#aitrpft!nova

Hope was just ending a stream when she heard the knock at the door. Letting apology creep into her voice, she finished off the stream. "Sorry guys, someone's at my door. See y'all next week." With that, she hit end stream, and immediately let her shoulders slump. 

A high-pitched ooo came from Ari. "Betcha it's my care package!" 

Laughing, Hope shook his head. "It hasn't been long enough. Didn't you say it'd take like, a few weeks? Something like that." 

"Maybe the post office was feeling nice and expedited it, just for you."

Hope chuckled again, just as the knocking came again, more insistent. "They wouldn't, trust me. I gotta go, talk to you later." 

As soon as they hit "end call," Hope's demeanor changed. They weren't expecting any deliveries aside from Ari's care package (a handful of shelf-stable, magic-free snacks they'd been begging Hope to try), and they hadn't trusted anyone else with their address. Which meant either someone was in the wrong place, or something was wrong. 

The knock came again, full-on banging. "I'm coming!" Hope called, rising stiffly as every muscle protested the movement. Longer streams were always fun, until Hope had to start moving around again. They fumbled for their cane beside them, leaning on it and taking deep breaths as the pain subsided— not gone, but certainly more manageable. 

As she left her office, Hope thought through the weapons she had available, just in case this was danger: her gun was in its safe, in her bedroom, and she didn't feel enough in danger to grab it. And she wasn't going to use her cane if there was any way to avoid it (that would be fucking expensive to replace), but she had a baseball bat by the front door and some very good knowledge of human anatomy, after spending most of her childhood (and a decent chunk of adulthood) in and out of hospitals and having nothing better to do than grill the doctors. 

When he opened the door, he was more than a little surprised by a trio of white-and-black uniforms, golden Justice Reigns pins glinting in the late afternoon sun. "Hope Smith?" The officer in the lead asked sharply, looking annoyed. 

Shifting their stance to something a little more comfortable (not missing the way the officers tensed as they did), Hope nodded. "Yeah. Everything okay?" They tried to tell themselves it was fine; probably just a robbery or something in the area, and the officers were asking neighbors if they'd seen anything. 

So why wouldn't the normal police handle that? Hope tried not to think too hard about that, and just hoped he was right. 

"We need you to come with us." 

Hope stiffened. "Why?" He tried to keep his voice level, calm. Freaking out around law enforcement wasn't going to help. 

The officer looked annoyed that Hope wasn't just blindly complying. "It's a matter of multiversal safety. Will you come willingly?" 

"How am I a threat to multiversal safety?" Hope asked incredulously. 

The officer didn't answer, just let one hand settle on the cuffs at his belt. "You'll get some answers when you come with us." 

When. Not if. When. No wiggling out of this one, Hope. Taking a deep breath and forcing her shoulders to untense, Hope lifted her free hand. "No need for that. I'll go." 

A moment passed where Hope almost thought they were going to handcuff her anyways. Thankfully, though, they seemed satisfied that she wasn't running and just had one of them grab her by the arm.

The car Hope was hustled towards was black, with tinted windows so dark they couldn't see inside; but the instant they were shoved inside, they felt the familiar sensation of a magic suppressor wash over them. At least that was one thing they didn't have to worry about. 

As soon as they were inside, Hope stiffened. They weren't alone in the car. 

One of the other occupants was a young adult, probably in his twenties. He was wearing brightly-colored, comfy looking clothes, had his hair dyed a bright blue, and looked very kind even as his brow furrowed with concern. The other was a teenager, with dark hair and golden eyes, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his orange hoodie and eyes sparkling with curiosity. Both of them had black-and-yellow wings, which were limp from the magic suppressors. 

Something feels wrong. I felt it when we first got onto the shuttle, but I kept my worries to myself. Clip was already shaking so hard that Emmy had to secure his harness for him, and even though she was acting as confident as ever, we knew each other well enough that every one of us was well aware Emmy was as freaked out as the rest of us; she just didn't show it because no one wanted to call attention to the pilots' nerves

Because a few short months ago, JR sent two shuttles down to the surface of Genesis III— shuttles that were sabotaged, or so the news said. I'm not sure what to believe, when the ships both carried dangerous criminals that claimed to have changed their tune. After everything the new CEO had gone through to pull himself to that position, I could imagine him wanting to make sure they didn't take revenge or try to take back JR. And the civilians… well, the last CEO had made it clear what JR thought of civilian casualties when he'd left Genesis III as a wasteland and given people a week to travel to twenty evacuation ships before they left permanently. 

I'd seen pictures of the planet before the harvest; our genetic donors (I knew none of us wanted to call them our parents) had drilled the reason why we were made into us countless times. Beautiful, green, with brilliantly blue oceans. Looking at the viewscreens in front of me, a broken planet stared back. Coated in shades of brown and gray that looked completely unnatural. Even the oceans were a dull, off color that made me think of disease. I could feel my friends— the other clones— shifting in their seats behind us, hear Clip's frantic gasps for air, Xenon's muttered reassurances. 

My stomach— and possibly every other organ in my body— lurched into my throat when we started decelerating. I heard Clip squeak in fear. We'd trained for this, been drilled on what to expect, but knowing this was it somehow made it worse. We were either going to be the first successful landing on Genesis III after the harvest, or we were going to become another scorched patch of debris, another scar among thousands to this world. 

For long minutes, Emmy and I were completely focused, working in tandem to monitor the ship's descent. We had a landing location already marked, recommended by JR when they approved our landing and triple-checked by our donors. JR had offered to give us a functioning shuttle left over from their own reclamation project. Our donors had refused.

A sharp jolt startles me from my thoughts. Emmy is carefully running her hands over the dozens of buttons in front of her, eyes darting between readouts. "We're down," she says, glancing at me with a quick smile; the sort of smile that says she's won whatever game she's playing. 

This is it. No going back. Now that we're down, we're considered a part of the quarantine. The only way out is to fix the environment, which as far as we know has been completely destroyed. No biggie. Definitely not terrifying at all. 

Tune unstraps as soon as it's clear the shuttle is completely stopped. "We lived!" She whoops, pumping her fist in the air. 

I unstrap myself and turn just in time to catch a high-five from her, as she proceeds to pester every one of the others to smack her hand; Cherrie and Virus both return the gesture, along with Emmy. Xenon holds up his hand, but his focus is completely on Clip, who's doubled over and sucking in sharp breaths. Making my way over, I tap Xenon's shoulder to get his attention. "Is he okay?" 

Xenon shrugs. "Just motion sickness. He's going to be fine." 

Nodding quickly, I turn to Cherrie. The shuttle's cockpit, like the rest of it, is made to be as compact and light as possible, which means I barely have to move to be at their side. "You alright?" I ask. Cherrie was the last of the cloning batch that made me and Tune; even when humanity has mastered the stars, risk-free cloning has still evaded us. Dozens of clones across our whole project were rejected for one reason or another; the ones that were rejected before full-term were terminated, but the handful that made it to full life with us were given away to families who loved them. 

I wonder if that would have been better, sometimes. 

Cherrie, oblivious to my thoughts, grins. "Yup!" They offer me a thumbs-up, freeing themselves from their straps and stretching. "All good!" 

Looking around, the whole group seems in good health. Even Clip is slowly lifting his head, still looking vaguely ill, but without the immediate threat of vomit. Xenon apparently decides this is good enough, because he starts checking up on everyone else. 

Emmy appears at Virus' side, gently removing their straps and pulling them up into her arms with a flourishing spin. With a laugh at the gesture, Virus stands on tiptoe to peck her on the cheek. "Nice flying," I hear them whisper. 

"I like to think so," Emmy says, clearly preening under her partner's praise. 

My lips quirk up into a small smile, watching my crew mingle and congratulate each other. Just as quickly, it's gone with the reminder that we have so much to do, and so little time. The shuttle is designed to have everything we need to get started, but it's all we have. Turning away from the minor celebrations throughout the cockpit, I stride towards the door to the hold. Xenon appears at my side, and when I raise an eyebrow he mirrors the motion. 

"What do you want?" 

"To check on my supplies," he says, as if it should be obvious. "You know what you're looking at, but I want to make sure for myself that it's all secure." 

I concede with a shrug, tapping out the code to unlock the hold. The door slides open with a loud creak; it was shocking our donors had managed to find a landing shuttle for as cheap as they had, until we realized she was basically a glorified heap of scrap metal; but when you had some of the brightest minds left from Genesis III collaborating on a project, they tended to make it work. The shuttle wasn't pretty, but she got us and all our supplies safely to the surface, and that was really all we needed. 

Slipping inside, it looks like most of our things made it without even budging; a good sign that Cherrie and Clip had secured everything well, I think as I wander through the maze of things. There are a handful of cases scattered, but checking them over proves they aren't anything extremely fragile: all of Clip's seed packets are intact, and so are Xenon's medical supplies and crates of food. 

So why doesn't this feel right? I think, turning a slow circle. Everything's in one piece, we're all in one piece. Nothing's wrong— so why do I still feel a prickling on the back of my neck?

A loud thunk makes me whip around, hand darting to the knife strapped to my hip. Xenon's already mirroring me, eyes narrowed in the same direction as me: deeper into the hold, where I can see a food crate has been tipped on its side. Exchanging a look, Xenon and I slip forwards. 

My mind is racing through everything this could be— an alien, some mutated monster broken in from the wasteland, a saboteur preparing to destroy our supplies or kill us all?— when we turn the corner, where a stack of crates blocks the flourescent lights.

I make out four people in the half-light: one is on the floor, wheezing. Two more are holding their arms, trying to pull them up. The fourth stands off to the side, shoulders hunched as they wring their hands. None of them seem to have noticed us. Xenon loudly clears his throat. 

All four of them freeze. The one standing aside and one of the lifters jump and turn towards us. The lifter— goddamn he's tall— lets out an undignified squeak.

For a long moment, none of us move, aside from the remaining lifter managing to haul the guy on the ground up onto their feet. I hear a clatter as they arrange a cane in one hand and lean on it; I'd missed it before, lying beside them. 

Finally, the guy who was on the ground takes a deep breath. "Hi." 

"Who are you? Why are you here?" Xenon still hasn't sheathed his knife, and neither have I. I keep an eye on him out of the corner of my eye as he speaks. 

The second lifter steps forward, holding her hands out wide and empty. "We're… sort of lost." 

"How the fuck did you get lost?" I demand. "How did you even get in here?" 

The guy from the floor shrugs. "We were following him," he points at the one who dropped him. 

The kid— because now that I'm looking the guy that squeaked and the one that stood off to the side are both teenagers— makes an offended noise. "I didn't make you follow me!" 

"We weren't going to just let you waltz into this ship all by yourself!" The cane user snaps, wheezing. I can see Xenon tense, glancing at me sharply. That ragged breathing could be for any number of reasons, especially after a shuttle landing where they had nothing securing them, and I don't like any of them. 

The other teen, the one that hasn't spoken yet, lifts their hands and starts signing. "She's right," they say. "You don't listen, and now here we are." Turning to me and Xenon, they continue. "Sorry, he's being stubborn."

I blink. I hadn't recognized them before in the low light, but now that I'm looking closer, now that I've seen them sign, I realize I know this teen. "Mal?"

They twitch, then nod. I look around at the other three, and realize I recognize them as well. "Nova? Star? Hope?" 

The three siblings stare at me, clearly awkward. "… Hi, Parch." Nova squeaks out after a moment, curling in on himself. 

"What are you— why are you here?" I snap, eyes sweeping over them now. "You could have died!" And that's still a very real possibility, I realize with a sinking feeling. They could have suffered any number of injuries, unsecured back here during landing. And we were only sent with enough food to support seven people for up to a year. Enough to (hopefully) get us to self-sufficiency. With four extra mouths to feed, that's going to be stretched thin. I'm already starting to run through the math, and I don't like any of the answers I'm coming up with. 

Hunching his shoulders further, Nova doesn't meet my eyes when he speaks. "I— I wanted to help."

Gritting my teeth, I sheathe my knife and gesture Xenon forward. "Hope, are you okay? You're breathing weird." 

She holds up a shaky thumbs-up. "Just… fine. Got knocked over by some stuff." She wheezes in a very unconvincing tone. 

"Bullshit," Xenon says simply. "C'mon, let me get you to the medbay, take a look." 

"I said I'm fine—"

Xenon is already shaking his head. "Nope. All of you, with me." He glances at me for approval. 

"Go," I tell them. "I'll tell the others, and we'll figure out what we're doing after Xenon gives you the all-clear." 

Taking a deep breath, I wait long enough to make sure they're all going with Xenon. Hope is moving stiffly, leaning heavily on their cane. Star's walking beside them, clearly worried. Mal and Nova move side-by-side, with Nova looking like he's about to be chewed out by someone. Which is honestly probably in his future; if his dads aren't here to tell him off, then I'm probably the closest thing he has to an authority figure right now. I can only hope he'll listen to me. 

It might've been really confusing when Nova was really little. Especially when Vex suddenly fronted, because he'd have been much more strict than Nortimer and Jack (who Nova would've seen the most, since Noot doesn't front and Hades only does in specific circumstances that Nightmare tries to keep Nova away from anyways), and while the sudden switch between the more lenient Nortimer and Jack (mostly nortimer) to the strict (and possibly controlling, in his attempts to keep Nova safe) Vex might've been the cause of some negative mental health...

Nova would not know that his dad's Different from most people, so Nightmare probably wouldn't mask much around him, because a. he shouldn't have to worry about his own kid calling him a fucking weirdo (derogatory) b. it would (gasp!) be exhausting to mask 24/7 and they ain't doing that. So it's more clear that there's something going on that's not just inconsistency or unpredictability

Unlike some singlet parents who suddenly swap between being lenient and being strict as hell, there would be a lot more obvious and external cues that something is happening that Nova, growing up with nightmare, would eventually pick up on. Especially with how much different Vex is from Nortimer and Jack.

Vex might still seem to come out of nowhere sometimes, but once Nova realizes that his dad is being That Specific Guy it's easier to anticipate the strictness.