Chapter Text
The view through the window was much the same as it had been for the last three days. Darkness and stars, the occasional streak of debris, and nothing else. Genos could, with the information he'd downloaded specifically for this mission, chart those stars and determine where he was, how fast they were moving, how long there was to go.
But if he kept doing that he'd drive himself insane. It was better to use this trip to practice his "character."
A knock on the hatch gave him an opportunity. Genos smoothed his hair down and arranged himself into a demure pose, expensive paper book open on his lap, and called, "Come in."
One of the young men who crewed the ship popped his head through the doorway. "Uh, pardon me your highness, but food's ready. I mean, if you'd like luncheon, it's..."
"Thank you, Charanko."
His eyes went wide. "Oh, you remembered- I mean um. So do- would you like to eat in your cabin again?"
How would a real princess, one who'd spent her whole life preparing for this sort of thing, react? How would Karina handle this situation? Of course, Karina wouldn't have to, because her family had ships and crews on their payroll. Both sides would know exactly what the protocol was here.
What kind of princess was he? That was the real question. Haughty and spoiled? Well-meaning but sheltered?
Who had he been, before-
"If I'm not putting anyone out," Genos said, "could I dine with you? I'm afraid it gets a bit lonely reading and stargazing all day."
"Of course!" Charanko exclaimed. "Let me- let me just tell the captain. Not that the galley is a mess or anything, but for royalty-"
"Please," Genos attempted a smile. "Don't go out of your way. I understand this voyage was last-minute. For all of us."
It was more true than he wanted to admit. Two weeks ago he'd believed his relatives thought he died along with the rest of his immediate family. Then he was contacted about a job, the offer turned out to come from his uncle, and now...
"Well uh, Garou- I mean, the captain will be upset if we don't make at least a little effort."
Genos doubted that, actually; the young captain didn't seem particularly hung up on protocol and formality.
"So I'll come get you in just a second, okay?"
"Yes, that's fine."
While they no-doubt fought, Genos went through the box of old jewelry he'd been handed before he left. This, along with a brand new wardrobe handpicked by a personal shopper, was his armor for this mission.
He felt... bare. Naked. Weak. He was still stronger than an unaugmented human, he'd refused to wear slim arms that would have made him more acceptably feminine, but he didn't have his usual internal weapons and layers of body armor. Instead he was covered in soft synth skin that looked like a doll's, and clothes in soothing colors and lacy metallics.
The crew member returned and eagerly offered his arm to Genos.
“Luncheon is served, your highness.”
Genos forced a smile. “You're too kind. This really isn't necessary.”
“It's the least we can do!”
The meal was awkward, as Genos had expected. The crew, all two of them, couldn't talk to each other as they usually did, and Genos had nothing to talk about. There was some kind of tension that Genos had no interest in, and under any other circumstances he'd be ignoring it entirely, but a princess had to be aware of these things.
At least the food was decent. With the huge bonus Genos had given them to carry him so far on such short notice, they'd probably splurged.
Genos was burning through the walking-around money he'd been given for the job, but it didn't matter. Once he got to the frontier he'd only need to save enough to bribe a guard or two and commandeer a fast ship.
After the meal - which Genos restrained himself from eating as much as he wanted to – the crew started to clear up, trying to make conversation about the trip.
“Only a couple days left, your highness,” Charanko said. “Are you looking forward to-”
An off-pitch whine filled the galley, and they all winced. “Shit,” Captain Garou muttered, and then glanced at Genos. “Sorry princess, we're being hailed.”
“Why does it make that noise?” Genos asked, too annoyed to remember his character.
The captain gave him a sharp look. “You can hear that?”
“Should I not-” The crew members, every moment Genos had seen them, had been wearing headphones and visors. He'd assumed it was some sort of ship equipment, and now he was sure. “Oh.”
“Are you-”
“Garou,” Charanko said, looking back from a screen on the wall. “It's the cops.”
“Shit,” Genos and Garou said in unison.
They exchanged a glance. Genos kept his face expressionless.
“Get to your cabin,” Garou said. “We'll handle this.”
Genos nodded. “I'm in your hands, captain.”
He waited in his cabin and... thought. This ship was small, fast, outfitted for more crew than it carried, and according to the manifest was hauling specialized farming equipment to the backwater end of nowhere. And Genos had no doubt that was true, but now he had no doubt they were carrying something else as well.
His uncle hired it. Just like the stylist and the personal shopper and Genos himself. And when you hired something last minute you got what you got.
In this case the criteria had been 1. a ship that would get to the destination within a certain timeframe, and 2. no alphas. Charanko was a beta and Garou was, unless Genos was very mistaken, an omega on the same full-spectrum hormone blockers Genos had used until two weeks ago. It suppressed his scent, but not enough in the enclosed space of a starship. Over the last three days the recycled air had been picking up more and more of it.
So why would a ship this small, crewed by young men who didn't even seem to like each other much, be taking the fastest route to a ball of dirt like Z-1? There was only one answer, and it was a lot more than Genos' uncle could have paid them.
Genos heard the all-clear chime of the airlock and turned up the sensitivity on his hearing. It could be harder on ships, with the metal walls and sealed doors, but of course Genos had an advantage. He popped off his smallest finger and the rubber tip that made it look soft and pink, and inserted the tube into his ear. With the wider end against the door he could use the vibrations of the metal to amplify his hearing that much more.
"-listed on your manifest?" A firm voice, authoritative, but polite.
"That's personal items from our sensei," Garou said. "Not merchandise. We don't have to list all our personal stuff do we?"
"Mm. Not as long as it's not restricted. And who is this third name?"
"Passenger. He's kept to himself."
"I do need to speak with everyone on board." Genos heard heavy footsteps. Magnetic boots, unless he missed his guess. "Where's his cabin?"
"Uh, there, but-"
The patroller rapped on the door a second after Genos pulled his ear away. As he fumbled his finger back on he could hear Garou saying, "You don't get it man, he's royalty."
Genos put on his best approximation of a charming smile and opened the door. "Yes?"
They both assessed each other in an instant. Genos saw a man, average height and weight, a round face with gentle features, dressed in a well-worn but spotless uniform. A scan detected the resting heartbeat of an athlete and a couple of bones that were still healing. Average all around, but in good shape and clearly unafraid to put himself in harm's way.
And then... there it was. Even standing on opposite sides of a doorway, close enough to touch, it took a second for it to sink in. The scent of an alpha.
Genos smiled a little wider, and took note of the way the patroller's forehead wrinkled in the gap between his goggles and his helmet. "Sorry to bother you, miss," he said, giving no sign of being affected by either the sight or the smell of a noble omega. "I'm afraid this vessel doesn't have the permits to pass through this sector."
"We never needed 'em before," Garou muttered behind the patroller.
"Oh goodness," Genos said, and immediately regretted it. The words sounded artificial and sickly sweet coming from his lips. "Can we fill them out now?"
"I can extend a temporary permit, provided you're not transporting any restricted materials. I've read the manifest." He glanced at Garou. "It should only take an hour or two to go over the... personal items."
"Two hours?" Genos repeated, pulling down the corners of his mouth and jutting out his lower lip. "We're already cutting it awfully close, officer, I'm due on Z-1 tomorrow."
"It won't take long."
"Isn't there..." He hesitated. He could do this if he was being himself, but how would a princess do it? "Couldn't we pay the fine and move along? I'm sure I can cover it."
The patroller's smile froze on his face. Just Genos' luck to run into an honest cop. "No miss, it's either this or I turn you around."
"I understand," Genos said solemnly. "Of course, you've got to do your job."
"Yes miss. So if you'll come with me, you and the rest of the crew can wait while I do it."
He was strong, for an average human, but Genos was far from average. It would only take a moment to eliminate this complication.
But if he was working alone his status and position must be broadcast somewhere. If he disappeared it wouldn't take long before the Hungry Wolf, and Genos, were tied to it.
"I'm at your command, officer," Genos said with a batting of his eyes that probably went on too long, and went with Garou back to the galley.
He saw Charanko and Garou exchange a look, and their fingers twitched while the patroller gave a rundown of what he'd be checking for. Sending messages through their headgear, or perhaps a simple code. Either way Genos didn't have enough time to figure out how to utilize it; if he wanted help he'd have to be less subtle about it.
Luckily the captain wasn't the subtle type. The patroller took Charanko to supervise him, and the moment they were alone he asked, "So what's your deal?"
"I don't know what you mean," Genos said, which was true. Garou could be asking any number of things.
"You're not noble, I know that much."
"I am," Genos said calmly. Truthfully.
"Bullshit, nobles ain't cyborgs."
Genos couldn't hold back a wince. Only three days and a teenage smuggler had already seen through him. How long would it take the upper crust of Z-1 to figure it out? "They are when they don't have the money for anything else."
"Is that what this shotgun wedding is about? M is for money?"
"More or less. My family told me to do it, and so..." Genos shrugged. "Here I am."
"Okay," Garou leaned in. "So then what are you hiding?"
Genos swallowed. "I don't know what you mean."
"Being a cyborg ain't illegal. Why'd you try to bribe that cop?"
"Why did you rush to hide things when he hailed us?"
Garou threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Because I'm smuggling shit, obviously!"
"That would have been nice to know before I got on board."
"Would it have made a difference?"
"I'd have double-checked your permits."
Garou snorted. "So seriously, what is it? I need to know how much trouble we're about to be in."
Genos said nothing.
"If it's drugs we should just dump it. You can get more dirtside."
Genos shook his head.
"Please tell me it's not weapons."
"No," Genos said finally. "It's... parts."
"Parts?"
"For my body. Spare arms, reinforcing panels, things like that."
"Are they illegal?"
"They're restricted. Not allowed on certain worlds because they make me into a weapon."
Garou drummed his fingers on his arm. "Where?"
"In my luggage. Labeled 'shoes.'"
"I think I remember that one." He stood up, stretched, and wiggled his fingers. "Okay, hold the fort."
"Hold the what?"
"Stay here, cover for me."
"What? Where are you-"
Garou reached up and pounded a bit of the ceiling with the side of his fist. A rectangular tile that had looked decorative opened up and Garou hauled himself up into the hole, back muscles flexing beneath his skintight suit.
"Be right back," he said, reaching a hand down to wave at Genos, and then Genos heard the faint scuffle of him crawling away.
It raised more questions than it answered, really. If the ship was honeycombed with hideaways and secret passages, what were they smuggling? How often? How did two young men, one barely an adult, afford a custom job like this?
Genos didn't have long to worry. Garou returned only ten minutes later, sweaty and flushed, with his hair even more in disarray than it usually seemed to be.
"Tucked away, there's a panel behind your bunk," he said. "Nothing to worry about. I'd have put it further but that was heavy as shit, and I can't futz with the grav without raising suspicion."
"Thank you," Genos said. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he found himself focusing in on Garou.
Garou noticed him staring and scowled, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “What?”
It went against Genos' instincts to show open concern for another person. He was used to being alone, him and Kuseno against the universe, but he was very afraid he knew what he was seeing. Raised body temperature, restlessness, a stronger scent. “Are you...”
“What?”
There was a polite rap on the door. Messages flashed across Garou's visor, and he groaned and stood up to answer it.
And Genos saw a damp patch on the rear end of his suit. “Wait, don't-”
The door opened, putting Garou and the patroller face-to-face. Close enough to touch. Instantly Garou's scent filled the room, and Genos was on his feet and crossing the space before he even saw the captain's knees buckle. He groaned as Genos caught him.
Instincts were a problem, sometimes. This wasn't any of Genos' business, this wasn't something a princess would do, but... he knew what he'd want Garou to do if their situations were reversed. And so he put himself between the omega-in-heat and the strange alpha, fixing the patroller with the kind of glare that got people out of his way.
“I- I'm sorry.” The patroller raised his hands and backed up, bumping into Charanko. His scent had increased in response to Garou's, and Genos wasn't breaking eye contact but he was sure he would see a tent in his uniform pants if he looked. “Um. The cargo check is done.”
“What's wrong?” Charanko asked. He glanced around, at Genos standing protectively in front of Garou, at the panicked and helplessly aroused patroller, and finally the pheramones in the air reached his less-sensitive beta nose. “Oh shit, Garou.”
Garou groaned against Genos' back. “Why now? I thought I had time...”
Charanko rushed over to help Garou back into his seat. He whimpered at the touch, overly sensitive, and pushed Charanko away the moment he was stable.
“I...” The patroller held out a tablet. “I only need the captain's imprint. Then I'll go.”
Genos wasn't going to question this lucky break. “I'll take it.”
“Okay.” He handed it over, fingers trembling. “Excuse me, I'll be... at the airlock.”
“Fine.”
As soon as he walked away Genos shut the door. Garou was shaking off Charanko again, running his hand across his face and making growling noises in the back of his throat.
“I'm fine, mom, get off.”
“It was so sudden!”
“It wasn't, you're just an idiot.”
“Your scent was increasing for days,” Genos said as he passed the tablet to Charanko. “I thought it was just the recycled air.”
“We have better filters than that.” Garou pressed his thumb to the tablet when Charanko held it out. “I still thought it wouldn't hit till we were on the ground.”
“Do you have enough painkillers?” Charanko asked.
“Dunno.”
“I do, if you don't,” Genos said.
Garou gave him a sharp look. “I thought noble omegas weren't allowed to medicate this?”
“You said painkillers.” Though that reminded Genos... “Your scent was so faint at first. I assumed you were already on medication.”
Garou shook his head. “Just pheromone cologne. I don't like the hormone blockers. Makes it way worse if you run out.”
Genos nodded, trying not to think about his own heat only a month away. He'd been on blockers since he was barely pubescent, he'd never had to experience a real heat.
“I'll just drug myself up and sleep for two days. It'll be fine.” He jabbed a finger in Genos' direction. “You.”
“Me?”
“We're even, but barely.”
Genos felt his face slip into its usual frown. He'd been trying to train his expression into something more welcoming. “Even? Were you planning on blackmailing me?”
“Of course!”
Genos sighed. “I'll get rid of the cop. You... stay out of the way.”
“Yeah yeah.” Garou leaned back and closed his eyes, grunting and wriggling in a futile attempt to get comfortable. “God that guy smells good.”
“That's your heat talking.”
Genos didn't think much of him, actually. Nothing offensive, certainly, and he'd do in a pinch. But Genos preferred something stronger and more... raw. The patroller was waiting with his hands clasped behind his back, breathing evenly, heartbeat still racing but his arousal under control. As Genos approached with the tablet, he somehow straightened up even further.
“Here you are, officer,” Genos said, trying to sound polite. “I apologize for earlier.”
“No, no, I completely understand. You could have told me that was why you wanted to move this along so quickly.”
The frown slid into place once again.
“Ah... Forget I said that. I'm sorry. Of course there are plenty of reasons not to trust alphas – or law enforcement.” The patroller took the tablet and checked something off. “I'm sorry but, princess isn't it?”
Genos forced himself to nod.
“May I ask, princess, why are you trying to get to Z-1? Are you really planning to arrive tomorrow?”
“Yes, officer.” With a smile so forced it hurt his jaw, Genos said, “I'm getting married.”
Once safely ensconced in his patrol ship Mumen yanked off his fogged-over goggles. His heart was still pounding in his chest, his blood racing out of control. He hated himself for it, even though he couldn't control those small physical reactions. He'd done the best he could, he thought, all things considered.
But god that young man had smelled good.
How long had it been since he ran – almost literally – into an omega in heat? Years perhaps. Most used drugs to suppress it to the point of barely having them at all. Mumen had never had a lover who didn't. The scent was so different, so much stronger and richer, he could almost taste it.
Mumen dropped into his pilot seat, decoupling from the Hungry Wolf (what a name!) and programming in a path to the station. It was so empty out here that actual piloting was barely needed. Which, of course, made it a popular route for smugglers.
There'd been a lot of odd things on that ship. Despite the obvious reason to want to get an alpha out of the way, there was the princess's clumsy attempt to bribe him, the very young crew, the strange parts those men had in their personal items. Who brought spare parts to machines they weren't even shipping?
But he didn't have enough to go on to make an arrest, and most likely they were – at worst – trying to get around merchant taxes. Not enough of a reason to stick around.
There was still one thing that needed addressing, and Mumen waited until he was out of sight of the ship until he fired up his communications. He wasn't sure if he'd get an answer, but it was worth a try.
Surprisingly, his friend picked up the call right away. “Mumen, what's up?”
“Saitama.” Mumen grinned, remembering that piercing glare the princess had given him. Saitama had hit the jackpot. “You won't believe who I just met.”