Springfling fic: Brave New Planet (Jared/Gen, PG13)
I think most people who might want to read this already have, but I want to claim it because it's cute, and because I unexpectedly have some flakey free wifi from the pub across the road from our rental house (yay stealth holiday online access!). I may be writing quite a lot of space AU fic just now, but this one is totally Snick's fault.
Title: Brave New Planet
Pairing: Jared/Gen
Rating: PG13
Any warnings: none
It's amazing. All that time, people have been searching for the Abominable Snowman, and Gen has found him. It's kind of exciting. But it's an excitement that ends with Flt-Sgt First Class, Cortese, G., sharing a spacepod with a yeti. For a week.
It has been two hours, and she already wants to kill him. Even if the yeti is an endangered, semi-mythical creature and Gen could claim the discovery and make her name, that would not compensate for the 166 remaining hours they are going to spend like this (assuming all goes to plan, no disasters, no diversions). His hair is in her face all the damn time. He sweats and flails. Thankfully, the in-suit plumbing means he'll likely keep half of the suit on throughout, and she won't be troubled by some of the grosser bodily odours. Judging by his belching, it's a mercy.
The yeti has a name and a profession: evidently a yeti in deep cover. Terraformist Dr J.T. Padalecki, allegedly.
Yeah. He's not a yeti. He's just her superior's idea of a joke. Or maybe in fact General Tyson was speaking the literal truth ("Cortese, I need you to bunk with Padalecki to even out the weight ratios."). He'd been completely serious, like he'd never, ever called Gen a "teeny little girlie soldier who probably fucked her way into the corps", though they both knew he only did that so she would blast through the obstacle course second only to Tanker, regardless of the abdominal muscle she pulled partway through. A long time ago, and she has mostly forgiven Tyson. And the General has consistently promoted her in line with her abilities, since. If Gen had anything to think about other than the yeti and a mission that won't even start for 165 hours and fifty-six minutes, she wouldn't even have remembered those words just now. So, whatever. She's stuck with a yeti for possibly authentic operational reasons.
Padalecki, J.T., shrugs his shoulders and accidentally thwaps a bulkhead with a reverberant thump.
"Hey," says Gen. "Try not to demolish the module around us, please? I don't want to boil alive in space. Or get stuck drifting with you till some planet hopper comes to rescue us, assuming we're still alive."
Padalecki shrugs again, but more circumspectly, and grins at her. He grins a lot, at everyone, but now it's only six inches from Gen's nose, it's more annoying than at Space Central. Everything about him is more annoying in these ridiculous dimensions. Gen wishes, hugely, that long range travel still happened in the big ships instead of the more efficient but teensy sub-light modules, with the heavy goods sent on ahead, more slowly. Imagine: a bunk of her own. Space to walk around. Privacy. Usually, she finds the spacepods less painful than most, but this is an extra-long trip, and the Padalecki factor has reduced the advantage she has, being small.
The yeti says, "Sorry. I really hate confined spaces."
Which chimes in with her own thoughts enough that Gen just says, "I hear you." And nothing about the idiocy of a claustrophobic giant choosing this profession and this mission. She knows why he's here, just like she is. Because space travel is better than anything their overcrowded homepods can offer.
He laughs, suddenly, too close and loud. "Better not knock out the navigation, right? Would hate to have to found a new world with just you on some little planetoid. I mean, we're pretty set for first decade supplies here. So long as we landed somewhere solid, we'd live. But I guess I'd drive you insane within a month. And that's not even talking about needing to breed to populate up and balance the ecosystem."
Now, see, Gen would have taken that amiss from almost any other guy she's shoved-up against for a full week's close quarter discomfort. Would have pokered up, and probably quietly added her uniform jacket back on, cosy warmth be damned. Reminded him that Space Central held the reins here, not to mention the guns. But Padalecki doesn't appear to mean anything by it. He's now babbling about plantings and at least having space to move his shoulders freely on this fantasy planetoid. Maybe that's just how terraformists think; it's all about viable biosystems.
She lets him talk, half-listening, half entering the state of space drift that helps the time pass faster. Eventually, she realizes he will just keep on going if she doesn't speak, shut him up, or kill him. But he's not actually annoying, just enthused. So Gen decides it's time to make the monologue into a conversation.
"Doesn't sound like this is your first planet?" Terraformists vary, but their work takes so long to complete, she'd kind of thought he might be inexperienced. Not so, judging by the casual references he's dropping into his explanations.
Padalecki shakes his head, getting his long hair in her face again, dammit. "Nope, I've done seven base seedings, last three as the lead. But I was only on planet for nine months, tops. So this is exciting, you know."
"You're sticking around on Atropos-3?" That could be interesting.
"Hell, yes. Five year minimum. They think it'll be a toughie, but I'm up for the challenge. And unless it really goes bad, I'm thinking I'll base myself there, long term. I want some space, you know? And I love the idea of settling somewhere I helped to start."
His voice has turned warm, happy. "You like your work." Gen says it with certainty, and a smile.
"Yeah, yeah, I do," he says, and he's more happy labrador than yeti now (Gen's glad he has no tail to wag; she's pretty sure thuds would be reverberating through the module). "I like… dirt. And plants. Growing things. Starting the zoology going and watching the impact. We don't control everything," he adds, staring earnestly at her. "I know some people think terraforming is all, like, über-controlling and unnatural, but we mostly just set the seeds, and stand back, see what happens."
He's missing out the whole thing where the terraformists then tweak the atmo and biology till it's human life-supporting, but he knows she knows. She nods. He's a whole lot less annoying when he's enthusing.
"You?" he asks, inviting. "This just an escort thing? You look like you know exactly how this goes."
Gen pauses for a second, trying to think how to make this less weird of a coincidence, but really, he'll find out eventually. "Uh. No. I've done a bunch of escort missions, plus Tatras of course-" Everyone does Tatras sometimes. It's the only way to keep the war going. "- I like my job, because security matters. But I asked for a long termer, this time around. Wanted to see someplace grow. So…"
Padalecki grins, big and broad. "We're gonna be neighbors?"
"Yep. First three years, at least, and you know they like it if colonial security settles on-planet, so…" Biologically speaking, they perhaps should talk about populating the new planet. She doesn't say so.
Padalecki starts to wriggle again, but with a purpose this time. He's working his hand out of harness and upward, till it's around Gen's waist-level. "Pleased to meet you, neighbor," he says. "'M Jared. I like dirt, and dogs, and growing stuff. Maybe soon, when we have some water and fire going, you'd like to come round for a barbecue?"
It's against protocol. But a lot of things happen on-planet that are against protocol, and Gen isn't some stiff-poker Space Central lackey. So she wriggles her own hand free, lets it be swallowed in his giant yeti paw (warm, dry, pleasant-feeling), "I'm Gen. I like big skies, green leaves and beer. In fact, about half my luxuries ration is cans. Which I would definitely bring to a neighbourly barbecue."
"Awesome," says Jared, and smiles, warm and genuine, and right there in her face.
Atropos-3 could actually be fun.
*
Five days out, and Gen has almost completely lost the urge to kill the yeti. Jared's a pretty good guy to share four cubic meters of space with for a week. There has been bad, bad singing, there has been fairly amicable political debate, there has been a lot of discussion about the best way to set up what Jared now calls "our new home" in a way that suits both their ideas of happy planets. There have even been attempts to do the mandated Space Central exercise regime for deep space conditioning, mostly called on account of excessive laughter, and occasionally on account of excessive flailing.
There has also been Gen's single can of voyage beer, shared between them to mark the halfway point of the journey. They're out beyond the Light Zone now, a very long way from home.
"I always get the shivers," says Jared now, looking out of their one porthole. "I know this sector is mapped, but we're what? Only the twentieth, maybe thirtieth people to see this? If we cut out now, we're dead, too. No ships in range."
Gen takes a slow, reassuring breath. She doesn't mind space travel at all, but she's had the training. Plenty of people have to be sedated in space, when the isolation yawns in on them. It happens suddenly, as a rule, and she gropes quietly toward the medlocker, just in case Jared totally snaps.
Sedation isn't the preferred option, though, not under the extremes of space. First: engage the person in calm conversation on a neutral topic. Jared's good at conversation. It's a good option. But she temporarily can't think of a single neutral topic.
What comes to mind is, "Yeah, I hear wild things about what people do on these long trips. Like, inhibitions down, crazy stuff happens. A whole lot of the mixed-sex pods need hosing down afterward. Pretty large numbers of the single-sex too, I gather. People will try pretty much anything to pass the time."
There's a long, quiet moment. Jared flushes patchily pink. Gen wishes she could rewind that last minute. Jared really isn't on the verge of panic, now she looks at him properly. She didn't need to say anything.
"Uh," he says. "I… I never did anything like that. I never even- Really?" He sounds incredulous.
Jared Padalecki is a very sweet guy. For a biologist, he's also pretty naïve. Oh well. Gen nods, and tells him a long and libelous tale about an unnamed friend (who is only partially Gen, and partially Zoe, with a sprinkling of Taylor and Wex), stuck in a family pod with two guys and a girl on a six-month mission that opened her eyes to a whole lot of things she never knew about herself. Or the others.
And Jared's laughing and forgetting about deep space, until suddenly he's pausing and blushing and saying "Sorry," and getting as far away from her as he can (which isn't, very), and she realizes that telling dirty stories to a spacer in a confined pod was a really dumb thing to do. She hadn’t noticed he had an erection until then, what with their respective heights and being strapped in at equal face level; she isn't used to processing stuff that happens around her knee height as potentially sexual, but actually, yeah. Jared looks out of the porthole, and whistles awkwardly, and she is respectfully silent for a little bit, allowing him Man Space, and the awkwardness blooms.
Except. Hell, why not? Not with pod-hosing and crazy nineteen-year-old sex games. But. "Hey, Jared?"
"Umf?" he says, still avoiding her eyes.
"You want to settle on Atropos-3, right? The full bit? Marriage and kids and community citizenship awards?"
"And a dog," he says, firmly, as if she might have forgotten.
"Well, I want that too. So, there won't be a whole lot of choice out there, not for years. And we get on well, don't we? So, maybe we should see if it works?"
He blinks, and at least he's not avoiding her eyes anymore.
She gulps, and continues. "I mean. We have privacy, here, and we could test out if it's a maybe… And then we'll have a whole lot of time once the terraform is started. And if it's a no, well, we're okay, right? It's just spacetime. Nobody counts what happens in spacetime."
Jared's jaw has dropped significantly, but he's not laughing or trying to open the pod in horror. So she moves over, and kisses him, light and soft. "I kind of like you," she says. "It's worth a try, right?"
"God, yes," says Jared, flailing till she sets a calming hand on top of his. "I thought you thought I was a total loser." He cups her face, settles in for a better, longer kiss, which definitely suggests taking this further.
Mouths attach. Hands stray. Unromantic space reality intrudes.
"Uh," says Jared. He pauses. Gen waits. This will go one of two ways, and it'll tell her a lot about Jared which he chooses. "I… I really would like taking this further. But I also really, really don't want to unhook all of this-" he gestures vaguely (but quite restrainedly, she notes) at the plumbing attachments to their suits. "-and, like, wallow in our filth for the next two days, and-"
He's not kidding. You can't easily reattach your own waste tubes. Everyone knows that. She smiles, "Yep, that's definitely something I, uh, Zoe, learned on that long haul-" Jared, not being a fool, is eye-rolling at that half-assed attempt to cover. "It was pretty gross. And public. And - Yeah."
Which is how Gen and the yeti spend the last two days of their space flight to a new world and a new life: playing 'nothing below the belt' and driving themselves to distraction. It tells her Jared is sweet, and silly, and hotter than hell, and also not a complete dumbass ruled by his dick. Which, you know, is pretty much what Gen wants out of a guy.
*
The first-take terraforming of Atropos-3 takes four months. With no privacy. Living in the lifepod with forty others.
On Day 131, the lifepod confirms sufficient oxygen levels. Exiting the pod, Gen takes Jared's hand to meet the world they are making together. They have stakes and string, to lay out their first cabin. They also have condoms and sleeping bags and a burning determination to find a damn cave or hollow or something and just do it, finally.
After, Gen stretches up, chilled skin goosebumping as she pulls away from Jared. He's warm beneath her, inside her still, his arms spread wide, fingers wiggling in the grass he made. It's a long way from their spacepod.
The sky is a light shade of mauve. The grass is barely half an inch high, and there is no wildlife bigger than bugs and voles.
It's their new world, and they are creating it together.
***
Title: Brave New Planet
Pairing: Jared/Gen
Rating: PG13
Any warnings: none
It's amazing. All that time, people have been searching for the Abominable Snowman, and Gen has found him. It's kind of exciting. But it's an excitement that ends with Flt-Sgt First Class, Cortese, G., sharing a spacepod with a yeti. For a week.
It has been two hours, and she already wants to kill him. Even if the yeti is an endangered, semi-mythical creature and Gen could claim the discovery and make her name, that would not compensate for the 166 remaining hours they are going to spend like this (assuming all goes to plan, no disasters, no diversions). His hair is in her face all the damn time. He sweats and flails. Thankfully, the in-suit plumbing means he'll likely keep half of the suit on throughout, and she won't be troubled by some of the grosser bodily odours. Judging by his belching, it's a mercy.
The yeti has a name and a profession: evidently a yeti in deep cover. Terraformist Dr J.T. Padalecki, allegedly.
Yeah. He's not a yeti. He's just her superior's idea of a joke. Or maybe in fact General Tyson was speaking the literal truth ("Cortese, I need you to bunk with Padalecki to even out the weight ratios."). He'd been completely serious, like he'd never, ever called Gen a "teeny little girlie soldier who probably fucked her way into the corps", though they both knew he only did that so she would blast through the obstacle course second only to Tanker, regardless of the abdominal muscle she pulled partway through. A long time ago, and she has mostly forgiven Tyson. And the General has consistently promoted her in line with her abilities, since. If Gen had anything to think about other than the yeti and a mission that won't even start for 165 hours and fifty-six minutes, she wouldn't even have remembered those words just now. So, whatever. She's stuck with a yeti for possibly authentic operational reasons.
Padalecki, J.T., shrugs his shoulders and accidentally thwaps a bulkhead with a reverberant thump.
"Hey," says Gen. "Try not to demolish the module around us, please? I don't want to boil alive in space. Or get stuck drifting with you till some planet hopper comes to rescue us, assuming we're still alive."
Padalecki shrugs again, but more circumspectly, and grins at her. He grins a lot, at everyone, but now it's only six inches from Gen's nose, it's more annoying than at Space Central. Everything about him is more annoying in these ridiculous dimensions. Gen wishes, hugely, that long range travel still happened in the big ships instead of the more efficient but teensy sub-light modules, with the heavy goods sent on ahead, more slowly. Imagine: a bunk of her own. Space to walk around. Privacy. Usually, she finds the spacepods less painful than most, but this is an extra-long trip, and the Padalecki factor has reduced the advantage she has, being small.
The yeti says, "Sorry. I really hate confined spaces."
Which chimes in with her own thoughts enough that Gen just says, "I hear you." And nothing about the idiocy of a claustrophobic giant choosing this profession and this mission. She knows why he's here, just like she is. Because space travel is better than anything their overcrowded homepods can offer.
He laughs, suddenly, too close and loud. "Better not knock out the navigation, right? Would hate to have to found a new world with just you on some little planetoid. I mean, we're pretty set for first decade supplies here. So long as we landed somewhere solid, we'd live. But I guess I'd drive you insane within a month. And that's not even talking about needing to breed to populate up and balance the ecosystem."
Now, see, Gen would have taken that amiss from almost any other guy she's shoved-up against for a full week's close quarter discomfort. Would have pokered up, and probably quietly added her uniform jacket back on, cosy warmth be damned. Reminded him that Space Central held the reins here, not to mention the guns. But Padalecki doesn't appear to mean anything by it. He's now babbling about plantings and at least having space to move his shoulders freely on this fantasy planetoid. Maybe that's just how terraformists think; it's all about viable biosystems.
She lets him talk, half-listening, half entering the state of space drift that helps the time pass faster. Eventually, she realizes he will just keep on going if she doesn't speak, shut him up, or kill him. But he's not actually annoying, just enthused. So Gen decides it's time to make the monologue into a conversation.
"Doesn't sound like this is your first planet?" Terraformists vary, but their work takes so long to complete, she'd kind of thought he might be inexperienced. Not so, judging by the casual references he's dropping into his explanations.
Padalecki shakes his head, getting his long hair in her face again, dammit. "Nope, I've done seven base seedings, last three as the lead. But I was only on planet for nine months, tops. So this is exciting, you know."
"You're sticking around on Atropos-3?" That could be interesting.
"Hell, yes. Five year minimum. They think it'll be a toughie, but I'm up for the challenge. And unless it really goes bad, I'm thinking I'll base myself there, long term. I want some space, you know? And I love the idea of settling somewhere I helped to start."
His voice has turned warm, happy. "You like your work." Gen says it with certainty, and a smile.
"Yeah, yeah, I do," he says, and he's more happy labrador than yeti now (Gen's glad he has no tail to wag; she's pretty sure thuds would be reverberating through the module). "I like… dirt. And plants. Growing things. Starting the zoology going and watching the impact. We don't control everything," he adds, staring earnestly at her. "I know some people think terraforming is all, like, über-controlling and unnatural, but we mostly just set the seeds, and stand back, see what happens."
He's missing out the whole thing where the terraformists then tweak the atmo and biology till it's human life-supporting, but he knows she knows. She nods. He's a whole lot less annoying when he's enthusing.
"You?" he asks, inviting. "This just an escort thing? You look like you know exactly how this goes."
Gen pauses for a second, trying to think how to make this less weird of a coincidence, but really, he'll find out eventually. "Uh. No. I've done a bunch of escort missions, plus Tatras of course-" Everyone does Tatras sometimes. It's the only way to keep the war going. "- I like my job, because security matters. But I asked for a long termer, this time around. Wanted to see someplace grow. So…"
Padalecki grins, big and broad. "We're gonna be neighbors?"
"Yep. First three years, at least, and you know they like it if colonial security settles on-planet, so…" Biologically speaking, they perhaps should talk about populating the new planet. She doesn't say so.
Padalecki starts to wriggle again, but with a purpose this time. He's working his hand out of harness and upward, till it's around Gen's waist-level. "Pleased to meet you, neighbor," he says. "'M Jared. I like dirt, and dogs, and growing stuff. Maybe soon, when we have some water and fire going, you'd like to come round for a barbecue?"
It's against protocol. But a lot of things happen on-planet that are against protocol, and Gen isn't some stiff-poker Space Central lackey. So she wriggles her own hand free, lets it be swallowed in his giant yeti paw (warm, dry, pleasant-feeling), "I'm Gen. I like big skies, green leaves and beer. In fact, about half my luxuries ration is cans. Which I would definitely bring to a neighbourly barbecue."
"Awesome," says Jared, and smiles, warm and genuine, and right there in her face.
Atropos-3 could actually be fun.
*
Five days out, and Gen has almost completely lost the urge to kill the yeti. Jared's a pretty good guy to share four cubic meters of space with for a week. There has been bad, bad singing, there has been fairly amicable political debate, there has been a lot of discussion about the best way to set up what Jared now calls "our new home" in a way that suits both their ideas of happy planets. There have even been attempts to do the mandated Space Central exercise regime for deep space conditioning, mostly called on account of excessive laughter, and occasionally on account of excessive flailing.
There has also been Gen's single can of voyage beer, shared between them to mark the halfway point of the journey. They're out beyond the Light Zone now, a very long way from home.
"I always get the shivers," says Jared now, looking out of their one porthole. "I know this sector is mapped, but we're what? Only the twentieth, maybe thirtieth people to see this? If we cut out now, we're dead, too. No ships in range."
Gen takes a slow, reassuring breath. She doesn't mind space travel at all, but she's had the training. Plenty of people have to be sedated in space, when the isolation yawns in on them. It happens suddenly, as a rule, and she gropes quietly toward the medlocker, just in case Jared totally snaps.
Sedation isn't the preferred option, though, not under the extremes of space. First: engage the person in calm conversation on a neutral topic. Jared's good at conversation. It's a good option. But she temporarily can't think of a single neutral topic.
What comes to mind is, "Yeah, I hear wild things about what people do on these long trips. Like, inhibitions down, crazy stuff happens. A whole lot of the mixed-sex pods need hosing down afterward. Pretty large numbers of the single-sex too, I gather. People will try pretty much anything to pass the time."
There's a long, quiet moment. Jared flushes patchily pink. Gen wishes she could rewind that last minute. Jared really isn't on the verge of panic, now she looks at him properly. She didn't need to say anything.
"Uh," he says. "I… I never did anything like that. I never even- Really?" He sounds incredulous.
Jared Padalecki is a very sweet guy. For a biologist, he's also pretty naïve. Oh well. Gen nods, and tells him a long and libelous tale about an unnamed friend (who is only partially Gen, and partially Zoe, with a sprinkling of Taylor and Wex), stuck in a family pod with two guys and a girl on a six-month mission that opened her eyes to a whole lot of things she never knew about herself. Or the others.
And Jared's laughing and forgetting about deep space, until suddenly he's pausing and blushing and saying "Sorry," and getting as far away from her as he can (which isn't, very), and she realizes that telling dirty stories to a spacer in a confined pod was a really dumb thing to do. She hadn’t noticed he had an erection until then, what with their respective heights and being strapped in at equal face level; she isn't used to processing stuff that happens around her knee height as potentially sexual, but actually, yeah. Jared looks out of the porthole, and whistles awkwardly, and she is respectfully silent for a little bit, allowing him Man Space, and the awkwardness blooms.
Except. Hell, why not? Not with pod-hosing and crazy nineteen-year-old sex games. But. "Hey, Jared?"
"Umf?" he says, still avoiding her eyes.
"You want to settle on Atropos-3, right? The full bit? Marriage and kids and community citizenship awards?"
"And a dog," he says, firmly, as if she might have forgotten.
"Well, I want that too. So, there won't be a whole lot of choice out there, not for years. And we get on well, don't we? So, maybe we should see if it works?"
He blinks, and at least he's not avoiding her eyes anymore.
She gulps, and continues. "I mean. We have privacy, here, and we could test out if it's a maybe… And then we'll have a whole lot of time once the terraform is started. And if it's a no, well, we're okay, right? It's just spacetime. Nobody counts what happens in spacetime."
Jared's jaw has dropped significantly, but he's not laughing or trying to open the pod in horror. So she moves over, and kisses him, light and soft. "I kind of like you," she says. "It's worth a try, right?"
"God, yes," says Jared, flailing till she sets a calming hand on top of his. "I thought you thought I was a total loser." He cups her face, settles in for a better, longer kiss, which definitely suggests taking this further.
Mouths attach. Hands stray. Unromantic space reality intrudes.
"Uh," says Jared. He pauses. Gen waits. This will go one of two ways, and it'll tell her a lot about Jared which he chooses. "I… I really would like taking this further. But I also really, really don't want to unhook all of this-" he gestures vaguely (but quite restrainedly, she notes) at the plumbing attachments to their suits. "-and, like, wallow in our filth for the next two days, and-"
He's not kidding. You can't easily reattach your own waste tubes. Everyone knows that. She smiles, "Yep, that's definitely something I, uh, Zoe, learned on that long haul-" Jared, not being a fool, is eye-rolling at that half-assed attempt to cover. "It was pretty gross. And public. And - Yeah."
Which is how Gen and the yeti spend the last two days of their space flight to a new world and a new life: playing 'nothing below the belt' and driving themselves to distraction. It tells her Jared is sweet, and silly, and hotter than hell, and also not a complete dumbass ruled by his dick. Which, you know, is pretty much what Gen wants out of a guy.
*
The first-take terraforming of Atropos-3 takes four months. With no privacy. Living in the lifepod with forty others.
On Day 131, the lifepod confirms sufficient oxygen levels. Exiting the pod, Gen takes Jared's hand to meet the world they are making together. They have stakes and string, to lay out their first cabin. They also have condoms and sleeping bags and a burning determination to find a damn cave or hollow or something and just do it, finally.
After, Gen stretches up, chilled skin goosebumping as she pulls away from Jared. He's warm beneath her, inside her still, his arms spread wide, fingers wiggling in the grass he made. It's a long way from their spacepod.
The sky is a light shade of mauve. The grass is barely half an inch high, and there is no wildlife bigger than bugs and voles.
It's their new world, and they are creating it together.
***