks down into it. He really
might
have passed out on Lalonde’s floor, if he’d had to finish the tour without a break. Shit.
“Yes, well, you know punctuality was never one of my strong suits.” Lalonde shrugs, not bashful in the slightest. “Anyway, Doctor Crocker, this is Doctor Vantas. Vantas, Crocker. She’s our Chief Medical Officer. You’ll be working directly under her while you serve aboard the
Curiosity.”
Karkat nods, touching two fingers to his forehead in a salute. Crocker smiles at him and inclines her head.
“It’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, “I run a tight ship, but I’m sure you’re more than up for the task.”
Panic briefly spikes in Karkat’s gut as he considers the possible ways he could respond to that. He doesn’t want to sound like a cocky fuck with his head terminally rammed up his ass, and he
definitely
doesn’t want to sound like an incompetent piece of shit.
“Yes, sir, you can count on me.” Ugh, at least spouting canned garbage is better than his other options. Marginally. Maybe.
Crocker details where everything is located and how she'd like Sickbay to be managed while he's on duty. Afterwards, oh joy, there is yet more god damn motherfucking small talk. At this point, Karkat almost wishes he
had
passed out, just so he could skip sitting and talking about inconsequential bullshit for way too damn long.
Humans.
It could, maybe, possibly also be because Lalonde’s trying to give him enough time to catch his breath, but--eugh. For the sake of his ego, he’s going to choose to believe it’s because humans have a species-wide fondness for pointless chatter. And it’s not like he doesn’t have a wealth of evidence backing this theory! Humans love to run their fucking mouths. So does Karkat, sure, but it’s just as annoying when he does it.
Lalonde does eventually release him from pointless chit-chat limbo, and they start to make their way towards the bridge. At a slower pace that Karkat is going to pretend not to notice. It gives him a chance to really look at the ship that’s going to be his home, at least. The
Curiosity
feels...sterile, and not just inside the confines of Sickbay. Every corridor is clean, precise lines and crisp edges with no room or allowance for clutter. Karkat likes his space to be neat, but fuck. The Academy really wasn’t exaggerating how strictly maintained a starship is. In space, there’s no room for excess. It’s unsettling.
Karkat misses the bright colors and obnoxious abstract disaster that is Kanaya’s interior decorating. It almost makes him wish he’d taken one of her plants onboard to keep in his quarters, even though he knows he’d just fuck up and kill it in a week. At least it’d be
something.
While they’re in the equally-sterile and brightly lit turbolift, Lalonde’s combadge chirps, informing her that the ship’s routine maintenance is complete, the cargo is loaded, and they’ve been cleared to leave the space station.
Lalonde acknowledges them and turns to Karkat. “I’m afraid we’ll have to briefly pause the tour once we reach the bridge, but it shouldn’t take terribly long at all. I hope you don’t mind.”
Karkat shrugs. “I’m sure I could find my quarters on my own, Captain. That’s the only place left, isn’t it?” It would certainly make him less antsy than standing on the bridge like a useless fuck while everyone else is doing their jobs.
“I’d really like to escort you there myself, actually. It wouldn’t do to abandon the tour part way through, would it?” Captain Lalonde’s smile is all teeth.
At first, Karkat thinks maybe she doesn’t trust him alone on her ship. But that—ugh, that doesn’t make sense. Even if she
was
one of the assholes who doesn’t respect that he’s spent years proving his loyalty to the Federation, over and fucking over, it’s just not
possible
for her to follow him around the ship. A captain’s job doesn’t really leave room for her to babysit any one crewmember.
The fact that she’s insisting on having him on the bridge for some unknown reason isn’t any more comforting, though. He’s not going to outright
say
shit to her; he’s a belligerent asshole, but he’s not an idiot. He’ll just. Try not to have a panic attack on her bridge.
“Yes, Captain,” Karkat says, nodding deferentially at her in that way humans like, even though it makes him point his horns at her. He might not have the kind of rack that could gore someone, but he’s been told he gives a mean headbutt.
The turbolift comes to a halt and they both step out, into an array of display screens and lights so bright Karkat instinctively flinches. Fucking diurnal species with suns that won’t roast them to a crisp.
“Captain on the bridge!” Someone calls out. Karkat squints through the absurd brightness, and they—he—comes into focus.
He’s a Vulcan, judging by the pointed ears and upswept eyebrows, but he’s incredibly pale for one. White hair, pasty greenish skin—oh. Karkat realizes who this is just before Lalonde has the chance to introduce him.
“Doctor Vantas, this is Lieutenant Dave Strider. He’s the
Curiosity’s
communications officer.” She smiles at Strider, the expression more warm than Karkat’s seen out of her all day.
He suspects that’s because Lieutenant Strider is Captain Lalonde’s half-brother. Having him serve on her ship...it’s not protocol, but what little Karkat knows about it seems to imply it’s just one of those things everyone knows about but no one acknowledges. Not like
he’s
going to be the dumb motherfucker to point it out. Aside from that, most of what Karkat knows about Strider is medical; he’s almost as unusual as Harley in that respect. He’s half-Vulcan, half-human, with all the medical complications and careful monitoring that entails, but he’s hardly the first hybrid born from those species. On top of that, he’s albinistic—which explains the paleness and the sunglasses he’s wearing while on duty. Karkat can’t blame him. The bridge is too damn bright even for someone who
isn’t
photophobic.
“Sup,” Strider says, getting up out of his seat to greet him, and,
oh,
Karkat hates him already. Not only is that a ridiculously causal way to greet a crewman, this piece of shit is
tall.
Not as tall as Kanaya, probably kind of short by Vulcan standards, but still taller than Karkat by at least a foot. The fucking audacity.
“Nothing is
sup,
that barely even deserves the dignity of a response,” Karkat snaps, realizing an instant later that Lalonde is still standing right next to him. He has
got
to stop running his fucking mouth. It’s going to get him court-martialed and/or punched.
But Dave just laughs, this quiet puff of breath; it would be guffawing from any other species, Karkat’s sure. It’s weird seeing even
that
much emotion from a Vulcan, but—maybe it’s his human side or something. Lalonde smirks, the tiniest upward quirk of her lips, and Karkat feels himself relax almost imperceptibly. Okay. The weirdo siblings that outrank him don’t vehemently hate when he says shit like that. It’s a little surreal, given what Karkat knows of the Imperial Fleet and how they’d handle lowblood scum speaking out of turn, but he’ll take it.
Lalonde introduces him to the rest of the bridge crew in turn, briskly rattling off names and ranks and vague details about their personal lives, like
did you know, so-and-so can play the clarinet?
Bluh. Karkat doesn’t fucking care.
Eventually she finishes off the introductions with her first officer, John Egbert. He’s a pilot who plays the piano in his spare time, blah blah blah.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Doctor,” he says, holding out his hand. No sane person should be grinning
that
widely over being introduced to Karkat of all people. It’s unsettling, even if Egbert doesn’t have fangs to bare.
“Uh. Likewise.” Karkat shakes his hand and tries not to cringe over how stupid and awkward he sounds.
The Commander’s grip is pretty firm, for a human. Karkat suddenly has a brief, irrational impulse to challenge him to an arm wrestling match. His treatments have helped him bulk out a lot from the scrawny wiggler he was when he fled Alternia, but Egbert looks like he actually
works out.
Probably better not to embarrass himself on his first day on the job.
After the standard introductions and pleasantries, Lalonde and Egbert lose interest in him, turning their attention towards leaving the space station. They both take their seats, Egbert apparently at the helm. At least Lalonde sits in the Captain’s chair where she belongs.
While they go about giving orders and confirming with the space station that they’re cleared to leave, Karkat tries to ignore the lingering glances he’s getting and shifts uncomfortably. He fucking hates standing around like a useless piece of shit. If she’d let him go to his quarters or to Sickbay he could at least be doing something while he’s being gawked at, but oh no, Lalonde has to swing her metaphorical bulge around.
...It is kind of impressive to watch through the viewport as the
Curiosity
glides out of its dock and into open space, leaving the station behind. But like hell is he ever going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that.
Lalonde chats amiably with the bridge crew as John steers them away from the space station. Lalonde
continues
to chat amiably with the bridge crew as she takes them to warp, rattling off coordinates for whatever section of empty space they’ll be stuck in. Once she starts to stroll around the bridge, peering over her officer’s shoulders and giving instructions, Karkat decides she’s forgotten he’s there. Either that, or it’s some kind of power play to see how long he’ll stand around like a moron before he dares question her. The outcome is the same either way, isn’t it?
After what feels like a thousand years, she glances up from the conn, locking eyes with Karkat and smirking. He’s starting to think “smug” is her default expression.
“Doctor, if you and Lieutenant Strider would join me in my ready room for a moment, please?”
Oh, god. Karkat stamps down on the irrational, anxious fear that this is it, the Academy was all an elaborate ruse and now Lalonde and her obnoxious tall brother are going to toss him out of an airlock.
“Yes, sir.”
Strider gets out of his seat and follows along at a leisurely pace. It’s such an obvious affectation it makes Karkat’s eyelid twitch. He’s tall enough to outpace them both, what kind of douche deliberately moseys along like that? Ugh.
Captain Lalonde leads them into her ready room and takes a seat at her desk, nodding towards the two chairs in front of it. Karkat sits down like a normal person who understands the chain of command, but Strider decides to sit on her desk like a poorly-trained dog.
“Off,” Lalonde says with entirely too much cheer, absently swatting at him. It’s not helping the dog impression. Strider goes without much fuss, settling down in his chair and glancing sidelong at Karkat. Lalonde clears her throat, suddenly all seriousness.
“Lieutenant, Doctor, I’m sure you were both briefed on the details of your duties on this ship, yes?”
Oh. Oh, shit. Karkat nods, swallowing. He’d been briefed, and he’d agreed to do this, but--but he’d taken the information and filed it away somewhere in the back of his mind where he didn’t have to think about it. Starfleet already feels unreal as it is. He hasn’t had time to process it all.
“Excellent. I’m going to run over this one more time, gentlemen, because this is not a mission we can afford to cock up, as it were.” Lalonde picks up a PADD, entering her access code and scrolling through the text. “As we all know, Karkat is the only Alternian in the Fleet.”
They both nod. More like the only Alternian they had enough leverage over, but--whatever. Semantics.
“This means you are rather a
unique
asset in our search for peace.” The Captain clears her throat and glances up at the both of them. “The Alternian language bears little similarity to anything spoken in the Federation, and this has made translating their communications more difficult than anticipated. Vantas, we need you to provide your perspective as a native speaker to aid in our translation and decryption efforts. What information you and your partner have given us already has been valuable, certainly, but that’s nothing like getting up close and personal with it, hmm?”
Karkat swallows. He--he has no love left for the Empire, but the people living in it? His
friends?
He can’t just forget about them, about the years he spent on Alternia, the culture he left behind, and the people who risked culling to help get him offplanet. He’d joined Starfleet because he wanted to help end the war, to make himself useful, but he’s trained in medicine, not fucking
espionage.
There’s a difference between healing plasma burns and
spying on his own people.
Not that he has a lot of other options, at this point.
Kanaya’s a refugee too, just like him. Karkat has the dubious privilege of being a Starfleet officer, of being more directly under their command, but Kanaya relies on the grace of the Federation just the same. If he said no, what would happen to her? They could point to their moirallegiance as evidence that she’s a liability, take away everything she’s worked so hard to earn.
He can’t do that to her.
“Of course, sir,” Karkat says, ducking his head.
“And Lieutenant, I’m sure you understand the gravity of this mission.”
“Yes, Captain.” Strider nods, glancing over at Karkat again. What the fuck is his problem? If Karkat has to deal with
more
people questioning his loyalty, he will--he’ll fucking eat Lalonde’s desk and shit splinters all over her bridge.
“Every day, at the end of your duty shifts, you two will rendezvous--we have a room set up on deck three with all the privacy and equipment this will require--and work on building a linguistic database or translating any messages we’ve intercepted.”
“Yes, Captain,” they say in unison.
“I don’t know how many we’ll be directly tasked with decoding, Doctor, since we’re far from the only people working on this particular endeavor, but--”
“Yes, sir, obviously, sir,” Karkat mutters.
Lalonde snorts. “As I was saying, ah. What we’re looking for is a direct translation of the messages from a native speaker, someone who can explain idioms and turns of phrase that we might not understand. Once we’ve built a more solid foundation, our brightest minds can focus on decryption without having to muddle through a language with ten sets of personal pronouns.”
“Fifteen,” Karkat says, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “One for each caste, and then one for addressing equals, one for nonspecific higher-blooded, one for nonspecific lower-blooded, and one for animals, objects, and mutants. It’s fifteen. Captain.”
Strider is looking at him like he just told him he won the Miss Universe pageant. Karkat can
feel
the sparkle eyes he’s making behind the shades. On a ship full of nerds, he’s stuck working with the nerdiest nerd of all. Great.
“See,” Lalonde says, arching one eyebrow. “We’re already learning so much from you.”
She gives them each a little more information--how much of their duty shifts this might eat into, some notes on how she’d like the data filed, things like that. She and Strider keep bantering back and forth, little quips and teasing jabs between more serious discussion. Human familial bonds are so fucking weird. At least it doesn’t seem to be interfering with their ability to work, but holy shit. If they were moirails he’d be telling them to get a pile so he doesn’t have to watch.
A lot of the information Lalonde’s giving them is stuff Karkat already heard before, but the repetition is...helpful. He was more than a little shell-shocked when he was pulled out of class into a conference with
a fucking admiral,
so. Yeah. It’s useful to hear this shit a second time, without his heart hammering in his ears.
“And, lastly…” Lalonde locks her PADD, setting it inside a desk drawer and glancing back up at the two of them. “I’m sure this is fairly obvious, but this isn’t something you’ll be discussing with anyone else. Let’s keep it strictly to the senior staff, please?”
“Yes, sir,” Karkat says.
“Of course, Captain,” Strider agrees.
Lalonde rises to her feet, waiting for both of them to follow suit. “Well, in that case, we’d best finish up that tour. Lieutenant, you’re dismissed, thank you.”
“You got it, Rosie.” The way he says it is weirdly flat, missing even the usual human indicators for sarcasm. Karkat can’t tell if he’s trying to joke or...what.
Vulcans.
“Call me that in front of a crewmember again and I will have you court-martialed,” Lalonde says brightly, all but shoving him out of her ready room.
Once Dave goes back to his station, she shows Karkat to his room without much fanfare, pointing out this or that inane detail as they walk. It makes him wonder if the tour was all just an elaborate, extended ruse to get him into her ready room without drawing attention. It wouldn’t be
that
weird to call a new crewmember in for a briefing, but maybe she’s just being extra cautious. Or maybe Karkat’s just overthinking everything, like usual.
At any rate, it’s a relief to be left alone in his quarters. Fucking
finally.
His shit is in boxes, stacked neatly in the floor, and it’s going to be
such
a pain in the ass to unpack it all, but he’s here. He made it.
Karkat walks around his quarters, taking stock. They’re...definitely nicer than what he’d heard of Imperial ships, and they’re bigger than his dorm in the Acadamy.
And
it’s all his. It’s no highblood suite, but he’s not going to complain.
There’s a living area with shelf space for his novels, a desk, and an armchair that doesn’t look wildly uncomfortable. Next to it, there’s a dining space with a replicator tucked into one corner. On the opposite wall is a door leading to the bedroom and bathroom. He’s been sharing a shower with another cadet for years now, so even the tiny bathroom is an upgrade. The bedroom isn’t very spacious either, but that’s not surprising. These quarters weren’t built to accommodate recuperacoons. His ‘cupe, full of the Federation’s subpar clear sopor substitute, is up against one wall, with a bed crammed against the opposite corner.
Home sweet home.
Later that evening, he’s in a call with Kanaya, video chatting on the monitor attached to his new desk. Shit’s been crazy for her, too. She’s trying to move to Vulcan; the sun and heat there is better for her mood. He knows it’s for the best, but the sight of the unfamiliar room behind her still makes Karkat’s chest hurt. They haven’t been more than a few minutes’ travel away from each other since they left Alternia.
“Karkat?” Kanaya says, tapping the monitor with a clawtip like she thinks that’s going to do anything. “Are you in there?”
“What? No, sorry, you’ve reached his empty husk, you’ll have to leave a message.”
“Well, Mr. Husk, tell him I asked how his first day on duty went.”
Karkat snorts. “It was...weird. The Captain gave me a tour.”
“Is that all?” Kanaya arches one perfectly-drawn eyebrow. “At least it sounds like it wasn’t terribly stressful.”
Karkat pauses, thinking of the meeting and what he and Strider are going to be working on together. Moirails are supposed to share everything, especially in times like this when they can’t be physically close. Emotional intimacy is all they have.
He swallows.
“That’s all.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Karkat’s sitting in Sickbay’s back office, filling out some paperwork when he hears the doors slide open. Right. Ensign Reid’s scheduled for a physical. He gets to his feet and straightens his uniform, trying to force his face into something resembling cheer. Other people--humans
especially--
don’t like it when he scowls fucking constantly, but Kanaya says he just “Looks Like He Is Going To Eat Their Offspring” when he tries to make himself smile. Which, yeah, that’s fair.
He steps out of the office, grabbing a tricorder as he goes, and glances over at the ensign.
“Reid? You’re just in for a physical, right?”
“Yes,” Reid answers, peering over Karkat’s shoulder like someone else is going to spontaneously manifest. “I, uh. Is anyone else available, do you think?”
Karkat stops trying to look cheerful. “No.”
Reid glances over at a nurse running samples, who waves and goes back to their work. “What about--”
“Would you look at that,” Karkat says conversationally, “the answer is still no. I’m the officer on duty,
ergo
I’m going to be the one doing the exams. Get on the biobed, please.”
Reid continues to hesitate. For fuck’s sake. If he wasn’t obviously terrified, this is where Karkat would start to break out the threats. He’s considering it anyway, but if this shithead is legitimately scared of a five-foot-nothing stunted mutant, he’d probably report it.
“Listen, I have other things to do today. I’d love to have you out of here just as much as you would, so if you would
please
deign to get on the damn biobed sometime before I wither and die, that would be great.”
Reid hops up on the biobed,
finally,
and clenches his fists as Karkat runs the hand scanner over his torso. God. He runs through the physical as fast as he can without risking missing something, and keeps his remarks strictly medical.
The rest of his shift is uneventful, but after
that,
Karkat’s more than happy to get the fuck out of Sickbay and let Jane take over. When he was six, he’d have
loved
intimidating someone like that. But when he was six, he was deluding himself into hoping one day he’d end up a threshecutioner. Like he doesn’t feel like he’s going to die after running any distance whatsoever. Karkat. Scary. What a fucking joke.
At least Strider is only moderately infuriating.
It’s still
weird,
working with him. Karkat’s not sure that it’ll ever stop being weird. But it’s not completely insufferable. They’ve only been at this for a few days, so it always has the potential to get worse, but Karkat’s not finding himself dreading it quite as much as he thought he would.
When Karkat gets to their workroom, Strider is already there, hunched over a display screen and scribbling away with his stylus.
“Why aren’t you late?” Karkat takes the chair next to Strider’s and arches an eyebrow at him. “Not that I’m complaining.”
He laughs under his breath and jots something down in swirling Vulcan letters. “Just because I show up after you does not make me
late.
If I was late that often, Lalonde would have my head stuffed and mounted as a conversation piece.”
“Bullshit,” Karkat says, picking up a PADD and flicking through it in search of any new transmissions. “If I’m here and you’re not, that means you’re wasting my valuable time, Strider, when you could otherwise be
not
doing that. Thus, you’re late.”
Strider arches an eyebrow at him. “So that makes you late today, right? Since I’ve been sitting here all by my lonesome.”
He splutters, crossing his arms.
“I
wasn’t wasting your time, considering you got to work just fine without me, so--”
Dave lets out a little puff of breath in that quiet, barely-noticeable way Karkat’s learned to interpret as laughter. “It’s okay, Vantas. I’m just fucking with you.”
Karkat’s silent for a moment, assessing him. This guy must have been such a goddamn nuisance at the academy. It’s bizarre, frankly; Karkat’s never met a Vulcan who acts anything like him. His human half doesn’t exactly explain it either, not when considering certain other famous human-vulcan members of the Academy.
“I didn’t know Vulcans were such comedians,” Karkat says.
Strider pauses, shrugs. “Oh yeah. We’re masters.”
“You
might be, or think you are, anyway, but I’m not going to give that much credit to the entire populace.”
“Fine by me,” Strider says, highlighting something in his notes.
Karkat pauses, watching him effortlessly navigate the hellish multilingual mishmash on his PADD. It’s got three different languages that write in three different orientations on it. There’s no organizational system that Karkat can discern whatsoever. What the fuck.
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“What doesn’t?” Strider looks up and arches a brow, shrugging when Karkat points an accusatory claw at his PADD. “I know my Alternian sucks nuts, give me a month and I swear it won’t look like baby’s first alphabet.”
“No, not that.” His Alternian
does
suck, his script is shaky and noncommittal, but Karkat would expect that from someone who’s only been writing it for a few weeks at best. “I just thought you’d be all about organization and logic, not whatever the fuck that is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”
Karkat rolls his eyes. “Don’t act stupid, you’re hardly the only Vulcan I’ve met and not even your human side can explain
that
textual disaster.”
“Wow, killer bedside manner.” Strider goes perfectly expressionless and turns back towards his work. “I guess I’m lucky it’s not literally killer then, aren’t I, Doctor? You’re hardly the only Alternian the fleet has seen, after all.”
Fuck.
Of course that was the wrong thing to say, he’s so stupid, always shoving his foot directly into his mouth. With any luck, one of these days he’ll just shove his entire leg down his throat and choke to death on it.
“Shit,” Karkat blurts, “I didn’t--”
Strider holds up a hand. “Listen. Can we not do this?”
“I’m not doing shit, aside from trying to
apologize,
you rude fuck.” It’s probably not in his best interest to immediately insult someone he’s trying to apologize to, but, well. Karkat’s never been good at doing things in his best interest.
Strider sighs and pushes his sunglasses up so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. “I just mean, could we not make this into a whole
thing?
We barely know each other, I’m not going to just dump my backstory on you, so can we drop it? It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
Karkat picks up his own PADD and taps his clawtips against the screen, pulling up a copy of their notes from the last session. “Fine, whatever, consider it forgotten. That’s the last time I stick my nose in your business. Where were we?”
“Uh,” Strider shrugs, “I kind of wanted to just go through and build a general vocabulary to start, give the decrypters a little more meat to work with.”
Things are...awkward, after that. Karkat eats meals in his room so he doesn’t have to run into Strider again and remind them both what a tactless fucking
moron
he is. Karkat’s probably the last person he wants to see anyway. They see each other plenty on duty as it is, and manage to keep it cordial enough.
But, unfortunately for everyone involved, Karkat is a people person. He’s actually starting to
miss
the obnoxious chatter inside the mess hall. At this point, it’d be better just to get it over with and accept that Strider hates him, put some effort into making new friends instead of avoiding his coworker. They’re adults. They can work past the animosity. It’ll be easy not to associate outside of their duties.
Karkat heads down to the mess hall and orders a plate of broiled Krada legs and various root vegetables. Klingon food isn’t really
that
similar to Alternian cuisine, but he’s pretty sure he’d develop all kinds of intestinal disorders if he stuck to the Federation’s approximation of troll food. It’s fine
sometimes,
but god.
He spots a nice, isolated table in the corner of the mess hall and starts to head there. He’s a fucking hypocrite, moping about how miserable and lonely he is and then avoiding everyone once he actually goes and makes himself socialize. It’s incredible, really.
“Vantas!”
Oh, god.
It’s Commander Egbert, which is equal parts flattering and terrifying. On the one hand, the First Officer noticed him. On the other hand,
the First Officer noticed him.
Karkat can’t really ignore him and people-watch in the corner now, can he?
He turns, pumpbiscuit in his throat, and starts walking towards Egbert’s table. He’s waving enthusiastically, sitting next to Lieutenant Harley, who’s grinning in a way Karkat would interpret as a clear threat, back on Alternia. She really does have sharp canines.
“Yes, commander?”
“Sit with us? We have plenty of space.”
He can’t really say no to him
now,
can he? And the whole reason he came down here in the first place was because the crushing silence of his respiteblock was going to drive him insane. This would...be a better remedy, than just eavesdropping like a creep with no social life to speak of.
Karkat nods and takes a seat, keeping his back ramrod-straight. He’ll socialize, sure, but he’s not going to pretend commanding officers are his
friends.
There’s stupid, and then there’s suicidal.
“So how’s it been, being in space?” Egbert takes a sip out of the glass in front of him.
“What?” Karkat says, belatedly.
“You know, on a ship for the first time. Doing doctory stuff.”
“Oh.” He shrugs. Can’t really just say ‘
I’d rather be planetside with my moirail and some part of me still wishes I could have been a threshie instead of bandaging every idiot cadet’s owies’
or ‘
it’s fine, but I could do without the espionage.’
Not to the people who literally hold his--and more importantly, Kanaya’s--lives in their hands.
“It’s fulfilling work,” is what he goes with instead. And it is, you know? He serves his purpose. It’s more than Karkat could have ever asked for in the Empire. He should be grateful, honestly.
“Oh!” Egbert nods, way too enthusiastic in response. Karkat’s sure he’s already regretting inviting him to eat with them, but that pesky human politeness he’s heard so much about means it would be
rude
to tell him to get the fuck out now. “That’s nice, at least. You know?”
“Mm,” Karkat says, focusing instead on his meal. His stupid malformed organs mean that wolfing his food down puts him at very real risk of choking to death, and as appealing as that sounds right now, it would be awfully fucking inconvenient. So he eats as fast as trollishly possible to get this over with
without
lodging food in his airpipe.
Harley and Egbert pick up the conversational beats, anyway. If it weren’t for the way Harley keeps glancing over at him, Karkat would think they’d forgotten he was there entirely. It’s awkward, but it’s not the most agonizingly humiliating way things could have gone.
That is, until Strider walks in and takes a seat next to Egbert, plunking down a bowl of Vulcan something-or-another soup. It’s got some artful drizzles of colorful sauce on it, which Strider carelessly swirls into the creamy broth. He must notice Karkat sitting there, he’s hardly subtle, but he makes absolutely no indication of it. How perfectly Vulcan of him.
“Hey Dave,” Egbert says amicably, bumping their fists together.
“How’s the bridge?” Harley asks, leaning forward in her seat. She must not get to see it much, after all, even if she is a superior officer.
“Oh, you know,” Strider replies easily, pausing to blow on his soup. “Very exciting developments in the cosmic noise today. It
almost
sounded like it might have been a transmission, for a second. So that’s new. How ‘bout engineering?”
Egbert snorts, elbowing him good-naturedly.
Harley waves her hand in a vague gesture. “Not much to report, but no news is good news, right? We did some routine maintenance and improved efficiency by about half a percent.”
“Ooh, exciting,” Strider deadpans. Then again, he’s deadpan most of the time, isn’t he? Except for the completely unpredictable breaks in character that Karkat’s pretending he never stuck his stupid fucking sniffnode in.
“Listen, that adds up!” Harley’s trying for stern, but even Karkat can see how badly she’s failing at holding back a grin.
“It wouldn’t add up to a whole percent, would it?” Egbert teases.
They carry on like this, and frankly, Karkat is thrilled to be forgotten. He might be lonely, but he’s not lonely enough to resort to making friendly passes at Strider. No, he’d probably just blurt out something ridiculous and stupid about how weird he is, like Karkat doesn’t know exactly how shitty it feels to be on the receiving end of that.
He finishes his meal in record pace, standing and giving Egbert, Harley, and Strider all a gruff nod.
“Thanks for sitting with us, Doctor.” Egbert says, reaching out to give Karkat a warm handshake. “It was nice getting to know you a little.”
“It was my pleasure, sir,” Karkat responds on autopilot. Honestly, he’s still reeling that he was
invited to sit with them.
It was terrifying, sure, but what an honor. Surely they’re not inviting every new crew member to have lunch with the superior officers. Of course, it could just as likely have been an intimidation tactic, but he’s trying not to think about it. Lalonde would probably have been there if it was.
“You’re welcome back any time,” Harley says, and one day, Karkat swears to god, he’ll stop interpreting her wide, toothy grin as menacing.
He goes to take his plate back to the replicator, pretending that he doesn’t feel Strider’s eyes on him the whole way there.
Back in his quarters, Karkat changes out of his uniform and sprawls unceremoniously across the standard-issue bed. He may not sleep in it, but it sure is nice for reclining on. And
god,
is it nice to come back to a warm, properly dim room after spending an entire duty shift squinting through the blinding, sterile lighting on the rest of the ship.
He rolls onto his side, towards the small viewscreen built into a port in the wall. With a tap of a claw, it pops up, and he keys in Kanaya’s familiar contact information, watching the feed as he waits for her to respond. She might not; Karkat’s lost track of Vulcan time zones at this point, much as he’s loath to admit it.
The screen flickers for a moment and then connects, showing a slightly out-of-focus view into Kanaya’s sunny desert hive. She never was good with technology; no, that was always a task she passed off onto--well. Karkat’s not thinking about him right now.
“Are you busy?” He asks instead.
“Mm, not particularly.” Kanaya’s face comes into focus as she shifts in her seat, leaning to adjust something just out of view of the camera. “I’m working on a project, but it’s not going anywhere, really. I can talk.”
Karkat knows that’s Maryam for ‘I am this close to rage-shredding every scrap of fabric that I own if this garment doesn’t stop looking so fucking ugly.” Talking would do
both
of them good, it sounds like.
“How was your day?” He opens, resting his chin in his hand.
“Tiresome,” Kanaya says flatly, arching a brow at him. “And yours?”
“Oh, no you fucking don’t.” Karkat knows a deflection when he sees one; he should, he’s made enough of them. “I asked you about
your
day, we’ll talk about mine when I’m damn well good and ready and you don’t look like you’re about to gore the next motherfucker in range.”
She scoffs. “I wasn’t hatched yesterday. We can talk about my day--which was entirely uneventful, I’ll have you know--after we’ve talked about yours.”
“Ladies first.”
“Age before beauty.”
Karkat laughs at that, short and sharp. “What? I’m younger than you.”
Kanaya shrugs, taking a long sip of the mysterious beverage in her teacup.
This back and forth is a well-practiced ritual of theirs, both of them too emotionally constipated to open up about their own problems without an elaborate argument about it beforehand. It’s just so much easier for both of them to focus on taking care of other people, rather than on their
own
problems. And really, Kanaya’s issues are much more pressing than Karkat’s petty adolescent slapfight drama. He’s getting way too old to be stressing about things as minuscule as the whole...Strider thing.
But if he gets it over with now, they can drop it forever and get back to the business of jamming about whatever it is Kanaya has going on. Surely it’s more pressing than the interpersonal drama of some idiot stuck in a floating meta box with a hundred and fifty other idiots.
“Fine,” he says, rolling over onto his back and staring at the blank ceiling of his quarters. “You know that Strider guy I work with?”
“You’ve mentioned him once or twice,” Kanaya intones, with a quirk to her lip that is
entirely
too smug for Karkat’s liking.
“You stop that.”
“I’m not doing anything. Go on.”
“As I was
saying,
I’m pretty sure I’ve taken any chance I had of a decent working relationship with him, dragged it behind the metaphorical shed, and summarily executed it. And then quite possibly pissed on its corpse.”
“Oh?”
Karkat goes over the events of the past few days with as much detail as he can. Of course, he can’t mention
why
he keeps running into the same idiot member of the bridge crew over and over, when by all rights he should be cloistered in Sickbay. He can’t mention that they’re directly working together; a medical officer and a comms specialist have no business collaborating under normal Fleet protocol. But refusing to mention Strider’s existence would be even more suspicious, wouldn’t it? He can hardly bear keeping this much from Kanaya as it is. Surely just discussing the facts of Strider’s existence is fine, right? And maybe Karkat will be able to be fucking normal around him after he talks it out with Kanaya. She has some experience living around Vulcans, after all. Maybe she’ll know how to keep him from eating hot faux pas for every meal.
“You need to talk to him,” Kanaya says, steepling her fingers under her chin. “Really.”
“It’s not that easy!” Karkat drags his hands down his face and resists the urge to kick his feet like a wiggler. For what must be the thousandth time, he wishes Kanaya were there in person, running her perfectly manicured claws through the tangles in his hair. “I can’t.”
“You can and you will. It is that easy. Here, I’ll give you an example.” Kanaya clears her throat and raises her voice, lowering her pitch in a cartoonish imitation of Karkat’s speech. “Hello Mr. Lieutenant Sir, I’m so terribly sorry I was a massive ass to you, can we please still be friends?”
“That’s rich, coming from you.” Karkat sits up and narrows his eyes at the viewscreen. Kanaya raises her eyebrows and holds a hand to her chest.
“I have absolutely no idea what you mean.”
“What was it you said about that Starfleet girl you kept mooning over? How you couldn’t possibly introduce yourself to her because you’d just embarrass yourself?”
“That was
different,”
Kanaya hisses, green rising to her cheeks.
From there, Karkat directs the conversation towards Kanaya’s woes, which, as he suspected, were much more pressing than his own ridiculous nonsense. She’s been having trouble adjusting. The weather on Vulcan is perfect for her, but it’s been a culture shock. Everyone there is perfectly, logically polite, of course, but they’d both struggled adjusting to Earth’s norms, and Vulcan is just as alien. There’s not anything Karkat can
do
for her, not really, but he hopes at least getting it out helps.
“I wish I could just--” He waves a hand in a vague gesture and sighs. “Come see you. This stupid fucking mission is killing me and we’ve barely started. I’m going insane trapped in here with all these humans.”
Kanaya nods, her expression going somber. “Believe me,” she says, “I know the feeling. I can’t recall the last time I touched someone for longer than it takes to shake their hand.”
Karkat falls asleep with Kanaya talking in his ear. Something about her steady, low voice explaining why she has to take her new dress in
again
manages to kick his insomnia in the ass better than any medication could.
Still, he regrets it in the morning when he has to roll out of bed, stiff and sore from sleeping outside of his recuperacoon. The nightmares aren’t as bad, this far from Alternia, but a mattress is a far cry from sopor slime. It’s not exactly starting his duty shift on a high note. His bedside manner is already nonexistent, so he’s sure his patients will
love
seeing him after waking up on the wrong side of the ‘cupe. Strider, too; it makes Karkat cringe to think about being trapped in a room with him after how stupid he must have looked in the mess hall, wolfing down his food to avoid talking to his superior officers.
Luckily, things are pretty quiet in Sickbay. He doesn’t even feel guilty that he has nothing to do; a day where no one needs anything other than routine checkups is a good day for everyone on board. Crocker comes in to watch him work for a bit and that makes the back of his neck prickle, but, well. It’s his first active duty position. They’d be watching him no matter what. He just has an infinitely smaller margin of error than any other officer in the Fleet, is all.
Anyway.
The quiet gives him time to plan his attack strategy for dealing with Strider, so when he clocks out of sickbay he heads towards their workstation with minimal dread. Anything that isn’t catastrophizing about how he’s going to be trapped working with someone who hates him is an improvement.
Predictably, he arrives before the Lieutenant. This gives him ample time alone with his thoughts, Karkat’s least favorite conversational partner. He can’t keep going on like some kind of neurotic freak around Strider; he has to say something to clear the air. But there’s a very real chance that Karkat has done what he does best and made a mountain out of a dirtbeast pile, that he’s working himself up over less than nothing. It’s entirely possible that Strider has already forgotten it and bringing it up will make things worse. Then again, how much worse can it get? They barely know each other, and Karkat’s strongest impression was making a complete ass out of himself. More of an ass than usual, anyway, and–
“Hey.” The door hisses faintly as it slides shut behind Strider, the computer merrily informing them that the door is locked to anyone without clearance.
Karkat sits up straighter with a start at the sound and salutes in greeting.
Strider gives him a little nod as he takes his seat and starts scrolling through his PADD. “So, today there’s–”
“Wait,” Karkat blurts, holding up his hands. “There’s something we need to talk about first.”
Strider arches an eyebrow. In that moment, Karkat suddenly understands exactly how he and Captain Lalonde are related.
“O…kay.” He leans back in his seat, folding his hands over his lap. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”
Karkat’s about 90% certain that’s a joke, but he doesn’t comment on it. Commenting on it is exactly how he got himself into this mess in the
first
place.
“Well, I, uh.” He clears his throat and wipes his hands on his pants. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.” It comes out all in a rush, more like a single word than anything resembling actual English.
Strider gives him a blank look. “What.”
“What do you mean, what? I’m apologizing.”
“I mean what, is what I mean. What are you even apologizing
for?”
Karkat winces, but he’s already dug the hole; might as well lie down in it. “I wanted to apologize for a while back, when I decided I needed to be a massive dickhead acting like I’ve never met another sapient species before and was simply
compelled
to interrogate you about it."
Lieutenant Strider seems to deflate, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You stopped everything while we’re on shift to apologize for that? Seriously?”
Karkat crosses his arms, indignant. “Well, excuse me for wasting thirty seconds of our precious time when I could be teaching you how to say ‘dog’ and ‘cat’ and ‘apple.’ I’m
so
sorry I interrupted your schoolfeeds, sir.”
“Actually.” Strider clears his throat and straightens back up. “What I was trying to say when I came in is that we got a transmission Command wants you to translate.”
“...Oh.”
“Yeah,
oh.”
There’s a beat, where they both stare at each other in silence. The situation is so patently absurd, the sheer ludicrous improbability of Karkat’s position is brought into stark relief; he can’t hold back the laughter bubbling up inside of him.
Strider starts snickering too, these quiet little puffs of breath that would be easy to miss if Karkat didn’t know what he was looking for.
It’s an enormous relief, honestly. Karkat had no idea what he was going to do if he had to work with someone who obviously hated him for his entire position. Most other species don’t
do
kismessitude, and at his age Karkat’s mature enough to admit that
he
certainly doesn’t; he doesn’t get much out of an antagonistic relationship except for possibly blood pressure medication.
“Anyway,” he says once they’ve both recovered, “you had a transmission from Command?”
“Well, not
from-
from Command, I mean, the Alternians sent it, so—“ Strider clears his throat. “Yeah. Yes. We have a transmission from Command.”
The Lieutenant plays it, and Karkat leans forward, paying rapt attention. The quality is terrible, all kinds of background noise they couldn’t filter out, presumably because they weren’t sure if it was speech. It’s staticky too, indicative of being badly transferred from Empire wetware comms to sleek inorganic Fleet systems while they were intercepting it. But—there, among the fragments of words and garbled speech, there’s a voice Karkat would recognize anywhere, even if he’d last heard it when he was a teenager.
“This is Admiral Ampora.”
It keeps cutting into static, but once Karkat knows what he’s listening for, it’s easy to pick out fragments.
“Imperial Cruiser—” “—By command of—” “—Rendezvous.”