Holy Seven

((This Fiction is finished, but I'm re-editing it. I wrote it last year for Nanowrimo and am still just loving it to pieces. I wanted to edit and re-write it all year, but have only recently set myself to doing so.

NOTE: If you do not like spoilers, don't read the rest of the A/N - this will be your only warning.

This story is NOT slash. There is one same sex pairing but they are a secondary pairing.

Summary: The time; the future. The place; what had been the northern panhandle of the American State, Idaho. Lucky Hendricks is about to get a new navigator. But this navigator is anything but what he seems and will challenge all Lucky ever held to be true. In a world of dangers, Lucky has never before had trouble deciding who is his enemy. But when one introduces love into the equation, things are bound to get complicated.

Please enjoy Holy Seven))

Chapter One

They had thirteen slots but only twelve of them were filled. It made sense to fill them up in order of the men who showed up, first, second, third, and so on. But Lucky, who had been there from almost the beginning, knew that they'd started with number six, Augustus Holland, or Gus as he was known to the rest of the guys. Oh-six seemed a poor beginning to a crew that was intended by the North American-European government to act as a final defense against colonization attacks. Gus had a piggy face, was stupid as a horse's ass, and was one of the most superstitious men Lucky had ever met.

In fact, Gus was the reason Lucky was named what he'd been named. The fourth man taken onto the team, Lucky had been given slot thirteen and Gus promptly forgot his real name, calling him Lucky. It didn't matter how many times Gus was beaten into the ground, how many times he was called out after a misnaming, nor how many times Lucky screamed, "It's Mason, you fucking moron!", Gus decided captain was to be Lucky or he wasn't to be called anything.

It all had to do with the number Lucky was given. Gus told him that later. "S'not you, sir," he'd smiled around a bleeding lip after a particularly good back hand by Lucky's fist. "S'not you, s'me. See, can't have you called thirteen. S'not good fer us. Y'gotta be lucky or you'll never be nuthin' but a danger ta us, understand?"

Lucky hadn't understood, not completely, but he hadn't beaten on Gus again and he'd relented, allowed his name to change. He still introduced himself as Captain Mason Hendricks to each and every man who came on the crew. But without fail, a matter of days and he found himself demoted to "Lucky." Gus was stupid, but he was also a pretty damned persuasive brick if he needed to be. Apparently the concept of having pilot one-three being anything but Lucky was so disturbing to him that he could control the minds of whole packs of grown men and did just that.

The station was located in northern Idaho, some sixty miles south of the ancient Canadian-America border, now defunct. Canada had moved her hand down south and the new Canadian border was somewhere just past what used to have been Mexico. But then, it wasn't Canada any longer either. It hadn't been Canada for going on one hundred thirty five years. Things changed when the Anglo-Heur Company took the monopoly through the Off Planet Merchandising and Substances Agreement. Then again, Lucky hadn't been very interestd in his Economy and History class in flight school so he'd never been sure how the entire take over happened. It was old news anyway.

He was always more interested in the flying class, mechanics, and his psych classes. It was a weird fixation, his mentor had thought, and had said so many times. But he'd not paid his mentor to do more than make sure he got into the right circles at the right times to advance in his lessons and in his plans for the future.

It had worked too. Because here he was, part of Project Thirteen, a rejuvinated US Naval base on the Lake Pend Oreille in the center what had been the Idaho Panhandle.

And it was why he was leaning on the banister of the flight deck, staring out over the deep chasm that cupped the deep, dark, blue-black water, and watching the flight trails overhead from the flights taking off to do forms.

"You know, some might say you've got a bit of a chip on your shoulder, sir. Something about how if the Commander had listened to you, you wouldn't have to watch them take off without you," came the soft garbled accent of Dos from behind him.

Lucky turned and grinned at his computer systems manager. "That is if they didn't know me, huh?" He leaned his elbows on the top of the banister so that the banister held him up from behind and let his gaze catch on the dark eyes of his friend.

Dos, formerly Donny Smith, was a young man of twenty two. He often joked about how he was half Mexican and half Chinese and that should make him one of the most gorgeous people on earth. But how somehow he'd ended up with all the ugly parts of both his parents and came out looking something like what you'd get if a dog and a monkey had shacked up.

Gus had tied that in with the Chinese calendar and asked Dos what his parents' birthdates were. Dos responded to the request by punching Gus in the gut for that and no one knew how the Chinese calendar and Dos's folks might have been connected.

"Hunh. Maybe," Dos grinned back and hooked his own elbows atop the railing, looking up at the fading white trails. "So, you gonna get a gunner?"

"I didn't think I needed one, Dos. Your WEPs program was working just fine." And it was too. The weapons program Dos had installed did more than the trick really. It was better than a living human being. It was better than the actual equipment which was why he didn't have it anymore. It had overextended the gunning equipment. His guns overheated in an effort to take care of the task list run through it by the program. Commander Owens grounded him until the program's replacement came in.

"Was," Dos admitted. "Until we tied it into a system that was shit. Okay, so maybe I'm the one with the chip on my shoulder, not you. Dammit though. If he'd put the new weapons system into your rig instead of into that pile of ass that Gus is flying, we'd have shown him a thing or two." Dos grunted in anger. "What is it with Gus anyway?"

Lucky shrugged. "He's the best pilot we have and he is higher on the totem pole than I am."

"Yeah, but you've got the military background and he's only a private man." Dos argued. But they both knew that military didn't mean a whole lot here in the company sector. Earth bound security was a big business, ever since the first private forays of space flight in the 2000's. Those flights handed space frontierism to the land owner, the company CEO, and turned it into a money maker. With the resources found on Mars not more than sixty years after, the entire universe become something not just to explore but to plunder as well. Governments hadn't the money for it because beaurocracy could only move so fast. The US government and it's opposition were more than willing to argue over which part of space belonged to who while the private consumer slowly and inexorably took over economic power through space flight. It was much like technology in the nineteen nineties leaving behind morality. Space flight left behind government. Such practices were no longer needed when boundaries ceased to exist and the fence lines for the ranges were impossible to patrol.

Due to the nature of the beast called man, earth found itself, over the course of the next hundred and seventy eight years, in need of security. The companies who had created the problem were more than willing to offer the solution, for a price. Men grew rich, richer than dreams. One of those men was in charge of the newest technological security system, Project Thirteen.

Gus had gotten in on the ground floor of the project. That meant that despite rank of something or other from a military background, sergeant or colonel, Gus was the man to get the newer gun system and Captain Mason "Lucky" Hendricks botched his program which was trying to outshoot the capabilities of a gun created to follow directions of a human being, not to fuse itself to another machine.

"Actually," Lucky grinned, "Chops tells me that because your program fried my ship, that I'll get the next new system to come in. He seems pretty excited about it. Even though it's geared to work with humans. But maybe you can rig up your program to augment my new gunner's performance." It wasn't what he wanted, but it was a compromise.

Dos laughed. "Oh yeah, I'm sure he'd like that. Nothing a NAV likes better than to be told his natural talent isn't enough for his pilot." Then, casually looking askance at the man they all tended to follow, "What's his specs? You read up on him?"

Oh-seven. They'd all talked about that last open spot before. Many openly wondered why it remained untouched throughout the past six years of creation of their Project Thirteen team. Mr. Wold, their boss so to speak, had kept mum about his reasons so far. That was strange in and of itself because Mr. Wold was not a man to restrain himself and keep from bragging. Each spot was chosen to be filled by a certain person; oh-two, Dos's gig, was computer programming, and oh-one, Chops's spot, being a weapons expert. But no one had discovered much about the seven spot.

Gus talked about oh-seven like it was something important. He said that in historical religious literature (for a dumb guy sometimes he talked smart, didn't make any sense but talked trash like nobody's business) the numeral seven was the number of completeness. Six was when something was unclean or incomplete and not until it became seven did it turn holy. And holy was what something was when it was right, or complete in itself, free of all hindrances.

It was bull, and yet it made some of them think. Not Lucky maybe, but he'd heard plenty of the guys talking at odd times about how you could fill in the unlucky number with a man who had a scattered past and yet leave the most important number empty.

Frustratingly enough, Owens and Mr. Wold were staying just as mum about their up and coming gunner man and pilot as they were about what his designation would be. He was Lucky's second, that much they knew; his name was Alex Haven, they knew that too. He was seventeen years old and he was going to replace the broken gunnery program. That wasn't a whole hell of a lot to go on.

"No more than you've heard," he muttered as he rubbed his palm against the back of his neck. "They told me not to worry my pretty little head about it. And you know how I like to hear them talk to me like I'm a lapdog."

"You left them gawking, I hope?" Dos hedged.

"Nah," Lucky shook his head and turned again to see if there was anything left of the flight trails overhead. A slender, wire thin line of white still lingered against the ponderosa and larch horizon, far over their heads. "I figured if my gun system was on the line, I ought to be nice."

Dos's grin was feral and he clapped his buddy on the shoulder. "I'm surprised you thought that clearly. Well, we'll meet him tomorrow right? He's supposed to come in at sixteen hundred hours."

"So they say. Coming from New Texas up there on Mars. Yee-haw!"

"Should be fun. We haven't had a new guy to break in for about a year and a half; since Marlon joined up. And you know, he wasn't any fun because he kept kicking us in the ass." Dos jerked his head to the side. "C'mon. Gonna head to the mess?"

Lucky nodded, still staring at the memory of a white line. "Yeah. I'll be in. Gimme a second."

"Sure thing. Don't keep us waiting, Mason. We'll have to eat all your food and you gotta keep that girlish figure."

"Dog eat dog world," Lucky grinned at his joke and listened to Dos cross the flight deck. When the steel clang of a door leading into the underbelly of the station shivered across the silence, he sighed.

"Dammit," his eyes narrowed, he watched the sun's rays drag some last flash of white and then the last trail in the sky was gone.

~*~**~*~

Chapter Two

Hendricks! I need you up in control.

Lucky looked up from his lunch, rubbed the bridge of his nose and left his comrades, following the directions from the speaker call cutting out of the box hooked high on the wall of the mess hall.

"Be nice, Lucky!" Dos's call came from behind him and with a casual flip of a finger Lucky disappeared around the corner.

He took the secondary lift to the main floor, crossed the gleaming steel room that served as foyer for the outside world, then keyed into the primary lift which took him the next four stories to the control room.

"Dog," he intoned, entering the control tower, a place with large windows on all sides which oversaw the base, the lake, and the hills surrounding as well as a fairly good view of the skies. Around him a myriad of radio screens flickered green and white and black, standard colors for military. It brought back memories sometimes, coming up here and seeing the lights and the screens and -

Douglas Hikari, or "Dog" as they all called him, was a man just under sixty, short and slender but for a slight thickening about the waist which no man can keep from happening as he ages. He controlled the ground crew, which was 01 through 04. That meant Chops, Dos, Jake (another radio tower slob), and Hefty the cook, all answered to him. He knew he had power and so did all of the pilots and navigators. In a way, his presence flowed into the rest of the base. While Lucky was more or less in charge of the pilots, Dog seemed to be in charge of everything not pinned down.

Dog's black eyes snapped in frustration but his face was a study of perfect control. "Dos got your system up yet?" He was working at the field desk, pencil in hand and flight plans before him. Dog planned out most of their defensive moves as well as some of the offensives also. It was in his best interest to get Lucky up in the air again and it probably bothered Dog more than anyone, except maybe Chops who was their guns man, that he was down a pilot.

"Nah," Lucky shrugged. "Can't do much with just his program. The program fried the guns and Chops says they're down until oh-seven brings in the new rig."

"Damn."

Lucky smirked. "My thoughts exactly. So what you have for us?"

"We're getting company. They're still a ways off, but they've just attacked the outer ring defensive position, we've lost a flier there and seems the base had to fall back. They're holding them out at Second Ring but it's not looking good. We need reinforcements."

Lucky frowned. "Weird that they'd choose this day to attack. There aren't any big supply runs going through today. Who is it?"

"CU34 from the Martian Beta sector. Our company should have steered clear of Mars I think. But then, I'm not the CEO, am I?" Dog snorted. He was verbal about his beliefs that most of their difficulty could have easily been worked out if the earth based companies would just give more control to their daughter colonial companies. But then, who could have foreseen the shift of power when the economy went off world? Only someone must have. Because someone started to rig up men like Dog and Lucky to work as defense against the colonials. The entire situation reeked of history's lessons forgotten.

"So why're they attacking us now? We haven't gotten any messages from Mr. Wold about changes in old guard and no shipments coming in. We're not in tax season and we - "

"Hell if I know!" Dog barked. "Maybe you should ask Chops about the damn new rig he's getting in? This is suspiciously close to the time oh-seven is supposed to get through. I want you to take over for Hal, fly his plane and get up there and figure out what the hell is going on."

"Dog, it's not our base. We can't just waltz into Second Ring's territory and check up on them. Unless they've asked?" he added. But Lucky wasn't so sure about that. Second Ring could be a tad reluctant when it came to receiving help from outsiders. Each base liked to think they were doing their job right and the last thing anyone wanted was to have another group come in and say a few words about doing it differently. You ran into problems with who was calling the shots, who was getting paid what, and then there was always a possible review from upper management.

"Of course they haven't asked, Hendricks," Dog scowled. "But if it's our ship that they're after, then I'll be damned if I'm going to leave it up to those incompetents. Go tell Hal he's off his ship for today. He can work with Chops on WEPs if he wants to Your gun system needs work so we can make it operational again."

"Hal's not going to like that, Dog."

"Fuck Hal."

"Thinking he wouldn't like that either. And neither would Jux," Lucky joked. Jux and Hal were the base's obligatory gay guys. It happened in close quarters. It wasn't that really both of them were gay. Jux was undeniably bi, if one went by his talk about his ex wife and the posters on his wall. That left it to Hal to keep up the name and reputation of his persuasion. But then, since Jux didn't have any women running around and Hal was so obviously willing...

At least that was how Lucky looked at it. The two of the men fought like cats and dogs. There was no love lost, but neither was the lust passed up on. Some guys just weren't as good about keeping their dangly bits in their pants.

"Lucky, don't make me kick your ass." Dog placed his hand on his file and gave the captain a steady look. Dog was small, being Japanese by birth, but he was a tough ol' guy. There were better men to knock heads with if you were in the mood.

"I'm goin', I'm goin'. Shit, Dog." Lucky grinned then headed down to break the bad news to Hal.

---

"How's it going, Jux?" Lucky called back to the NAV behind him. The flier hummed gently as they slid out of atmosphere into space. He had almost completed the check out for their flight. It was only fourteen hundred hours. They still had another hour before they made Second Ring. That is, as long as the guys out there held up still. There was always the chance they'd meet the colony flight sooner.

"Just fine. I think we're good for another three hour WEPs set if we need it. I just worked on the system after last run yesterday. Me'n Hal thought that we should be ready to show oh-seven what kinda bad asses we were if we were sent out into training flight." Jux grinned. He was only twenty five. The second youngest on the team, with Dos being the youngest at twenty three.

That was, until Alex came in. Lucky grunted his approval of their weapon systems being readied and let his mind go over the new recruit.

It was the way went about doing it that was confusing. See, all of the other twelve positions had been filled for five years now. Wold insisted on keeping that one position open, saying that they needed someone with a certain kind of experience, but wouldn't explain what kind specifically it was. They only knew that none of his other pilots and nav guys had it.

Oh-seven was a navigation position under the contract for one-three, which was Lucky's placement. He'd always thought it was his luck that he was allowed to run solo. He preferred it really. And Dos helped a helluva a lot with the new programs so that a single pilot could run a two seater, taking over the place of the gunner/navigation man.

And yet, here was his gunner coming, flying in a new set of wings and with a colonial unit, a CU, following him, fighting to keep him, if Lucky took in Dog's considerations. But what could possibly be so important about a new set of wings? Lucky had been under the impression that the new wings were going to be just a spare, to use later and to be outfitted by Chops.

What if it wasn't the wings though, that the CU was after? What if it was the pilot in the new flier? But what in hell would a CU have to do with a seventeen year old pilot?

Damned strange.

"SHIT! Nine o'clock, wake up Mason!" the shout came with a rocking against their starboard side. A shot across their shields.

Lucky quickly fired up, shouting into the radio, [Get yer asses on gear, boys. We have company!]

"Well, good thing we won't need to worry about Second Ring," Lucky grumbled to himself. No worries because it looked like Second Ring had failed.

The CU was significantly smaller than he'd thought it would be. But then, they'd been through two rather defended positions and were in the middle of a rather serious dog fight as it was. It was only seven fliers.

No, six, if you counted the fact that one of the fliers was being fired upon and firing back.

[Damn, that's either our boy or one of the Seconds got caught away from their nest. C'mon boys! Let's get him out!]

He turned, spinning off to the left, letting the other two run riot both up and down. The CU fliers were older versions, and despite having greater numbers, the firepower of the CU's fliers wasn't anything like that of Project Thirteen.

Not to mention...

He cut through the fight, distracting another flier and pulling him away from the fight.

[Hey Second, look like you're in a bit of a spot] he radioed toward the small black flier. It was sleek and looked somewhat battered but not much worse than that. It was putting up a pretty damn good fight.

[State your company,] came the voice crackling over the radio.

[I'm with Project 13, man. You seem to be in need of a hand.] He grimaced and watched at Issac took his flier into an evasive maneuver with Gus covering him right after. A CU wing flared and the flier tumbled off to the side. Only five CU fliers left and four on their side.

[Thank God,] the calm voice replied over radio. [I've got another CU coming up after this flight, that's why they're hanging in there. You want to get me out so we can leave?]

Lucky laughed as Gus shouted into radio [Hey love birds, you guys wanna shut the fuck up and fly?]

[Sure thing, bud. We'll get you out of here no prob.] Lucky grinned and punched it, taking down his long range sensor. "Hey Jux, we got another set coming?"

"Sure thing, Lucky. Eleven more, only ten minutes away."

"Shit, we'll have to cut through them, make them rethink this. See if you can get anyone from Second Ring to come out and give us a hand." Lucky watched fireworks and nodded. [Good hit, Gus.] Two fliers hit. That wasn't the more ordinary of things, it took some fancy flying and Gus's flier veered out of the way just at the last second, the small black flier dancing off to the other side.

[Not me, Lucky. This kid's got some friggin' guts!] Gus called back.

And that was when Lucky had a chance to take a gander at the little black flier. The rig was something he hadn't seen before, sleek and with wings made for a nose into the atmosphere rather than the sideways glide his rig took. The gun system wasn't easily apparent which would have made sense if it was a nose down insert, no good having your gun system out to bake when you hit velocity.

Also, it seemed infinitely maneuverable. That or it had one damn fine pilot. The pilot was showing little wear and tear. It was fairly obvious that had he been left to his own devices, no matter how relieved he had sounded over radio, he would have been more than capable of taking out most of the fliers against him. If not all.

"Man's like a friggin' machine," Jux murmured behind. "I've had the sensors on record, we'll have to look this over when we get back."

[Hey guy,] Lucky called out as the last two CU pilots skittered out of the way and began their retreat. No one followed them. They had to regroup for the next set coming in. [You gotta name? Something we can call you.. call sign, something, huh?]

[Me? Yes. Haven. Alex Haven.]

~*~**~*~

Chapter Three

The second wave had been only the eleven and with a ratio of a little more than three to one, the CU gave up and took off quick, recognizing that superior numbers meant little against superior fire power. Gus had been hit but was still able and they turned the fliers around, heading back to base.

Lucky had a lot to think about on the way back. The new flier was incredible. It's gunner system was superb, so much so that it would have taken a superior program to be pushing it. And if that was indicative of the gun system he was getting, Dos would have a blast.

But it wasn't the gun system or whatever program was working it that had him thinking. It was that this NAV he was getting. This Alex Haven was the best damned pilot he'd ever seen. Even with a flier as suited as this one seemed to be, no one should have been able to do what the kid was managing to do. He had nerves of steel and he flew as if he had a calculator in his head, working out each move before he did it to such perfection that he often came a hair's breadth from being blasted out of the sky. It was a beautiful thing to watch the few times Lucky had time to see Alex in action. Of course, Lucky had had his hands full with the fliers taking up his air space, so these times hadn't been long or many.

Jux though, was going over the radio recall with low whistles as they flew back to the base. "Holy smokes, you should see this! I don't think even Gus would have cut it that close."

Lucky grimaced. "So I guess now we know why we have a teenager on our crew."

"Shyeah!" Jux crowed. "I don't wanna know what they're paying this kid's family to get him out here, yanno? They musta had to pay all kinds of people off to get a guy under age on the unit. I don't even want to know how far up they'd have had to go. Mr. Wold's got some nice connections though."

"Why would they have to go anywhere? It's just that the kid is good."

"Damn Lucky. Didn't you pay attention in your classes at all? You flunk history or somethin'?"

"I don't know, Jux. How about you fill me in?" Lucky had gotten used to Jux. He was the guy that would stare at you because you hadn't read War and Peace, cover to cover like he had.

"Well see, the flight schools talk about it like they can't fit an undergrown man into an overgrown cockpit. What they really mean is that they start out with you at sixteen or more, and you're bound to come out the other side over twenty. That's why they also say one step at a time. There are no AP courses in flight school. See, back about a hundred years ago, someone discovered that space flight does this crap to your bones. They let us get up there when we're over twenty, cause they figure that the majority of the pilots have gotten most of our bone mass from working like dogs for them so anything we lose in working space won't break us. But just to be on the safe side, they also don't let any guys into deep space work until they're twenty five."

"Sounds kinda fishy, Jux. Why don't they just tell us this instead of putting it out as if it's best for the crew otherwise?"

"That's the thing. I think most people have forgotten about it. We have laws and stuff that are almost antiquated in regards to flier piloting. They still pertain to interplanetary travel. Like if you're under a certain age you can't go at all and if you're over seven then you can go for only a two week stay and then you can't take more flights until seven years have passed. Same thing for pregnant women. They just don't ever go into how those old laws work within the school system. If they did, guys would start to lie about their age and shit. They already do, anyway.." and here Jux would most certainly have been blushing. Both he and Lucky knew he'd lied and started up at fifteen.

Lucky grinned and began going through autopilot procedures to get them home without him having to fly it all the way. This conversation was getting interesting. "So what's the deal with a seventeen year old? Wold must be breaking all kinds of rules."

"Yep!" Jux beamed forward as Lucky looked over his shoulder at his navigator. "That's what I mean about how Mr. Wold must have a lot of higher up help. We are a grounded unit for the most part because we're bound to earth. That helps some, I'm guessing. And then he's put the kid in nav, which makes it easy because you don't fly with a nav much at all. He won't be seeing a lot of air time unless things get heavy. And when things get heavy the government is happy to look the other way if it means they're eliminating a threat. But we haven't seen a big threat for close to six years now. And when we were seeing it, us guys were still in training, or at least some of us were. Me and Dos, we were schooling for Mr. Wold so we wouldn't have been much good then. He was using the old unit and they're all old sea dogs."

"Crosshammer Group," Lucky interjected. He'd worked with a lot of the men in that group and Gus had been from that originally but had left it for two years before coming back to work on Project 13. Dog was an old controller from the Crosshammer Group, as was Hefty, though Hefty had been just the mechanic. Crosshammer had had a troupe of cooks and ground's men, being four times the size of Project Thirteen. Budget cuts and increase in resource prices due to CU-government conflicts had made it necessary to scale back to just Project Thirteen and most of the guys from Crosshammer had moved on to other companies like Second Ring who were more in the governmental pocket than Wold was willing to be.

"Yeah. Anyway," Jux continued, "the way I'm thinking is that Wold has been working this kid or he's found the kid and instead of doing the regular flight schooling, he's keeping him close by. Hell, the kid's coming in with a new flier and what do you think that it's not his work?"

"Who? Haven's?"

"Sure! Look. He's a snappy pilot in a decked out flier, seventeen years old and on the highly qualified Project Thirteen. I've been groomed for this since I was eighteen and Dos since he was sixteen. You know Wold likes to take them in young. We all know that oh-seven is a place that hasn't had a guy to fit it. I'm thinking Wold is taking the kid in not to use as a NAV but to use him as a project design. But he's gotta promise the kid fun or what teenage pilot hot shot is gonna even take a sniff our direction? Get him under contract and Wold's got the kid pegged so he can't go away. Add to that his flight skills and Wold has one serious number seven, don't ya think?"

Lucky shook his head and chuckled. "You've got it all worked out, Jux."

"Nah, just thinking. But it makes sense, doesn't it? That or the kid is some kinda stock he's keeping to the side ."

Jux continued speculating and Lucky managed to make grunts at times when it seemed most appropriate but really he was busy in silent speculation of their new member. Wold didn't strike him as reckless enough to break the law for his project, no matter how good the kid was. But Jux was right about being schooled for the position. Wold had done that for Jux and Dos. Still, he hadn't broken any laws to do it. Or rather, none he was aware of.

So why do that for Alex Haven? Why, when if they got caught with the kid out here, it would shut the entire project down? Wold couldn't afford that kind of mistake. Project Thirteen was potentially his most powerful enterprise; a fast moving, lightly manned security system for the planetary surface based on double manned ships with the firepower equal to the larger six man ships out there. He could add to his base group easily. And if Dos's program worked out or this new ship proved that they could do it with a one man flier, then Wold could up his fliers without having to hire any new guys. Ethan, Issac's gunner was a fair to middling pilot. Jux could fly almost as well as Hal, and Gus's man, Matthew, would have been a pilot but for the fact he had a love affair with making things blow up.

Going from four fliers to eight in one fell swoop. It would be enough to make some serious money. And ground crew at only five. Dog and Jake were old radio hands from way back. Dog had worked the fly space for close to twenty fliers with only one guy under him, having eight would be a piece of cake. Of course, they might have to get a supplemental mechanic. But they were grounded and Earth was full of mechanics. It wasn't like they'd need to transport an entire machine crew like they needed on the space stations.

Lucky shook himself free of his thoughts in time to hear Jux going on about some girl he'd seen down at the tavern on their last leave day and he and Hal's resultant argument.

"I don't know why you guys put up with each other. There's other ways to deal with the itch, you know." Lucky smirked.

"Screw you, Lucky!" Jux's voice had little heat to it though. "Hal's a damn good man. And doing it yourself is nothing like having someone close. No matter how much of a pain in the ass he is. Besides, what kind of advice could you ever give me, huh? You haven't even gotten laid in what? Six months?"

Lucky grunted. It was more like four years, but if Jux wanted to think six months that was just fine with him.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Jux teased. "But if this kid's as cute as his voice, I may have to switch beds."

Lucky rolled his eyes. "Don't be sick, Jux. The kid's not even legal yet."

Jux laughed. "Yeah, and you know he's as pimply faced and awkward as we all were. Hands and feet loosely attached to a body."

"Sure thing, Jux." Lucky wasn't sure he wanted to talk about the kid until he was more sure of why Alex was even part of the team.

The pair of them landed a full ten minutes prior to the rest of the crew. This was simply because Haven's and Gus's fliers were hit and slow, and Issac was more than likely busy giving Gus a hard time via radio, hovering near by and proudly displaying his untouched flier.

While they were waiting for the rest of the flight to come in, Dog went over the saved radio recall with Jux leaning back on the command chair, grinning like an idiot, his blond hair sticking out on all sides. Hal leaned over Jux's shoulder to see while at the same time keeping a large hand on the smaller navigator's shoulder.

[Hey Fido!] Issac's voice crackled on the radio. [Comin' in. You got any ducks to move out of the way so we can land?]

"Go ahead, guys," Jake bent to reply for their radio command. "Haven, this is Jake Nero, second to Dog who's the guy to call the shots. He tells me you're supposed to take up the slot inside the second hangar on the left."

[Copy that, Jake,] the calm voice responded.

"Lucky," Dog looked up for a moment from his perusal of the recall. "Go down and direct Haven in if he needs it."

"Sure thing, Dog." Lucky stood up, dusting his pants and winking at Jux. "Hey Reed, you wanna come and scope out the fresh meat?"

Jux snickered. "Hell yeah, but Hal'd kick my ass if I gave him a once over."

"Give it up, Jux," Hal growled and smacked his gunner on the side of the head. "Get out of here before I do kick your ass."

"Everyone is kicking everyone's ass," Jux quipped as he left Hal the chair and all but skipped out in front of Lucky. "C'mon Hendricks. Don't get th'Dawg mad at you or you're next!"

"What is it with everyone and asses nowadays?" Lucky grinned, following Jux down to the hangar.

"Dunno, man. Maybe it's everyone is jealous." Jux stopped at the lift doors and waited for the chime to tell them it was safe to enter.

"So should we have brought a cake?" Jux asked as they left the secondary elevator a few moments after to cross the tertiary floor to the steel door which lead to the flight deck.

"What? Why a cake, Jux?"

"Because we're the welcome wagon."

"Hmm, that and flowers, I expect."

"Ooo, you think he likes flowers?" Jux grinned.

"You have a one track mind, Jux." Lucky opened the hangar door and entered in, looking over the new flier sitting there, powered down and with cockpit open at the top. Chops crossed from another door to the left of them and as they watched, a dark clad figure moved out from behind the flier and greeted the machinist.

"Well? C'mon, bud!" Jux called excitedly. They hadn't had a new face in a while and Jux was more than ready to be entertained. The guy was twenty five and he still acted like he was ten sometimes.

As they approached, Chops and the pilot turned, walking to meet them. The pilot casually reached up and drew his helmet off. Dark hair spilled down to his shoulders, gleaming under the hangar's bright lights. He was slender, more slender than Jux who everyone always made fun of because of his feminine figure.

Jux crowed in triumph and lifted a hand in salute to the kid who instantly broke into a shy grin. "Holy shit, Haven! You gonna teach me how to fly like that? Welcome to Project Thirteen! Damn, did we make that CU run or what? You shoulda seen'm Chops! This kid's gonna be your baby."

"Glad you liked it," Haven licked his lower lip nervously but didn't lose his smile.

Jux, Haven, and Chops were so engrossed with their greetings and back slapping, that no one noticed Mason Hendricks had stopped, his face written across with surprise and loss.

Alex Haven was not the normal teenaged boy. He was slender but there was no sign of discomfort in his limbs. He moved like he knew where everything was and how to use them properly. That could very well be how he was such a good pilot, the boy showed complete control even in motion on the ground. His face was oval with a chin that ended in a cat like point with large eyes of dark green over high cheekbones. He was one of those few men in the world who the first word to come to mind would be "beautiful." He wasn't feminine, but he wasn't masculine either. He was more androgynous, with the strength of both in his face. He wore loose flight pants with a white tee shirt and carried both his helmet and his jacket under one arm and his clothing satchel over the other. His limbs were rounded with enough muscle tone to show he was able but not enough to be cut as most of the grown men were.

The sight struck Lucky dumb. It was like seeing the Grand Canyon or your first earth rise from the moon. It wasn't that the kid didn't have human qualities, it was just there weren't enough on Haven to make him something other than natural perfection.

Jux had his arm around the boy's shoulders already and was beaming happily. Chops had a ruddy glow on his face as he talked excitedly about the new flier. The three slowed as they met up with Lucky and Jux waved his hand toward the captain. "Alex, this is Lucky."

"Mason Hendricks," Lucky introduced himself with a smile at Jux and a hand toward the new recruit. It was strange how now, so close, the perfection didn't hurt as much to view. It was almost comfortable as those eyes rose to meet his, deep green, like a forbidden forest hidden somewhere he would never be invited to go.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Captain Mason Hendricks. But we all just call him Lucky. He's one-three." Jux tilted his head.

"One-three?" the boy asked in a low, melodic voice, noticeable now that they were close. Damn but even the kid's voice was "beautiful."

"Thirteen," Lucky amended.

"Ah, unlucky," the kid nodded and smiled a quiet, controlled smile. "I see why they would have wanted to call you Lucky, Captain Hendricks."

"Call me Lucky," the captain added, surprised at himself how he didn't ask to be called Mason. The calm gaze the boy gave him left him believing that Haven would actually do so, despite Gus's arguments to the contrary. At the look Chops shot him he amended, "It's just they've all called me that so long I wouldn't know to answer to anything else."

The kid laughed quietly and gave a grin at Jux who just grinned back. Lucky could see trouble for Hal on the horizon and if not for Hal, then for the rest of them. Something was cooking already between the pair of young gunners.

"C'mon. Lets go meet the crew." Lucky crooked his neck toward the door and led them back into the building. "Then we'll get you settled in."