[Guilty Gear] Three Degrees to the Right, Part 2
Title: Three Degrees to the Right
Fandom: Guilty Gear
Part: 2/12
Characters: Sol, Ky
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: violence
Notes: Ky is reminded yet again that some days are better than others. Hey, Sol can't be the only one with a sucky morning.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII
Three Degrees to the Right
Part II
"Twenty minutes to touch-down, beginning final approach."
"All systems clear for descent."
"Base still isn't responding, sir."
In the busy atmosphere of the bridge, the radio operator had turned around, the worry on his pale face dulled only by fatigue. Ky couldn't fault him for it; the man had been at his post for hours, trying to make sense of the garbled transmissions pushing through the channels, hoping in vain to raise someone.
"I've got a clear signal now, but no one's answering."
Glancing at the instruments, Ky shook his head. "Still… keep trying. If worse comes to worst, you have permission to override the hangar codes."
"Yes, sir." The operator turned back to his console.
Ky nodded to the officer on duty. "You have the bridge, Lieutenant."
Gathering up a stack of reports, he left for the tactical operations room, preoccupied with the silent base. It would have been foolish to judge the incident without knowing the circumstances, but all the same, he would have to have a word with the person in charge. No emergency warranted neglecting communications duty, especially when information was the thing they currently needed the most.
Tactical operations was just down the hall from the bridge, barely bigger than a standard cabin, dominated by maps and a large conference table. This early in the morning, the room should have been deserted, but even from a distance, he could see the lone red-glowing point in the darkness, a biting smell wafting out into the corridor.
Frowning, he flipped the switch next to the door, the overhead lights coming on in a bright flare, which earned him a displeased noise.
"Good morning. In case you forgot, this is the war room, not a glorified smoking closet."
"And we couldn't have uncivilized behavior in a war room, now could we," Sol muttered, the sarcasm in his voice somewhat offset by his bleary stare.
For a second, Ky wondered if the man had actually been sleeping, and why on Earth he would choose this room for a nap, before he discovered the dismantled smoke detector on the wall and the fact that Sol had managed to dislodge his chair from the floor in order to have enough space to prop his legs up on the table. Holding back a sigh, he reached over, pushing Sol's feet out of the way to get to the spread-out map of southwest Russia, and pretending he couldn't see that damnable smirk.
On most days, it felt like he was dealing with a juvenile delinquent instead of a grown man.
Brushing off the surface, he could see that several new marks had been added since he had last seen it, broad slashes next to the neat little crosses that dominated the rest of the map, a bright red graveyard closing in on Greater Moscow. He didn't need to check to know that the marks all coincided with the locations of surveillance stations.
It bothered him that they should be crossed out before their demise was even confirmed, despite the fact that he knew there was no chance they could have survived the attack. An irrational sentiment, perhaps, but it still seemed wrong.
"Updated that for you," Sol said as part of the ritual challenge-his methods versus Ky's own-but his words were lacking their usual nonchalance, a strange undercurrent in his voice. At a closer look, Ky could see it reflected in his posture, the kind of barely perceptible tension that would come before a serious fight.
With anyone else, he might have been able to assume, might have asked had he thought the inquiry welcome, but Sol guarded his secrets closely and tirelessly, and all Ky could do was hope for him to share them if the situation warranted it.
It's kind of funny, really… I've almost made an art of not asking.
"Thanks," he said, hoping that a sidelong glance would sufficiently convey his disapproval, and began folding the map.
Sol very pointedly took another drag of his cigarette, but as far as provocations went, it was a pretty poor one, and Ky didn't have the mind to spare for a lengthy argument. At another time, perhaps, but not now.
"…Any developments on the clusterfuck?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's a complete mess out there. Most of the network's broken down; what's left is getting overloaded. Half of these targets-" He waved the reports. "-are from intercepted communications. Most of them unconfirmed."
"Doesn't matter. If they were in the way, they're toast. And it's not like it takes a genius to figure out where this is gonna lead."
"Yes, there is that."
It would hardly be the first time they had made do with nothing but intuition and educated guesses. For planning multiple operations at the same time, though, they would need a bit more than divine guidance.
"I expect the evacuation will pose the biggest problem, though I don't see why we couldn't have rendezvoused with the rest of the fleet en route to Moscow. This is wasting time we don't have." He frowned, tucking the map into the stack of documents.
"Why bother thinking when the fire brigade's on the way."
"Sol."
"Oh, come on. You know that's how people tick." Sol got up, pushing his chair back against the table in the wrong position. "You can be glad if they don't hand you a list of special wishes. I wouldn't be surprised if they wanted you to retake the city."
"That's suicide," Ky said, turning and heading for the exit hatch, content in the knowledge that Sol would follow. A moment later, the man's larger stride caught up to him, the scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to his clothes.
"Wouldn't be their first stupid decision."
"I'm not going to sacrifice my people for this. Moscow hasn't been defensible in a long time, and it definitely isn't defensible now. Kliff's been pushing for a relocation for God knows how long, but you know how well these things go over."
Sol snorted. "It's easier waiting until the problem decides to solve itself. Or in this case, gets eaten."
"Yeah, I know. It just…"
"…blows?"
"Pardon?"
"Forget it." Sol waved his hand dismissively, pretending to be oblivious to the inquisitive stare leveled at him.
Eventually, Ky relented, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The incessant non sequiturs were getting on his nerves, especially when they weren't meant to do just that. There was no good reason to withhold an explanation in normal conversations, rare as they were.
They walked on in silence, following the corridor curving along the outer hull until they arrived at an inconspicuous-looking door. As the ship continued to descend, the bright glare of the approach lights broke through the darkness, the alternating hues of green and blue transforming the dock below into an otherworldly silhouette, the hangar gates gaping like a bottomless pit.
"Well," Ky said eventually, turning away from the portholes. "Whatever the case, we'll know soon enough. Let's just hope for the best."
"That's your forte, not mine."
Any reply he might have had was swallowed by the engines reversing their thrust, a low thrum running through the ship until the entire hull was vibrating with the force of the sound. The intercom beeped, an automatic voice spelling out the landing procedure.
"Preparing docking clamps. Do not disembark until docking sequence is complete."
Sol shrugged, reached out, and simply twisted the lever for manual override. The hatch slid open in a gust of cold air, red lights flaring up around the doorframe.
"Warning," the voice informed them, a discordant alarm blaring to accompany the statement. "Unauthorized operation of emergency controls. Please close hatch immediately."
"You can't do anything quietly, can you?" Ky muttered, certain that Sol would hear him despite the noise.
"No risk, no fun, boy scout." And before Ky could do anything to stop him, he jumped out on the approaching runway to the sound of more sirens.
"Warning. Unauthorized operation of emergency controls. Please close hatch immediately."
Sol turned around, the wind tugging at his hair and coat, raising his voice to be heard over the howling thrusters. "You coming?"
"…No," Ky said, and leapt.
---
"Commander?!"
Sol had expected some kind of helpful little flunky to fetch them for the briefing to the briefing, as part of the standard military daisy chain. He had not expected a whole welcoming committee, three wide-eyed soldiers in the pale yellow operator's uniform staring up at them from the bottom of the runway, aghast that the esteemed commander had just jumped ship. They had lined up from shortest to tallest, looking for all the world like lost ducklings waiting to be guided back to their mothers.
Glancing over his shoulder, he was gratified to catch that tiny glimpse of self-conscious surprise on the kid's face that suggested he hadn't really thought about what he was doing, before it all vanished under a mask of neutrality again.
Ky straightened, causing the ducklings to snap to attention so fast that the one up front lost control of the stack of papers she was holding, the wind from the engines scattering the sheets all across the hangar. The girl hesitated for a moment, before deciding that her papers floating around all over the place might be more offensive than her breaking formation, and dashed off to chase them down. The other two remained at attention until Ky quickly dismissed them so they could help their colleague in her pursuit.
Sol quirked an eyebrow. "Did they send us the comedy trio or something?"
Starting for the stairs, Ky shook his head. "I'm more wondering why they sent us a trio at all. I can't imagine the base so complicated to navigate as to require three people to figure out directions."
"Maybe they wanted your autograph," Sol suggested only half in jest, moving to catch up.
"My what? Don't be foolish."
Above them, the docking clamps latched on with a loud clang, the noise of the thrusters slowly dying away. The runway came to a stop near the open exit hatch, attaching itself to the side of the ship. The ducklings finally completed their mad chase of the documents, lining up at the bottom again. Ky was right, of course; you had to wonder what business radio operators had here in the first place, and while Sol might have been able to explain the presence of one with a general shortage of personnel, the presence of three suggested the opposite.
His thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of, "Sirs!" once they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, the triplets looking ready to salute again at the slightest provocation. Only one held any sort of rank, and neither of them was a day over twenty.
"Privates… Corporal… would you please explain this?"
Although Ky's tone was soft and even, he might as well have been yelling at them for the way they suddenly paled. It would never not be amusing to watch adults fidgeting nervously under the scrutiny of a fifteen-year-old, but at the moment, Sol found himself wishing they would get on with it. Something wasn't right here, and their pointless conniptions were wasting time.
"Um… erm… here, sir." The girl held out her papers. "I, um. There's some things you ought to know, sir, well…"
"Corporal?"
One of the boys chimed in. "Um, we know it's against regulations and all, sir, but there's problems and…"
"What kind of problems?"
The kid had entirely too much patience, Sol decided, tuning out their stuttering and letting his gaze sweep the hangar bay.
Apart from the fading hum of the engines, it was awfully quiet. There should have been something going on around here; anything to suggest that a military operation was underway, and yet, there was barely enough light to illuminate the way to the exit. No personnel milling around, no radio response, and now…
A reflection against the ship's body caught his attention, leaving him momentarily puzzled. By all means, there shouldn't have been anything to reflect.
"You're not going to be punished for reporting a problem, Corporal, so if you would-"
The girl's reply got lost in a startled yelp as Sol shoved past her and her little entourage, ducking between the stabilizers attached to the ship's protruding bow.
"What the-! Sol! What do you think you're doing?!"
"Look at this."
To his credit, Ky immediately fell silent, hurrying to his side.
"I think I just found our problem," Sol said mirthlessly, turning away from the bulky silhouettes gleaming in the faint overhead lighting to watch the situation shuffle on the kid's face, bewilderment, shock, anger all flitting across his features, before settling into something shuttered and hard.
"I have no idea what is going on here," Ky murmured, staring out at the rows of perfectly silent colossi. "But I will find out."
-TBC-
---
A/N: I'm afraid you can totally tell which parts I had the most fun with. XD C&C is appreciated.
- I imagine GG airships work like every other pseudo-steampunk airship in existence. As far as I'm concerned, a wizard did it.
- And this would be my unreasonable fondness for Dr. Strangelove, showing up again.
<< Return to Part I? | Continue to Part III? >>
<< Return to Guilty Gear Index | Return to Fanfiction Index >>
Fandom: Guilty Gear
Part: 2/12
Characters: Sol, Ky
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: violence
Notes: Ky is reminded yet again that some days are better than others. Hey, Sol can't be the only one with a sucky morning.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII
Three Degrees to the Right
Part II
"Twenty minutes to touch-down, beginning final approach."
"All systems clear for descent."
"Base still isn't responding, sir."
In the busy atmosphere of the bridge, the radio operator had turned around, the worry on his pale face dulled only by fatigue. Ky couldn't fault him for it; the man had been at his post for hours, trying to make sense of the garbled transmissions pushing through the channels, hoping in vain to raise someone.
"I've got a clear signal now, but no one's answering."
Glancing at the instruments, Ky shook his head. "Still… keep trying. If worse comes to worst, you have permission to override the hangar codes."
"Yes, sir." The operator turned back to his console.
Ky nodded to the officer on duty. "You have the bridge, Lieutenant."
Gathering up a stack of reports, he left for the tactical operations room, preoccupied with the silent base. It would have been foolish to judge the incident without knowing the circumstances, but all the same, he would have to have a word with the person in charge. No emergency warranted neglecting communications duty, especially when information was the thing they currently needed the most.
Tactical operations was just down the hall from the bridge, barely bigger than a standard cabin, dominated by maps and a large conference table. This early in the morning, the room should have been deserted, but even from a distance, he could see the lone red-glowing point in the darkness, a biting smell wafting out into the corridor.
Frowning, he flipped the switch next to the door, the overhead lights coming on in a bright flare, which earned him a displeased noise.
"Good morning. In case you forgot, this is the war room, not a glorified smoking closet."
"And we couldn't have uncivilized behavior in a war room, now could we," Sol muttered, the sarcasm in his voice somewhat offset by his bleary stare.
For a second, Ky wondered if the man had actually been sleeping, and why on Earth he would choose this room for a nap, before he discovered the dismantled smoke detector on the wall and the fact that Sol had managed to dislodge his chair from the floor in order to have enough space to prop his legs up on the table. Holding back a sigh, he reached over, pushing Sol's feet out of the way to get to the spread-out map of southwest Russia, and pretending he couldn't see that damnable smirk.
On most days, it felt like he was dealing with a juvenile delinquent instead of a grown man.
Brushing off the surface, he could see that several new marks had been added since he had last seen it, broad slashes next to the neat little crosses that dominated the rest of the map, a bright red graveyard closing in on Greater Moscow. He didn't need to check to know that the marks all coincided with the locations of surveillance stations.
It bothered him that they should be crossed out before their demise was even confirmed, despite the fact that he knew there was no chance they could have survived the attack. An irrational sentiment, perhaps, but it still seemed wrong.
"Updated that for you," Sol said as part of the ritual challenge-his methods versus Ky's own-but his words were lacking their usual nonchalance, a strange undercurrent in his voice. At a closer look, Ky could see it reflected in his posture, the kind of barely perceptible tension that would come before a serious fight.
With anyone else, he might have been able to assume, might have asked had he thought the inquiry welcome, but Sol guarded his secrets closely and tirelessly, and all Ky could do was hope for him to share them if the situation warranted it.
It's kind of funny, really… I've almost made an art of not asking.
"Thanks," he said, hoping that a sidelong glance would sufficiently convey his disapproval, and began folding the map.
Sol very pointedly took another drag of his cigarette, but as far as provocations went, it was a pretty poor one, and Ky didn't have the mind to spare for a lengthy argument. At another time, perhaps, but not now.
"…Any developments on the clusterfuck?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's a complete mess out there. Most of the network's broken down; what's left is getting overloaded. Half of these targets-" He waved the reports. "-are from intercepted communications. Most of them unconfirmed."
"Doesn't matter. If they were in the way, they're toast. And it's not like it takes a genius to figure out where this is gonna lead."
"Yes, there is that."
It would hardly be the first time they had made do with nothing but intuition and educated guesses. For planning multiple operations at the same time, though, they would need a bit more than divine guidance.
"I expect the evacuation will pose the biggest problem, though I don't see why we couldn't have rendezvoused with the rest of the fleet en route to Moscow. This is wasting time we don't have." He frowned, tucking the map into the stack of documents.
"Why bother thinking when the fire brigade's on the way."
"Sol."
"Oh, come on. You know that's how people tick." Sol got up, pushing his chair back against the table in the wrong position. "You can be glad if they don't hand you a list of special wishes. I wouldn't be surprised if they wanted you to retake the city."
"That's suicide," Ky said, turning and heading for the exit hatch, content in the knowledge that Sol would follow. A moment later, the man's larger stride caught up to him, the scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to his clothes.
"Wouldn't be their first stupid decision."
"I'm not going to sacrifice my people for this. Moscow hasn't been defensible in a long time, and it definitely isn't defensible now. Kliff's been pushing for a relocation for God knows how long, but you know how well these things go over."
Sol snorted. "It's easier waiting until the problem decides to solve itself. Or in this case, gets eaten."
"Yeah, I know. It just…"
"…blows?"
"Pardon?"
"Forget it." Sol waved his hand dismissively, pretending to be oblivious to the inquisitive stare leveled at him.
Eventually, Ky relented, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The incessant non sequiturs were getting on his nerves, especially when they weren't meant to do just that. There was no good reason to withhold an explanation in normal conversations, rare as they were.
They walked on in silence, following the corridor curving along the outer hull until they arrived at an inconspicuous-looking door. As the ship continued to descend, the bright glare of the approach lights broke through the darkness, the alternating hues of green and blue transforming the dock below into an otherworldly silhouette, the hangar gates gaping like a bottomless pit.
"Well," Ky said eventually, turning away from the portholes. "Whatever the case, we'll know soon enough. Let's just hope for the best."
"That's your forte, not mine."
Any reply he might have had was swallowed by the engines reversing their thrust, a low thrum running through the ship until the entire hull was vibrating with the force of the sound. The intercom beeped, an automatic voice spelling out the landing procedure.
"Preparing docking clamps. Do not disembark until docking sequence is complete."
Sol shrugged, reached out, and simply twisted the lever for manual override. The hatch slid open in a gust of cold air, red lights flaring up around the doorframe.
"Warning," the voice informed them, a discordant alarm blaring to accompany the statement. "Unauthorized operation of emergency controls. Please close hatch immediately."
"You can't do anything quietly, can you?" Ky muttered, certain that Sol would hear him despite the noise.
"No risk, no fun, boy scout." And before Ky could do anything to stop him, he jumped out on the approaching runway to the sound of more sirens.
"Warning. Unauthorized operation of emergency controls. Please close hatch immediately."
Sol turned around, the wind tugging at his hair and coat, raising his voice to be heard over the howling thrusters. "You coming?"
"…No," Ky said, and leapt.
---
"Commander?!"
Sol had expected some kind of helpful little flunky to fetch them for the briefing to the briefing, as part of the standard military daisy chain. He had not expected a whole welcoming committee, three wide-eyed soldiers in the pale yellow operator's uniform staring up at them from the bottom of the runway, aghast that the esteemed commander had just jumped ship. They had lined up from shortest to tallest, looking for all the world like lost ducklings waiting to be guided back to their mothers.
Glancing over his shoulder, he was gratified to catch that tiny glimpse of self-conscious surprise on the kid's face that suggested he hadn't really thought about what he was doing, before it all vanished under a mask of neutrality again.
Ky straightened, causing the ducklings to snap to attention so fast that the one up front lost control of the stack of papers she was holding, the wind from the engines scattering the sheets all across the hangar. The girl hesitated for a moment, before deciding that her papers floating around all over the place might be more offensive than her breaking formation, and dashed off to chase them down. The other two remained at attention until Ky quickly dismissed them so they could help their colleague in her pursuit.
Sol quirked an eyebrow. "Did they send us the comedy trio or something?"
Starting for the stairs, Ky shook his head. "I'm more wondering why they sent us a trio at all. I can't imagine the base so complicated to navigate as to require three people to figure out directions."
"Maybe they wanted your autograph," Sol suggested only half in jest, moving to catch up.
"My what? Don't be foolish."
Above them, the docking clamps latched on with a loud clang, the noise of the thrusters slowly dying away. The runway came to a stop near the open exit hatch, attaching itself to the side of the ship. The ducklings finally completed their mad chase of the documents, lining up at the bottom again. Ky was right, of course; you had to wonder what business radio operators had here in the first place, and while Sol might have been able to explain the presence of one with a general shortage of personnel, the presence of three suggested the opposite.
His thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of, "Sirs!" once they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, the triplets looking ready to salute again at the slightest provocation. Only one held any sort of rank, and neither of them was a day over twenty.
"Privates… Corporal… would you please explain this?"
Although Ky's tone was soft and even, he might as well have been yelling at them for the way they suddenly paled. It would never not be amusing to watch adults fidgeting nervously under the scrutiny of a fifteen-year-old, but at the moment, Sol found himself wishing they would get on with it. Something wasn't right here, and their pointless conniptions were wasting time.
"Um… erm… here, sir." The girl held out her papers. "I, um. There's some things you ought to know, sir, well…"
"Corporal?"
One of the boys chimed in. "Um, we know it's against regulations and all, sir, but there's problems and…"
"What kind of problems?"
The kid had entirely too much patience, Sol decided, tuning out their stuttering and letting his gaze sweep the hangar bay.
Apart from the fading hum of the engines, it was awfully quiet. There should have been something going on around here; anything to suggest that a military operation was underway, and yet, there was barely enough light to illuminate the way to the exit. No personnel milling around, no radio response, and now…
A reflection against the ship's body caught his attention, leaving him momentarily puzzled. By all means, there shouldn't have been anything to reflect.
"You're not going to be punished for reporting a problem, Corporal, so if you would-"
The girl's reply got lost in a startled yelp as Sol shoved past her and her little entourage, ducking between the stabilizers attached to the ship's protruding bow.
"What the-! Sol! What do you think you're doing?!"
"Look at this."
To his credit, Ky immediately fell silent, hurrying to his side.
"I think I just found our problem," Sol said mirthlessly, turning away from the bulky silhouettes gleaming in the faint overhead lighting to watch the situation shuffle on the kid's face, bewilderment, shock, anger all flitting across his features, before settling into something shuttered and hard.
"I have no idea what is going on here," Ky murmured, staring out at the rows of perfectly silent colossi. "But I will find out."
-TBC-
---
A/N: I'm afraid you can totally tell which parts I had the most fun with. XD C&C is appreciated.
- I imagine GG airships work like every other pseudo-steampunk airship in existence. As far as I'm concerned, a wizard did it.
- And this would be my unreasonable fondness for Dr. Strangelove, showing up again.
<< Return to Part I? | Continue to Part III? >>
<< Return to Guilty Gear Index | Return to Fanfiction Index >>