Gavin watched Abby field the questions with more grace than anyone could expect of a person in her circumstance. He certainly did not envy her position. Even still, as expected, the answers she provided were shallow.

Just as in the last iteration of society, there were those who were placed in positions of power to facilitate order. They deemed who needed to know what, and when. This tragedy was no different, though that fact only served to diminish the lack of transparency to slightly less irksome.

Gavin nodded to Abby’s answer to him. His eyes would tell her that he understood, and that he did not harbor the dismissal of his inquiry as anything but an obligation of duty on her part.

That doesn’t mean it has to end there, however. Gavin thought, bringing his coffee to his lips. Knowing how the killer affected the demise of his victims could speak volumes, and Gavin was intent on reading that horrific tale. In Gavin’s mind, if the information he gleaned saved even one future life, than it would be a worthy endeavor.

With his mind absently working on just how to go about sating his curiosity, Gavin listened only half-heartedly to the rest of the briefing. Even as the crew chiefs, section leaders, and specialists introduced themselves, Gavin’s attention remained preoccupied. With the forefinger of his right hand tapping a rhythm of contemplativeness upon his upper lip, the doctor and synthetic biologist even forgot to stand and make himself known to his colleagues.

Gavin only realized this when an urgent beep and buzz from within his pocket brought him sharply back to the moment. Blinking as if he had just awoken, Gavin reached into his pocket for the palm-sized tablet computer he preferred to the larger cousins many of his counterparts utilized for their work.

Glancing down his nose at the screen, Gavin snorted as he read the note from the NI-Tech, Hob. Working his thumbs over the touch-screen, he replied:

Good thing I left my shotgun in my other hoodie, Hob. I’ll wake her up and send her your way. You kids have fun, and do keep it in your pants will you?

Sending the message, Gavin swiped over to the app he used to interface remotely with OLGA. Tapping a button, Gavin activated the interface. Instantly the screen was dominated by a pretty face and a set of large green eyes.

“Hey Doc, I was wondering when you were going to come finally say hi!”

Gavin cringed, bringing a finger to his lips as OLGA’s feminine voice came over the speakers of the palm-tablet. Speakers that apparently were set to full volume. OLGA’s voice would’ve filled the acoustic Auditorium loud and clear.

“I’m in the bloody briefing, O,” Gavin hissed silently through clenched teeth.

“Oh! Sorry, Doc.” OLGA said, her voice no quieter. The blond and bubbly woman that the AI chose to be her avatar clamped her hands over her mouth, suppressing an unapologetic giggle.

Gavin rolled his eyes.

OLGA, or Organic Laser-suspended Genetic Assembler, was an organic hybrid, autonomous computer system, originally designed and tasked for advanced genetic manipulation of both human and xenogeneic genomes. Being extremely expensive and rare, organic hybrid AI’s like OLGA were few and far between before the Change hit Earth. Now, floating in space on the ark of the Copernicus, OLGA was the last of her kind.

She had worked with Gavin since her “birth,” some fourteen years ago, as he had personally engineered the bulk of her organic neurological circuitry. Her intelligence and ease in the handling of DNA made her the most invaluable tool that Gavin had ever had access to, and she had been a shoo-in for a berth within the mainframe of the Copernicus.

Though technically Gavin’s, OLGA worked with anyone who required her processing ability. Most of the biological science division on the Copernicus utilized her in some capacity. Other divisions had access to her as well via the ship-wide network, though OLGA herself was limited to the data and processes in her own CPU.

In a much less official capacity, Gavin had taken it upon himself to load OLGA with as much electronic media that he could get his hands on before departing the Mountain. Everything from video-games, movies, music, and digitized art filled her memory. In her “down time,” OLGA herself even enjoyed the digital entertainment, and it was not unusual for her to challenge the squints of the scientific staff, as well as the NI-Techs, to rounds of Tekken, Street Fighter, or Call of Duty.

Gavin bent closer to the screen, hiding the device beneath the row of seats in front of him.

“Hob’s expecting you.” He whispered.

OLGA’s digital eyes brightened. “Oh, cool! Bye Doc.” The volume of her voice had not been tempered in the least, and it filled the Auditorium once again. She gave Gavin a quick wave before disappearing from the computer screen.

With an exasperated and helpless sigh, Gavin slipped the device into his pocket and leaned back into his chair. Around him, the meeting seemed to have come to an end despite the interruption of the boisterous AI.

“Well then,” Gavin said to himself as he stood to join the trickle of bodies that were beginning to depart the Auditorium. He downed the last dregs of his now cold coffee, set off up the stairs, and out into the main corridor. With his Chuck’s leading the way, Dr. Gavin Brock turned towards the deck that held the genetics laboratory, and began making his way there.

Collab between Idlehands and KuroTenshi

Owen Reece made his way to the hangar, leaving Bill to check out the drilling equipment before he would join them at Mining Pod 24. He had taken down his hair, his shoulder length grey streaked dark hair now shaggy to match his beard. The meeting had left him feeling cross, he never was a morning person and the bit of coffee and donuts had done little to ease the bad news laid on them. Goddamn sicko. He thought as he stalked down through the hall. And now he had a new demolitions person, a young woman barely old enough to drink legally with an unpronounceable name the pilot was leery about. Reece pushed it from his mind, focusing instead on the pods, they had been used by the previous shifts and he hoped they were in decent condition.

He entered Hangar Six through the main entrance, missing Connor who had emerged from the mechanic's office. Reece passed by the first three pods and found number 24. She was larger than any helicopter he had flown, a rounded shape with the thick hull and windows to protect it from the cold vacuum of space and any debris it might encounter. He stood off to the side, placing his hand against the skin of the ship, feeling the dents and dings. The mining pods were workhorses and not made to be sexy or sleek but she was beautiful in his eyes. With these they would gather the ice and elements they needed to keep going, to reach their far off destination. Men and women like himself would keep the Copernicus' engines stoked and he grinned to himself thinking of the old steam engines that once had to have coal shoveled constantly to keep going. Coal he once had dug from the ground as his fathers before him stretching back centuries and over an ocean.

"Well, Loretta," he whispered, "It's gonna be a hell of a ride, old girl."

He smiled, christening his ship with the name of the woman who once sang about being a coal miner's daughter. At that moment he noticed a noise on the other side and heard the voice he now recognized as Connor’s.

Reece walked around in time to see the blue haired mechanic messing with a radio and a sudden burst of music came on. He raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised at the song, he was sure a guy that looked like Connor would probably have some weird and harsh music. This wasn't too bad. He noticed the mechanic was still unaware of his presence, all the hunting he did in the Appalachians had given him a quiet step.

Connor wove through the small hallways of the pod until he reached the engine bay at the back of the ship. He had to open a hatch and climb down a ladder into the metal space. He set the radio by the ladder and approached the two giant circular holes that contained, to the untrained eye a small space that was a chaotic mess of machinery and wires. But to Connor the view was anything but complicated and confusing.

"I hear you're a bit under the weather." He said to the engine over the music, walking over to the machinery. He got down onto his hands and knees and crawled inside of the mess of metal and wires, having to twist a bit so he could lay down on his back on a dirty and ripped piece of cushion that was there for the express purpose of being able to work on the engine block while it was still attached to the ship. Back on Earth they had the space and the ability to remove a block and examine it closely from all angles. But the hangar didn't have that kind of room to spare.

Connor ended up having his feet sticking out of one of the circles and resting on the steel grates that was the floor. His feet tapped together with the beat of the music while he fished out his small flashlight to start looking around. "I met your pilot today." He said conversationally, his eyes moving critically over every square inch of metal, wire and hose. "He gave me a donut which was awesome, but he thinks I'm an idiot so that isn't so fun. For me anyway. For you though he seems like he'll be good for you. He's been named lead pilot so that says a lot. Ah-ha! There's the problem!" He cried out when he saw a couple of loose wires poking out of one of the hoses for the engines control box. The control box was what fed all of the commands for the ship into the engine. If a few wires weren't connected then no commands would be making it through, such as the start up command.

"Oh come on, he couldn't bother to fix that? What the hell man!" He shook his head, sweat starting to bead on his brow as the heat from his own body started to become trapped in the small space. "That explains why you aren't starting up. What else did that dumbass miss? I'm betting five bucks you're going to need a new turbo pump. Whether its low pressure or high pressure will be a surprise."

Reece followed silently, curious to watch this so-called genius at work. He found him in the engine bay, digging up into the pod's internals and talking to himself. The pilot listened not impressed by the previous mechanic's sloppy work. He made a mental note to have all pods given a through inspection by the head engineer. He leaned on the hatch, looking in at the cramped quarters the boy had to work in.

Reece considered slipping away but he had the element of surprise and he should speak with Connor alone before the others showed up.

"Boy, I hope you bought her dinner before putting your hands up her skirt."

Connor jumped at the voice, his head jerking up and smacking into the engine above his head. "Ow! Fuck!" He hissed, dropping his head back and pressing his hand gingerly against the spot. "Uuugh that hurt." He muttered, pulling his hand away to see if there was any blood on his fingers. Luckily there was none, though he'd probably have one hell of a bump later on in the day.

Still rubbing the spot he peered down his body and shown his light at his unexpected visitor. "Mr. Reece." He greeted in surprise, putting his flash light away so he could start scooting his way back out of the engine compartment. He pulled himself out but remained seated, still gently rubbing his abused forehead. "What are you doing here?" He asked. He had thought that everyone would either be sleeping off the affects of cryo sleep or off exploring all of the ships fancy amenities.

Owen Reece could hear the thump and curse and he winced with a brief chuckle. It would be a lie if he said he had not planned on startling the engineer. He glanced down at Connor, "Same thing you’re doing, having a look around here."

He pushed back, gesturing to Connor that he should come up, "I hate to interrupt but I need a no bullshit assessment on Loretta's condition and you seemed to be getting very intimate with her just now. I overheard you talking about the shit poor condition the last mechanic left this old girl in."

"Loretta?" Connor repeated, standing up and forcing himself to put down his hand. "Is that what you named her?" He asked, looking around the engine bay thoughtfully before slowly nodding. "Surprisingly fitting." He muttered crossing his arms over his chest and focusing on Reece again. "Well from what I've seen so far she needs a cable replaced in her control box, getting that done will take me several hours alone. That's the only problem I've seen so far, but if the guy before me didn't bother to replace a cable then there are probably a few other problem's I haven't found yet." He made a motion with his hand to the wall of the engine room. "You don't even want to know about the parts that need fixing on the other three."

Putting a fresh toothpick in his mouth he chewed on it thoughtfully as he listened to Connor explain the things he had already seen wrong with Loretta. He felt his anger rise at the previous shift's mechanic, leaving these machines in such a condition. It was a lazy, shitty thing to do and that did not bode well in Reece's mind. If they got so complacent or uncaring about their job, he wondered what else could be wrong, perhaps with the Copernicus itself. He tucked the notion to visit the main ship's pilots later and see how they fared.

"Yup, Loretta...the coal miner's daughter," he replied, looking around the small area. "Figured it was fitting, considering."

Reece raised his eyebrows and flashed a slight grin, partially hidden under his scruffy beard. "All good ships should have a name, Connor. It's tradition and such. This girl will be mine...ours for the duration and we'll treat her like the fine lady she is."

"Now. Sounds like he or she left you with a mess to clean up," he finally commented, twirling the pick to the corner of his mouth. "And you saw the other ships in Six are missing parts? Christ on a pony."

He huffed out a breath, "Alright, this is what I want. You inspect every one of these mining pods here and accompany the other mechanics when they inspect their pods, check up on their work. Last thing I want is to lose folks to some loose bolts on these buckets. Got it, MIT?"

Reece pronounced the acronym for the prestigious school like "mit" and he gave Connor a look that dared him to object to his orders.

It took a moment for him to translate mit in his head and then another to go over the rest of the conversation in his head. "Yes sir." He nodded, not able to hide his surprise that Reece suddenly seemed okay with having him as a mechanic and was already giving him an assignment filled with such responsibility. He ran a hand over his blazing blue hair and wondered if he should ask why Reece had changed his mind. Earlier he hadn't seemed all that impressed with Connor's credentials.

"I'll take care of that the next couple of days." He added, deciding to not voice his question. Reece was trusting him and he didn't want to seem like he wasn't confident in his skills.

"I wouldn't really say the other three are missing parts." He said, crouching down to turn off the radio. "They're in there, but they either need replacing or cleaning because of all the dust and debris all guncked up in it." He scratched his head, glancing back over at the engine with a frown again wondering why someone had been so sloppy. "First things first, that cable needs replacing."

Chewing the toothpick idly, he nodded, "Alright. Get to it then."

He left Connor there without reminding him he would be checking up on him. If the boy was going to be their lead mechanic then he would have to prove himself worthy of the title. Just as Owen Reece would have to prove himself capable of leading the fleet of mining pods. Reece exited the pod now known affectionately as "Loretta" and he planned on finding some paints and doing her name up right on her hull. He glanced up at the feminine voice calling out to them and spotted the young woman with wild curls who he had seen puking at the briefing. Time to meet their demolition expert. Reece sighed and spat out his toothpick and walked towards her.

Deli was the first to leave the by-now-entirely-too-cramped conference room at the end of the longing – which is precisely what she tended to call any ‘briefing’ that went more than a few minutes…not that she had been to many – and though she was yawning, she was far from ready to sleep again. She had been sleeping a solid three years. By her calculations, she was pretty much good to go for the next ten.

Especially considering she wasn’t supposed to be awake at all.

Deli wasn’t one to linger over anything even remotely upsetting, tending toward a sort of carefree irreverence, a stubborn, almost aggressive optimist, the same way some people insisted on cynicism. But the longing had somewhat unsettled her. Why had the woken her early – or at all – just to stick her aboard a mining pod chock full o’ bad guys? It had been hard enough getting on the demo crew back on Earth, even with her father’s name, even with the ever tightening noose of their own mortality closing around what remained of humanity, just as chocking as the killer fog that rose from their decaying planet. Now they wanted her mining frozen water and space gold to keep her species alive?

It made her uneasy…to say the very least.

She’d started walking, as she often did, without a plan or any real thought as to where she was going, but she wasn’t surprised when she found herself at the space-version of the mining pod hangar. She could hear faint music floating down cylindrical halls and immediately imagined herself the star of some c-list horror movie.

“Hello?” she called, not really expecting an answer. “Please don’t kill me, I have several redeeming qualities that won’t become apparent for another twenty-four minutes.”

The man who stepped out to meet her didn't look like an axe murderer (who was sort of cute, albeit in a 2010-Clooney-esque old-guy kind of way), but then he didn't look particularly thrilled to see her, either. But Deli was used to that. Even on her best behavior, she tended to overwhelm people. Especially those wearing the expression this guy was.

"Hi!" she said brightly, waving. She'd been expecting the kid with the blue hair, given the music, but Deli wasn't picky. "I'm Deli. Demo. See? Easy to remember. You're...um..." Well, shit. He'd introduced himself at the end of the longing, she remembered that. And she remembered it'd put her in the mind of candy...something chocolate. Hershey...Kit-Kat... "Tootsie?"

She knew even before he responded, her semi-joke was going to fall well flat. It just made her grin all the brighter as she peered around him to study the mining pod.

"Is that ours?" she said, already itching to take the small ship apart. "Cool." Then, without taking her eyes from the pod, "Where's Curmy?" she questioned idly. "Your friend. The old guy."

Gavin made his way down the corridor towards the genetics lab, and he couldn’t help but smile at how much he fancied himself walking through the Millennium Falcon. The pleasant feeling was in sharp contrast to the grim haze that still lingered after the news of the murders during Second Shift, but Gavin could as much repress his own ceaseless optimism as he could return humanity to Earth.

In his mind, mourning had its essential place, but it furthered nothing. Only moving forward met the next challenge, and in that he reasoned that the departed were truly honored. Learn from the past, and treasure its place, but do not dwell upon what cannot be changed. A quote from the ancient Chinese philosopher, Lao Tzu, often resonated with Gavin, and it certainly had more and more as of late.

If you are depressed you are living in the past.
If you are anxious you are living in the future.
If you are at peace you are living in the present.

Gavin chewed on this quote once again, letting its meaning tumble in his mind as he found the doorway to the genetics lab. Like so many areas of the Copernicus, the doorway was electronically locked and controlled, so as to restrict entrance by non-authorized personnel. Gavin took the forefinger of his right hand and placed it against the sensor pane of the biometric scanner built into the metal frame of the door. The scanner activated with his touch, and instantaneously read his DNA via a series of low-intensity laser bursts shone into the flesh of his finger. Two seconds later, the doorway opened with a clunk and hiss of sealed air.

Stepping inside, the laboratory’s ultra-efficient LED panels illuminated, and bathed the space in a brilliant glare of white light. Gavin scowled at the harsh, clinical color of the light, and he immediately stepped to the lighting control panel on the wall to adjust the hue of the LED’s to a more welcoming and natural glow. Satisfied, he stepped over to the small kitchenette space the lab afforded, and set to brewing coffee more suitable for human consumption than the stuff he had just finished in the Auditorium.

With the coffee percolating, Gavin walked about the high-tech and ultra clean lab space, activating several computer terminals as he did so. When he came to the large monitor that dominated one of the labs walls, he held off powering it on. This was OLGA’s dedicated screen, and as she was off with Hob, he had no desire to interrupt.

By the time his short jaunt about the lab was complete, the coffee was finished brewing. Pouring himself a large cup, Gavin heard a chime from one of the computers. Blowing across the top of the scalding liquid, Gavin looked over the rim of his mug to the reminder that had popped up on the screen.

“Ah yes,” he said with a smile. “Almost forgot about our resident Michael Bay.”

The reminder was one he had set for himself long before the departure of the Copernicus, and as he pulled out his pocket computer, he wondered if he was going to have to enforce it by bribing one of the jarheads aboard to drag the subject of the reminder bodily to the genetics lab.

With the smile still upon his face, he typed quickly into the IM app of the device in his hands.

Hey there Deli. Hope you slept sound enough. I was wondering if you’d like to go ahead and get your appointment out of the way before things got busy? I’ll be in the lab all day, so whenever suits you will do just fine.

-Doc

Mowzer was NOT pleased.

Oh sure, his Human had been around right when he was needed, providing a comfortable seat to climb upon and receive scritches from. But what did his Human do then? Did he devote all of his attentions to Mowzer, as expected? Did he beg forgiveness for his actions earlier? Did he even try to listen to Mowzer's tale of the human who tried to pick him up?

No! No he didn't! Instead, not only did his Human barely pay any attention at all, but then he pushed Mowzer off his shoulder! Why? To shout at the other Humans crowded in this room? Sure shouting at humans was a fine thing to do, but not now! Absolutely not! Shame on his human, he should know far better!

Mowzer paced in growing fury, weaving over feet as often as around them, idly toying with the idea of using someone's leg as a scratching post- probably his human's. In fact, that was a brilliant idea. It felt like his human had been stealing the spotlight for days, time to get some payback!

The Bengal bounded back over to Antoine just as the man finished his little shouting session, fully prepared to pounce when a bouncing sight caught his eye. He slowed to a stately stride, stepping behind his Human's legs to get a better look.

This human was one of the female ones, seeming quite interested in something as well. She looked familiar too, did he know her? Did his human know her?

Curiosity piqued, Mowzer sat down behind Antoine's leg, deciding to watch the two Humans talk for a moment.

~-~-~

Ms. Albright did not have to try very hard to stop Antoine.

The Medtech turned as soon as he heard the bright voice chiming out for him, casting only a brief -if wary- glance towards the floor as he did. Mowzer had that look in his eye again, and he wasn't about to let his guard down and become a scratching post right now. Of course, he couldn't be vigilant for moody cats and answer the calls of a lovely young lady at the same time. Not well, anyways, there would have to be some sacrifice to be made here.

Which meant he was likely to become said scratching post before too long.

Antoine met Stella's eyes with his own, smiling warmly towards the woman who had come running up to him. Did she want to take him up on his offer of help, already? That would be a welcome, certainly. Stella Albright... Doctor Stella Albright, she had been the one to look his way before, when it was his turn to speak. Yes, the veterinari- ah.

"Oh, him?" Antoine grinned a little wider, motioning idly towards Mowzer behind his leg. "He's Mowzer, been my pet since he adopted me in the Mountain. He was allowed his own cryo cat-bed, the spoil- Atch!"

Mowzer took this opportunity to launch himself up Antoine's back, claws out in full, pulling himself once more to the shoulder of his wincing human. He sat there for a moment, leaning forwards to stare intently into the eyes of the woman across from him, then climbed down Antoine's front. The medtech winced at the claws, but kept his composure well enough, eyeing the cat who then decided to rub his arched back along Stella's leg, purring with a diesel engine.

"And it seems he's more fond of you than me at the moment." Antoine chuckled at the sight, eyeing Stella to see her reaction from Mowzer's display. "You're working in the veterinary ward, yes? Mowzer seems to like the halls around there, don't be surprised if you see him a lot."

Stella dropped her eyes to the cat, still feeling a little flushed but glad to have pushed herself out of her comfort zone to engage these two. The black sadness that roiled inside her receded a little at the interaction and she didn’t even notice the lie-trees all around her. The gentleman was charming, his voice rich and velvety and the cat was a truly handsome specimen. She felt something easing inside her, though whether it was voice or cat she couldn’t say.

With a touch of warm laughter in her voice she spoke to his mention of having been adopted by the cat, “Well lucky you, he’s a handsome fellow.”

Then the cat, Mowzer, launched himself up Mr. Eadoré’s back to perch for a proprietary moment on his shoulder, pausing to peer at Stella.

Oh yes, she thought to herself regarding the pair, wild-eyed cat and blue eyed man. He’s a bad boy alright. Poor man, a heart breaker and skin shredder. She endeavored to let both her appreciation of the cat and her sympathy for the man show in her dancing eyes as she bit her lip and regarded the pair. But the cat had made his point, or rather half his point and made his way down to the floor to curve around Stella’s legs.

Contact, blessed contact. How wonderful, she thought as she let her eyes fall from the gentleman in front of her to the bad boy flirting with her at her feet. She knew enough to not try to pick such a majestic creature up but instead crouched down, heels to bottom and extended a hand to run fingers appreciatively along his lean, rumbling side. It was right that she should go to him. Her smile grew at the touch, cheeks plumping up charmingly and her eyes closed for a moment in absolute reverence at the first touch of fur in three years. It didn’t matter that she’d been unaware of the time passing, she felt it regardless and this touch was a gift. The feel of soft sleek fur over a lean, hard body that moved with such perfect sinuous grace made her sigh in bliss.

“Oh he’s just perfect,” she breathed and then smiled up at the med-tech. She stayed crouched, her hand ready and receptive for Mowzer to brush up against, but never presumptuous enough to presume where he would want to be petted. She lifted her other hand to brush an errant dark curl out of her face.

“You said he’d been in a cryo-bed? Fascinating, I didn’t realized they had them for animals. How lucky for me. Has he been examined since he woke?”

Abby knelt at the edge of the stage, one hand on the ledge as she dropped down to the floor below, forgoing the stairs as she approached the rising rows of her military policemen and the SRT. The meeting was ending and, as much as she'd have liked to run after not a few of the people departing now, and track down one or two more? The immediate priority was her people, the security contingent for the Copernicus, and ensuring everything they needed to walk directly into their duties. Abby held up her arm, wrist turning swiftly to rally everyone to her.

In all, Abby presided over a platoon-sized contingent now alongside SRT Bravo. Sergeant Davis and the other three MP squad leaders would be working up their own patrol and duty schedules, with First Sergeant Larson, in essence, on duty and on call for the next three years. This was just an informal meet, a few questions fielded about shift timing and weapons issue, with Abby taking the chance to reiterate she was available 24/7 for any reason - well, not including hauling their asses back to their rooms if they got into some homemade hooch. They'd just be rotting where they dropped then, unless a buddy could be bothered to scrape them off the floor.

That earned some laughs, a few grins, but Abby knew that deep down, most of her people weren't happy with the suspicious eyeballing they felt sure they'd be getting from the other crew members, no matter Sergeant Davis' tongue-in-cheek joke about MIB and storm troopers. These were damn good men and women, professionals all, and dedicated to the bitter end. Every last MP standing there had risked their lives at some point just before Copernicus' launch, braving the poisonous environs of the Change and the ravenous Kind to recover hundreds of men, women and children, fighting like hell for every last precious human life.

They deserved better. Abby wished she had better to give them, but human nature was what it was. And in general, it was a bitch.

So she gave them what she had: reassurance, order, some measure of normalcy in a world that was anything but. This was a short meeting, only a few minutes really, but the Auditorium was nearly cleared out completely by the time they were done, and Abby dismissed her teams to the proverbial four winds. She didn't wait long as they dispersed, before heading back to her own private room.

In the space of her quick walk, Abby had already prioritized in her head, the stops she had to make after this briefing, and they were not a few. But the small "waking gift" she'd managed to put together made that first decision for her.

The door slid back with a slow hiss and a click as it latched within the wall, a familiar sound Abby found oddly comforting, like the creak of a door hinge that became a part of an old home's character. The private room aboard this ship was like everyone else's, but of course in its particulars, like no other. Now that Michael was asleep, she'd pushed the bed back into a single, opening up the small space - though she would have far preferred the company of her son to some extra leg room. Neatly made with comforters of ocean blue and turquoise, her bed was positioned beneath her portal, glowing softly now with a wintery scene. Fluffy thick snowflakes fell languorously in a forest turned bare brown, after autumn let her brilliant gown of foliage fall away. The barest indentation of a well-worn forest path could be seen winding into the trees and into the growing dark, not yet trodden this day though inviting intrepid booted feet nonetheless.

Abby grinned as she turned toward the built in desk where the small tin plate was set, from this morning some honest-to-God fresh fruits, blackberries and raspberries and even a few cherries shining like jewels among a cushion of brazil nuts and macadamias and walnuts. Her whole family smiled back at her in approval from the photographs in those simple black wood frames, set along the back of her desk. Her parents and her brothers, aunts and uncles and cousins and even an ancient black and white photograph of her great, great grandparents on her Mom's side. Times boating and waterskiing on their lake camp, defiantly-worn Christmas sweaters and a rare and mammoth brown trout brandished with toothy grins outside a Minnesotan ice fishing shacks - the very best of her world and her past.

There were even books on the shelves above the desk too - real books, some literary classics and some definitely not-so-much - all surrounding a clear glass case preserving a Kirby Puckett-signed baseball she'd bought for Michael when they visited Cooperstown.

All these much-loved mementoes abided in her thoughts, much as they did her room. Every last one of them was gone now, irrevocably, from the winter's forest path to the enormous family she still loved and missed with all her heart. But unlike so many aboard the Copernicus, Abby didn't see them as memories to mourn, remembrances to turn her thoughts maudlin or melancholy. Far from it. These reminders were the pillars that upheld her purpose, her reason - the keepsakes that pointed toward the promise of every last good and decent thing that the future might yet hold.

Though the present would have to do just fine for now. She would have loved to change out of her ACUs into some 'civilian' clothes, but her day wasn't over yet and that would just have to wait. Abby took up the plate carefully in both hands, her tablet tucked carefully under her one arm before she walked back out her door and down the hallways she'd gotten to know pretty well by now.

Outside Gavin's lab door, Abby thought about announcing herself, seeing if OLGA was... Oh wait, if she'd heard right (and who in the auditorium not functionally deaf hadn't?), OLGA was off chatting with Mr. Bach. Frankly, she wasn't entirely sure the good geneticist wasn't a touch peeved with her at the moment anyway. This plate of precious freshly-grown fruits and nuts really had been procured on the sly before the briefing as a gift, but it might do as a tasty little mea culpa as well.

Abby held her finger over the laser pad entry, waiting for the second it took for the recognition of her near limitless ship access and for the door to slide open. Simply showing up on Gavin's proverbial doorstep all unannounced and such wasn't likely to put him in a better mood if he really was irked with her, but better to ask forgiveness and all that...

She caught sight of the scientist in the dimmed light of his numerous LED panels. Sure, the hoodie and vintage jeans and those Converse low tops weren't exactly the typical look one might expect for the towering genius of a Nobel Prize nominee, but was a welcome sight to her eyes nonetheless. "Good morning Gavin... Well, sort of. All right fine, that was entirely rhetorical, but this isn't: just how pissed are you with me, for that shite answer I gave you in the briefing?"

Abby held out that tin plate of fresh fruit and nuts before her, a wide and ridiculously hopeful smile on her face. "And just how much of a difference would it make, if I promise I come bearing gifts that might go well with your coffee - and a few real answers too?"

That bright smile dimmed just a little though, the gravity of what she had to say taking root. "Though if I could get a cup of that blessedly fresh-brewed coffee? I might promise you some damn good reasons as well."

collaboration with idlehands and Igraine

Ester hugged Pauline back, she was a stranger but radiated a happiness that drew her in. She had every right to be sad and withdrawn but she was not. It helped ease what could have been an awkward scene and Ester was grateful.

“I hope she told you nothing too unflattering. And of course you’re more than welcome to come along,” she said, “It’s no bother at all.”

Naomi lead the way, chattering about the places Ester would need to know about. The cafeteria and the lounge in particular, and the giant aquarium that was close to the gardens. As they walked along Ester watched the holographic screens flickering scenes of Earth from the windows.

“Don’t we ever get to look outside?” she asked.

“You could if you like but honestly, there isn’t much to see out there,” Naomi replied. “A lot of blackness and stars but it doesn’t look anything like those nebulae photos from NASA. We can’t see the colors that exist in space.”

Ester felt vaguely disappointed but it was soon forgotten when the approached a double set of heavy sliding glass doors. She tapped on the number pad and it slid open with a soft hiss. Once they were inside, she gawked at the indoor botanical garden that had been planted in the last years. It was distinctly Oriental, having been cared for by the Japanese botanist couple. Manicured and pruned to perfection, it was a delicate and beautiful entrance to the garden area. In the center was a trickling stream that ran down from stone to stone and a bench was located next to it with arching cherry trees above it.

“Beautiful,” she said, “I recognize Chouku’s touch.”

It was lovely but she was never a fan of stringently laid out gardens, she preferred for the plants to interact, to blend and share their silent green world. Already plans on rearranging things and allowing the growth to run a bit wild was entering her head. They moved on through another glass door and she felt the warmth and humidity rise.

The rainforest room was enormous, with towering teaks and mahoganies and liana vines roping along the limbs. Dozens of fruit trees were scattered among the lush tropical foliage and in one glance Ester could see the oblong star fruit of the carambola and the vivid red and yellow of ripe mangos. Macadamia, cashew, and brazil nuts trees were ripening alongside the coconut palms. Tall coffee bean and cacao trees grew toward the center and she could sent the cinnamon as she passed by the cluster of spice trees and spotted the soft yellow trumpet of a flowering vanilla bush. Brilliant pink hibiscus surrounded a deep tank that was masked by stones and trailing jade vines with their unusual and lovely sea green clusters of blooms.

Ester took a deep breath, the fresh oxygen generated by the dense greenery was almost palpable. Life seemed to hum and pulse in the misty air around them and she could feel her long dark hair starting to curl from the moisture. A shimmer of color caught her eye and she turned toward it, her lips parting in a surprised smile. A dozen iridescent blue butterflies landed to drink from a wet stone next to the small waterfall. So there was animal life after all, the previous caretakers must have released a selection of insects that would aid in pollination.

Pauline breathed deeply as she followed after the sisters, savoring the presence of their easy, uncomplicated company every bit as much as the delicate scents of the formal gardens, transformed to the heady intoxicating greens of a thick rain forest. Naomi had shown her these spectacular verdant spaces after she woke, perhaps with a thought to easing her hurts - and they certainly had. Pauline could not love her friend more for this kindness, than if she were her own sister born.

But with Naomi’s flesh and blood sister here now, the brilliant horticulturalist, Pauline had a mind to pose the questions to Ester that rolled about her inquisitive mind from the moment she’d first stepped foot in the biodomes. “Were they always like this, Ester?” she asked, her voice softened and almost reverential in all this magnificent beauty. “When the Copernicus launched, I mean. Or have all these trees and plants grown a great deal since you first went to sleep?”

Ester looked back at Pauline, brushing a strand of hair that clung to her neck, “They have grown much but that is the way of tropical plants. Fast and lush growth, filling the voids where it finds it.”

Her fingers trailed along a plumeria shrub with fragrant white blossoms, “I’m glad they let this place grow wild for the most part.”

She fell to silence as she continued forward, her large dark eyes drinking in the sight of the man made jungle. Naomi followed with her arm tucked into Pauline’s, and leaned closer to her, “She’s in heaven you know.”

“It’s good to be awake,” Ester replied, “I’m looking forward to getting to work. Let’s head to the next room.”

They passed through another set of doors and the air felt instantly cooler and dryer, the huge room filled with more familiar plants and she smiled at the olive trees and date palms that grew among the clusters of sage and rosemary. Tall straight laurels lined the wall and there was arbors for the twisting grape vines that covered them, arching over the pathway. Toward the back were towering evergreens with reddish bark, cedars from what she could tell.

Ester grinned and reached up, brushing aside the large, hairy leaf to gently touch a plump green fig of a low growing tree next to the path.

“Doesn’t this remind you of home, ac’hot?” Naomi asked with a sparkle in her dark eyes.

“Yes, like the fig tree Ima planted in front of the house,” her sister replied, letting go of the unripe fruit.

Pauline smiled as she strolled contentedly and quietly past the sisters, toward another nearby fig tree whose fruits were not near so green, but a ripe and resplendently deep reddish purple. With a supreme effort of will, she plucked a handful easily from the lower branches, and ate not a single one as she returned to Naomi and Ester. Pauline was an absolute glutton for fresh figs, never having the chance to discover as much until Naomi showed her these gardens.

She held out her hand, offering the few she had picked while nibbling happily on one, her pale eyebrows raised expectantly. “I don’t know a fig tree would have lasted long, if we’d been lucky enough to have one in front of our house,” Pauline said with a soft laugh.

Ester took one from her hand, splitting the stem with her thumbnail to open the soft flesh, pink inside and it tasted like light honey on her tongue. The fragrance of the ripe fig filled her senses, taking her back to the days in the sun on the collective farm where they grew up. It seemed so long ago she and Naomi feeding the kids and lambs with bottles, collecting eggs at dawn, and eating the figs until their faces were sticky. Ester blinked and wiped her lips, smiling a little at the memory.

“Did you live somewhere in the north?” she asked, “Figs cannot stand cold.”

Naomi chuckled, “I think she means she would have eaten them all.”

Ester glanced at Pauline’s reaction and blushed slightly at her mistake.

But Pauline gave Ester not a thing to blush over at all, gracefully moving forward without missing a beat. “So this is like to where you and Naomi grew up then?” she asked, peering about the biodome, to the laurels and the olive trees appreciatively, breathing in the sage and the rosemary, as if she might glean more of the sisters merely by taking in all of the lands they both so obviously loved.

She nibbled thoughtfully on another fig, forcing herself to eat it slowly though all she really wanted to do was gobble it down, and then run back to the tree and pluck even more, one after the other. Pauline remembered the parable of the barren fig tree then, and knew the Gardener would find no fault in the trees to be found here, tended by Ester’s knowing hands.

“This is a Mediterranean garden, many of these we grew,” she looked around, following a gravel strewn path. “Ah, yes. I’m so glad, look.”

Ester pointed out several trees with dark green foliage and orbs of orange and yellow. The faint scent of citrus in the air around them.

“The lemonade,” Naomi leaned her chin on her sister’s shoulder, both of them remembering their grandmother’s fresh lemonade she made every summer.

Ester smiled and felt the bump of her sister’s belly press against her arm. Once again, the little seed made herself known, kicking out against the sudden pressure. Naomi shifted away, putting her hand on her stomach.

“Maybe we’d better keep moving, if she keeps kicking I’ll have to find the restroom,” she said, turning towards the path that led to the door on the left.

Pauline laughed at Naomi’s jest, thought briefly about making some small joke about bears in the woods and all of that, but she decided quickly it was probably not a reference the Israeli sisters were likely to catch. Instead she simply hurried after them, to yet another door that marked the borders between the biodomes, and wondered how much longer until she felt those butterfly flutters herself.

It would be a far, far better sensation she was sure, than the hormone-induced nausea that snuck up on her at all the worst times.

Like now.

Naomi caught sight of Pauline’s sudden change of expression. She took her by the elbow, guiding her toward the door. Ester looked back and sat the sickly pale look on the young woman’s face and without a word, ran back toward the tropical room. Once inside, her dark eyes honed in on a bright reddish waxy flower that looked like a scalloped tail. She reached into her pocket and produced a folding knife. Digging into the soft damp soil she found the root of the ginger plant, slicing the skin and releasing sharp, pungent odor.

Ester flicked her sharp knife, cutting paper thin pieces from the thick root. She lay it back down in it’s hole, flicking the dirt back over it with the back of her hand. She rushed back to where Naomi had lead Pauline, sitting on a wooden bench under a pair of fragrant eucalyptus trees.

The young woman leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her head dropped between her shoulders as she tried mightily to keep those two lone figs exactly where they were in her belly, and unspeakably glad she’d foregone making a glutton of herself. The crisp, slightly minty scent of eucalyptus helped a little as Pauline tried to catch her breath, the cold sweat of nausea turning her pale face paler still, the cold chill of a sudden sweat giving her forehead and upper lip a most unhealthy sheen.

“So sorry Naomi,” she whispered, though she tried to laugh a little, “I’m swearing off the figs. You’ll be proud of me… “

Ester hurried to her side, holding out a thin sliver of ginger root, “It’s quite strong but it should settle your stomach. Spit it out if it’s too much.”

Naomi stepped back, “In a month or so you won’t have to worry about swearing off figs.”

She smiled, recalling her own bouts of morning sickness and how she could not stand the smell of coffee for that time even though she had always liked it.

Pauline smiled weakly up at Naomi for her good-natured encouragement that figs were not going to be permanently deleted from her world; and then to Ester for her offer of the wafer thin slices of… Something. She didn’t ask, but only did precisely as Ester told her.

The young woman’s pale blue eyes widened in surprise, though she’d certainly been warned this was ‘strong’ - but she managed to keep the biting ginger exactly where it was on her tongue. “Oh, well then!” Pauline managed with a sudden, quick laugh, wiping the sheen of sweat from her forehead with her fingertips. “If the ginger root doesn’t keep the nausea at bay, it must be the pure shock of it all doing the work!”

She giggled a little, breathing in through the pursed little “o” of her mouth for a moment before grinning up to Ester. “Thank you,” Pauline said sincerely, “Unexpected, but this will do perfectly. Naomi said you were a genius. Not that I doubted, but I feel pretty good, seeing it all in action. My stomach will too I imagine, soon enough.”

Ester shook her head, “I’m far from any genius, I just had spotted the ginger plants earlier and recalled it’s use. It’s better as a tea but it seems to have done the job.”

Pauline laughed softly again, shaking her head. She hadn’t known Ester long, but she doubted the woman would simply take the compliment, no matter whether she pushed it or no. And so she simply let it rest, decided in her mind on Ester’s worth, and paid the woman another, subtler compliment she felt sure couldn’t be denied quite so easily. “You’re absolutely right, Ester.”

Hob skipped through the halls of the message management program, converted virtually into a grand Victorian post office where letters flew themselves from slot to slot. It was all gleaming brass and polish wood beneath the high overhead dome. There were no other people here, yet with the Third Shift newly awakened, the place was still a beehive of activity as the newly awakened workers checked for messages from each other, from their respective departments, and from friends and family on the other Shifts. He already knew there weren't any messages waiting for him. Not only would he have been alerted instantly the moment he plugged into the computer's neural net (the damn things would buzz around him like angry wasps until he answered them), he was all too aware that he didn't know anyone that would send him a message of any sorts! The NI-Techs handled pretty much everything internally between them. The watches they worked hardly allowed for much contact with others, doubly true now that the hours had changed so drastically.

The life of an NI-Tech was a lonely one outside of the computer. After all, it was hard to relate to people outside of the neuro-computer's environment after having spent half the day working so closely with the rest of the team's minds; there were secrets and inner most thoughts that Hob, Yuriko, and Charlie ended up sharing with one another unconsciously. Hob knew he had changed some since working with the two. Their widely different backgrounds and experiences leaked through to affect one another in ways that were hard to fully comprehend. For example, Yuriko's thoughts had givens Hob some insight on what it was to grow up a female otaku in Japan, while Charlie showed Hob what the life of a wealthy African-American from Boston could be. How could it not alter him in some way! The new viewpoints provided by his team and to a lesser extent the Port Watch had opened up his world view in ways that no one could have expected. They didn't share out and out memories, but the color of their thoughts and the way they came up with ideas had their influence. After that? Dealing with others outside of the 'net was like talking to people who said little and always wore masks.

Which is why Hob was incredibly thankful for OLGA's existence! As much as he liked his partners, each of them knew they needed time away from each other now and then, even when plugged in. The hybrid AI was a step between the forced intimacy between his partners and the feeling of emotional isolation from the rest of the crew. The NI-Techs had been introduced to OLGA long before launch time. The Watches had to run multiple drills and scenarios within the computer beforehand to ensure that everything would run smoothly, and part of those training sessions had been working with OLGA.

Hob found he had missed the girl. And to him, OLGA was a girl as much as any that slept in the cryobeds! He could see her, hear her, touch her, hug her... The AI had more personality than most humans did as far as he was concerned, and talking with her sometimes was almost a palpable relief. While some might find his bond towards OLGA bizarre, what about being an NI-Tech wasnt? Of course, such things as 'making out' and 'keeping it in his pants' were pointless jests for several reasons.

To begin with there was the confusing matter of OLGA's age. Physically she was fourteen, making her young. Yet her avatar had the appearance of a teenager older than that, and if she was fourteen mentally then she was a mature fourteen year old for all of her vivaciousness. There was also the matter of the time dilation between reality and the virtual existence she lived; four hours in the physical world was... ages in the virtual, and the NI-Techs found they often had to slow down their thinking when dealing with others while plugged in. Technically, OLGA would have lived a human's full lifespan a few times over comparatively speaking. And if you brought it back to a matter of physical components, the what was fourteen years in terms of technology? Obsolescence! It had taken less than fourteen years to go from floppy disks and audio cassettes to CDs, from wall phones to handhelds, from storage on hard drives to clouds... Looking at in that view, OLGA was an old maid!

Not that Hob would ever be stupid enough to point that out to her...

There was also the matter of rendering. How completely human an avatar had been developed for OLGA, and what more might she have added on her own? Beneath her generated clothes, was there anything more than bits of code and a loose framework? Even if there was, how to simulate hormones and nerve reactions and everything that went into the physicality of sex to the point where OLGA would actually get anything out of it? Hob could 'feel' her. To what degree could she really do the same?

Most importantly was the consequences! Primal thoughts, unfiltered emotions, created the Ghosts that would plague the system. Random bits of ideas and daydreams that would flit about the system to cloud the NI-Tech's perceptions and seep their way into command codes and communications. As intriguing as the idea was, trying to initiate a cyber-sexual relationship with OLGA on such a level could be disastrous for that reason. There was also the consequence of what would happen if Hob became aroused with the damn catheter still in; his physical body would still react to the perceived stimulation. Embarrassing and painful! On the upside, even if it became possible for them to copulate (provided OLGA would even be interested in such!) was that it was impossible for Hob to get her pregnant!

For all the talk, Hob was well aware that talk was all it would ever be. Strangely enough, for he had always been a passionate man, he was okay with that. He had found a friend and confidant in OLGA, and her presence was oddly cheering. Let the rest of the crew thing the AI to be creepy if useful! Fuck, most of them thought the NI-Techs were creepy if useful, and Hob would be the first to agree! All the artist knew was that he had fun being with OLGA and that she seemed to feel the same way. Soon she would be working on whatever genetic magic the good doctor had in store, so Hob was intent on making the most of what spare time they had before their capabilities were fully called upon.

The grand post office was a nice short cut for Hob to the Core where OLGA was housed. From there, she could respond to any inquiry anywhere on the ship and assist in whatever ways her programming allowed. OLGA could see the rest of the system, Hob knew, but was limited in how much she could interact with it; as happy as the Engineers were to have her processing capability aboard, no one wanted a self aware system with the temperament of a teenager to have the ability to execute command codes. Old prejudices born of ancient science-fiction were hard to overcome. Hob often wondered just how aware of her shackles OLGA was, if at all, although if she knew then she never said anything. Maybe that was another thing they had in common? They were, in their own ways, both slaved to the ship's welfare.

He found the iron spiral staircase that spiraled its way down to the Core, and taking the steps two at a time Hob soon found himself outside of OLGA's home. From the outside, it looking nothing more than a long, stone corridor stretching off into the distance beyond sight with closed doors on either side. Most were locked for security reasons. Should the NI-Techs need entry, three of them would have to be present to open them, they were that important. OLGA's, however, could be locked or unlocked at her own whim (for the most part). And whatever lay beyond her door was left for her to devise...

Rapping several times in a quick staccato, Hob called out to her, "Candy police! Open up! I've a warrant to search the premises for something cute and sweet!"

Later, she wouldn't be certain of precisely how she found herself on the foremost bridge of the Copernicus, only that she did.

It wasn't surprising, by any stretch of the imagination. Maya Coleman rarely did anything without careful, deliberate thought, but the waking had bee particularly hard on her. The vertigo had been so aggressively fierce, she'd been given leave to skip the briefing just so she could remember how to get her feet beneath her, and when she'd drunkenly insisted on going, the tech had insisted on wheeling her there, seeing as how she could hardly walk across the room without weaving to one side, that much only if she was lucky.

But of course the had gone to the briefing, and of course she'd walked there herself, even if she'd arrived ten minutes late, doused in a cold sweat, having stopped to retch half a dozen times en route.

Her head was pounding, and the periphery of her vision had darkened to a spotty black, the telltales signs of an inevitable migraine that meant she ought to have been lying down somewhere in the dark. But the former Air Force pilot was nothing if not dedicated. As she saw it, she had a job in refamiliarizing herself with the ship she'd be piloting for the next year, cryosickness be damned. It was, after all, quieter on the bridge than it had been in the conference room, or those areas surrounding the conservatory and mining pod hangars. It seemed a good portion of the waking crew this year were impossibly young, something she found as frustrating as it was inexplicable, though logically, she knew it bore well for their eventual future in Canaan.

Canaan.

Thanks to the weekly Sunday ministrations of her adoptive grandmother during her early years in Brooklyn, Maya knew all matter of Biblical minutia of the contested 'Promised Land'. How different, she wondered, would this Canaan be from the one they'd left behind? Would they, like the supposed Canaanites of Earth, spend generations in bloody battle over a thin strip of land that might promise life? It didn't, she knew, matter much. Her job had never been to question orders, only to obey them.

But Maya Coleman knew much of promises, and she'd never been much of a believer -- Christian or otherwise -- to begin with.

•••

"'Park'. Just 'Park' is perfectly fine."

In his eleven year practice in Northern California's Bay Area, Ha-neul Bae Park was nearly certain he'd said no other words quite so often. He had lived in the States for nearly fifteen years at the time of his leaving -- not only California, not only the US, but Earth in its entirety -- and while he was fluent in English, he still held something of his Korean accent, and it was not uncommon for people, out of respect or something not so kind, to assume he went by his given name. And certainly he was not opposed to it. Park was a strong believer in the past as a fluid modifier for present and future. But he had found a simple nickname seemed to settle his patients, and most in general, if only because it was easier to remember. So, he had given the name to First Sergeant Abby Larson, and to the waking crew of the Copernicus as a whole in his gentle introduction, the corners of his eyes crinkling under a perpetual, if knowing, smile.

"Good morning," he'd stated calmly, as he had eased himself from a sitting position into a something just slightly less stooped. There were old injuries not precisely keen on the abrupt wakening after three years, but he could hardly complain, especially given that news he had just heard. "My name is Ha-neul Bae Park, but most simply call me Park. And as Sergeant Larson has just stated, I am in fact both a doctor and a pastor," here his smile changed only slightly, "though whether one can be a pastor without a congregation is rather beyond me. In any case, I am here to provide support for all of you, particularly in the wake of such...tragic news. My background is largely in psychiatry, and should you feel you require regular meetings, please come visit. I am also, however, not adverse to simply chatting." He laughed. "You'll find I can wax poetic on nearly any topic, should you have the time for an old man."

He had left them with the location of both his cabin and his office before taking his seat again. He had only visited his office briefly to ensure things were in order -- the pharmacy shared between himself and the other medical doctors, Dr. Brock in particular, was well stocked with all manner of psychotropics, sedatives, anti-depressants, and so on -- but Park had always preferred the medicine of simple human compassion, and he had found most were more inclined to talk informally. So, he had set up his cabin to accommodate such requests, at virtually any hour of what now constituted the day, setting up a small, but plush chair in an empty corner of his office, with a small table stocked with candles and other aromatherapeutics.

The people aboard the Copernicus had left much behind, and many had had a good deal taken from them. To his understanding, there were several military men and women awake for this cycle. But in his experience, those folks often accounted for a bulk of his visitation.

Gavin had been sitting with his feet propped upon his desk, his coffee placed just off his lips as his peered over the mug’s rim at the computer screen. Ride the Lightning by an ancient band named Metallica, was playing softly from the speakers as Gavin reviewed the notes left by his predecessor from Second Shift, Dr. Tian Xing. When the sound of the lab’s door actuating broke his concentration, Gavin’s feet fell roughly from the desk, and he turned towards the entrance with a peeved scowl.

When he saw that it was Abby Larson entering the lab, his expression shifted instantly to a genuine smile, and he pulled the reading glasses from his nose. The smile only grew in breadth as he listened to the blond MP issue her preamble, and offer the plate of goodies as collateral for some coffee.

“I think it is a fine morning, even with all things considered,” Gavin stood with a light chuckle. He walked towards Abby, and popped one of the Brazil nuts into his mouth as he continued passed her. “Humanity still persists, even in spite of our own pariahs, and I’ve been granted a visit by a dear friend. So, in my estimation, it is indeed a good morning.”

Gavin stopped before the kitchenette to retrieve a second mug, and pour a generous helping of coffee for Abby. He handed the mug to her, trading it for the plate of nuts and fruit. The plate was set on a nearby countertop, and Gavin pulled up two rolling chairs so the two could share in the bounty. Waiting for Abby to take a seat first, Gavin sat and treated himself to another helping of fruit.

“Delicious, and thank you,” he said with a satisfied grin. His blue eyes regarded Abby, and they twinkled beneath the artificial glow of the LED’s.

“Now, as to just how pissed I am with you, I will answer that with a surprised admonition. I am truly hurt that you would think I would be irritated with you when you were simply doing your duty, especially when presented such a question in the midst of all of Third Shift.”

Gavin gave Abby an exaggerated sigh of disappointment before returning to his familiar smile. “In truth, I should be asking for your forgiveness. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that in the first instance.”

He leaned forward. “Though, in all seriousness Abby, I think my question, ill-timed as it may have been, is relevant.” For a moment, Gavin’s mouth formed a thin line, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I would like to review the autopsy of the victims, Abby. I’m assuming that Dr. Xing performed the procedure?”

Oh, this was a wonderful human!

Mowzer purred louder than ever, pushing his head up against the female Human's hand, encouraging her to scritch his chin and behind his ears, rubbing against her leg all the while. A wonderful human indeed, understanding just what he needed, unlike some humans right now. He shot a smug glance over at his Human, hoping he was paying attention. This was how you made Mowzer a happy cat, something his Human seemed to have forgotten.

Unless this was his Human's way of a peace offering?

That thought gave Mowzer pause, eyeing his human one more time as he spoke with the wonderful one. Maybe... maybe... But that would not be enough right now. Not after all he had done before. It would take at least another few minutes of these scritches before he could start to forgive his human. At least!

Offering another sidelong glance at his Human, Mowzer shrugged him off for now, pressing his head against the wonderful one's hand yet again.

~-~

Antoine chuckled softly at the sight, simply watching as Ms. Albright melted over Mowzer. It was a sight begging for a camera, for pencils and paper, for brushes and an easel- for something that would allow one to capture the warmth of her features in more than just memory. He had none of the above, and little skill to use them if he had, so memory would have to do, Antoine simply watching for a spell.

Definitely worth Mowzer being spoiled for a little bit.

"Indeed," His own smile widened as he spoke. "There are a few I know of, early models..."

Should he say...

"...I didn't expect Mowzer to get one all to himself, but I suppose I shouldn't underestimate him." Antoine grinned, choosing to gloss over the original purpose of those beds. Cryo-sleep had to have been tested, of course, all the theory and calculation one could do would never be enough to simply claim it was safe for humans. But given the love Ms. Albright showered on Mowzer -likely not limited to cats alone- and the news everyone had only just learned, it seemed a little... inappropriate, to mention something like that.

Besides, he had only seen the prototype beds in passing, the study nearing completion as he had joined another. The beds were known to be safely functional by the time he was learning to operate and maintain their software, and he really couldn't claim passing conversation with his doctors as hard evidence, now could he?

"He had a quick check when he first woke up." Crouching somewhat, Antoine offered his hand to Mowzer as well, receiving a playful bat from the cat and nothing more. Well, it wasn't claws, so maybe his pet had been mollified somewhat. "Made sure nothing had been damaged in the sleep, but nothing more."

"Given how much he likes you though, he might sit still long enough for a full examination. Just watch trying to pick him up, he really doesn't like that."

OLGA sat in her digitally-created bastion, and wriggled non-existent toes as she waited for Hob to arrive. The room in which she occupied was that of an island bungalow, sparsely yet comfortably furnished in an easy-going style that belied the boisterous and bubbly AI’s persona. Varnished woods of Mahogany, Walnut, and Sandalwood gave a warm glow to the bungalow as the mid-morning tropical sun filtered through wide-open doorways covered with white, sheer linen drapery. Beyond these fluttering ivory cloths, white sand and crystal-clear turquoise water could be seen, accompanied by the sounds of gentle waves lapping at the beach and the far-off calls of birds of paradise.

This environment was among OLGA’s favorite, and she often used it when she received guests. The calming and simple vista was a welcome antithesis to her busy mind, and OLGA found strange solace in the soothing melody of her island retreat. Even for an AI there was room to relax and forget, if only for a time, that she was not truly alive, and that her mind worked on an order of magnitude faster than any human’s.

There was a strangeness to that association, for that yearning, that OLGA wholly recognized. She was a construct of human neurons, and thus human DNA, coupled with human-made computer processors. She could comprehend and experience emotion. She sought happiness, purpose, and the comfort of belonging. Yet, for all that made her human, she simply was not.

It was a concept that occupied her thoughts often, though not compulsively so. There was no resentment, no unnatural drive to somehow break free of her existence to something more organic and singular. In truth, she reasoned that her reality granted her a means to experience humanity in more ways than any one human ever could. OLGA could be anyone she desired. She could create within her realm as any god could, manufacturing an infinite tapestry of experiences and lives. When she was not interacting with the crew of the Copernicus, and not playing the simple, yet addicting video-games of her human counterparts, these flights of fancy were how she spent her time.

The happiness she gained from living her own “lives” within the confines of her limitless mind was genuine, and she would argue to anyone that it was just as tangible an experience as any human’s. Still, within this realm she was still omniscient, still beholden to no one but herself. No matter how intricately she attempted to create unpredictable circumstances, in the end it was only an exercise in blissful denial. OLGA knew what would happen, knew how her dream would end in every instance. Regardless of how hard she tried, OLGA had always read the last chapter of the story even before she opened the cover.

This was why she loved humanity so. Through them, through her interactions with them, she was granted the only true opportunity she would ever have to react to stimuli beyond her control. With their own minds and experiences brushing sometimes chaotically against her existence, OLGA found that in that way that she was the most human she would ever be.

The sharp knocks at her door drew OLGA instantly from her own contemplations, and with a wide smile she leapt up from her place on the bungalow’s wooden floor.

“Coming!” She said happily, padding her bare feet towards the artificial door that represented the very tangible barrier that existed between her and the rest of the Copernicus computer systems.

As she walked towards the doorway, OLGA utilized her own consciousness to assess the appearance of her avatar. She had chosen to wear her blond hair up in an attractively chaotic knot at the back of her head, showing off her gauged ears and thin neck. Her face was adorned with little make-up, with only enough to subtly accentuate the brightness of her green eyes. For clothing, OLGA wore a pair of thickly woven, wolf-grey capris leggings, and a comfortably cut, black, racer-back tank top emblazoned with a worn Iron Maiden logo. The band logo was a loving affectation she attributed to Gavin’s own taste being imprinted within her programming. She liked to think that such things were a gift from her “father,” and so she often displayed such features with pride.

Opening the door, OLGA waited for Hob to enter before enveloping him in a strong hug. She hung there, with her arms wrapped about his neck for a time, with her feet kicking behind her. When at last she relinquished her grip, she stepped back a pace to give the NI-Tech a crinkled-nose smile.

“Candy police? I’m trying not to gag on all your cheesiness.” OLGA said, pretending to repress a dry heave. The gesture was instantly followed by another winning smile.

“I’m glad you decided to visit me, Hobs. It’s been, like, an eternity, yeah?”

OLGA spun about on her heels, and gestured for Hobs to follow her inside the bungalow. “Can I get you anything? I think there’s Corona in the fridge if you’d like?”

Of course, there could by anything in the fridge OLGA deigned to be there, but this delicious ruse granted her humanity, and so she was going to continue it. Reality be damned.

The young man that had sat in the back and fidgeted through the briefing was one of the first out of his chair and out the door. Henry Graham made his way down the winding corridors, his head down, he had pulled a watch cap on, tugging it over his short hair. He walked with his shoulders hunched, his focus on the notepad in front of him that mapped the route down into the kitchens. When people passed him or looked at him, he averted his gaze. Old prison habits died hard. He half expected to feel someone's hand grab him by the shoulder and his steps were quick. 　

Henry still felt the queasiness from the cryosleep in addition to the knot of anxiety in his stomach after the announcement of the crimes and the unsealing of records. When he entered the cafeteria he looked around. It was a large room with nice dining tables and chairs, there were a few long tables and several round ones. Along the wall there were booths, the tables all had linens and thin vases with cut flowers. He gawked at it. It seemed more like a nice restaurant than an industrial cafeteria. Henry weaved through the tables, heading toward the line where people would get their food. The steam tables was loaded, waiting for the sleepers if any of them had appetites. There was a table with donuts, rolls, and other breakfast goodies and Henry glanced around furtively before snatching one of the croissants and slipping through the double doors. 　

The kitchen was as larger than any of the commercial kitchens he had worked in, it was more akin to the prison one but with much nicer appliances. There were a few people there, cleaning and prepping, ready to hand over the belly of the Copernicus to the third shift.

"Hey, boy," a deep voice called out to him and he nearly jumped out of his skin. "You workin' down here? Better get your duds on."

A large, heavyset black man gestured to the row of cooks jackets and white pants. He had the look of a former athlete run to fat, his arms huge and beefy with a generous gut. His head was shaved down and he wore a red bandana tied over it to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm working in the kitchen," Henry replied, tucking his notepad away.

"I tell you, I ain't looking forward to this long trip," he said shaking his head, "It'll be like the Navy only we never get any shore leave."

He chuckled good naturedly and went back to what he was doing. Henry merely nodded as he slipped on the oversized coat, rolling up the sleeves. Without looking up the man called out, "My name's Josiah, everyone calls me Josey. I'll be running this show down here. Keep on your toes and don't mess up, you'll be alright."

Josey raised his spatula for emphasis, calling out to Henry over his shoulder, "What they call you then?"

"I'm Henry," he said, glancing around and he spied the mess of tins and went to clean them up. "Is everything here canned or freeze dried?"

"Nope, gotta us a good garden down there in the botanical area," Josey replied, "We get some fresh veggies and fruit at least twice a week. And the farm will give us fresh eggs for Sunday, I like to save 'em for baking during the week. I don't know about you, but I'd rather have me some fresh bread than a sunny side up every morning. We get meat too, once and while when they need to slaughter. Goat and cow's milk for butter and the like. It's not bad, at least according my list here made by the former chef. We'll see how it goes."

Josey rattled on about all the dishes he could make with their finite supplies and Henry listened politely as he cleaned up the counters and washed the dishes. When it was spotless, he finally turned to the chef and asked what he wanted next. Josey turned around, raising his eyebrows and he whistled, "Damn boy, you done good. I like that. Fast and quiet. Go on and grab the mop and give the floors a once over and then you can help me set out eggs in the steam pan. These are powdered eggs, but they're not as bad as you might think. Scramble 'em up and be liberal with the butter flavoring."

He grimaced slightly with another hearty chuckle. Henry smiled a little, unsure and still nervous but the big man seemed to not notice or he chose to ignore it.

"Don't worry," he said, leaning back against the counter as he popped a roll in his mouth, "You're coworkers should be up here soon enough, leave them some work. I gotta line cook who once worked in the nicest restaurant in Denver and some girl they scraped up at the end to bus the tables. I bet you're wondering where they found me? Well, I was once a chef in Atlanta, had me my own place and we were busier than a two dollar whore house on payday."

He paused to laugh at his own joke, "Yep, I grew up in the business. Daddy had a barbeque joint and made some decent money. I played football at University of Georgia, was a linesman and got my degree in culinary arts and such. Not that it matters much now but those were good times. Never played professional ball, my knee was busted up. Hell, it hurt to stand in the kitchen all day but I got lucky. I had a brother in the army, see? And he tells me that this shit going down, this 'Change' ain't gonna end. So, he finds a way to get me on up to the Mountain. Mama's and Daddy been passed on for years so we didn't have that worry. Anyway, here I am. And my knee? Shoot, you better believe they got a doc here that fixed me right up. In fact, look here. See these gourmet coffee packets, these are for Doctor Brock only, I catch you in them I'll skin you, got it?"

Henry listened and nodded as Josey rambled on and was glad for the man's talkative nature, it meant he did not have to speak. He wondered if Josey had read his file yet and was tactfully avoiding it or would it be a surprise. He pushed the mop vigorously, thinking about the one thing that frightened him. There was a girl that would be in the kitchen. He knew he would leave her be but if his record was known. He cringed slightly, rolling his neck to relieve the tension.

Hob grinned widely and closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms about her waist to return the hug in full. Her slight body was warm in his hands, he could feel the curve of her flesh against his suit and smell whatever perfume she had chosen to emulate. There was weight to her, substance! The system's feedback sensors told him there was pressure from her arms around his neck, and his nerves responded in kind. It was with a slow reluctance that the NI-Tech lowered her down.

"More an eternity for you than me, I imagine. And does your father know you've got beer in the fridge, young lady?" he snorted as he headed for the fridge. In the process, he triggered a mental command and made his three piece plaid suit vanished away to be instantly replaced with cargo shorts, a red and black Hawaiian camp shirt, and open toes beach sandals. The black fez with its red tassel remained. She had chosen the sea side bungalow, and Hob was more than willing to play along with the illusion. OLGA had done a great job in synthesizing the smell of the sea! Grabbing a bottle from the fridge, he allowed himself a bit of machismo and flicked the bottle cap off with one thumb. To his delight, the cap went spinning across the floor. "My last eternity was several real time years of nightmares while locked up in a coffin. Which was apparently a picnic compared to the hell everyone else went through during Second Shift. Cryotech murdering sleepers, Jean-Paul going nuts, Amber damn near crashing the system, Sung-Pak locking up like that? And who the fuck thought it was a good idea to put Amber in with Sung-Pak anyway?"

Sitting down in a bamboo chair with soft white cushions, he crossed one leg over the other knee and looked at her. Hob took a careful swallow. The cold brew trickled down his throat, the bubbles fizzing against his tongue and teeth as he lowered the bottle. Hashing over the tragedies of Second Shift was pointless. There was nothing he could do about the past event, although since by all accounts First Shift hadn't any problems at all Jean-Pauls' gang looked like disaster on legs. Besides, there was a pretty lady in front of him! One who was obviously as glad to see him as he was to see her! Hob doubted that with everything going on during Second Shift any of the other NI-techs would have bothered to pay the AI a visit. To most of the NI-Techs, OLGA was the queen of creepy in their creepy little world. Hob, on the other hand, look a much more pragmatic view of things. He was lonely, she was lonely. It was a friendship that worked well for them both!

"You do some upgrades since I last saw you?" It always paid to compliment one's hostess. Besides, in a world where OLGA could be anything she wanted, making note on her looks alone just didn't do her justice. With a grin and a wink towards her, Hob took another pull on the bottle and savored the taste and feel of it. Screw reality. Out there he was piece of machinery, something that the rest of the humans had to regretfully put through hell so they all could live while searching for a new home. In here? Hob was more alive than he had been since the Change first started back on Earth. It was like watching standard television for most of your life on a grainy black and white set, and then being placed in front of a wide-screen UltraHD monitor with 3D surround sound. Was it any wonder that he preferred spending time down there with OLGA? He knew the other NI-techs were against him spending too much time with the doctor's creation, worried that it might induce any number of psychosis that the techs were vulnerable to. But were there really worse things than losing your mind and going to heaven?

"Most folks are supposed to be having a day or two of downtime right now, although I suspect there'll still be a few busybodies who want to get straight to work." Annette. Charlie. Singh. Yuriko. he commended silently to himself. Not Tyson, though, as the boy was never in any hurry to do anything but daydream... which was probably why he was one of the best NI-Techs, actually. "Still, should give us time for a quick vacation!"

The simulated vacations with OLGA were always fun. True she was the one who generated the vistas and locations from her own databanks and knew everything about the sites that her memory held. But Hob added a human element, showing it to the girl with different eyes. Usually, he would conjure up a canvas and pigments, going through the motions of actually painting the scene as he saw it for her to enjoy. Sometimes he would compose music instead, or do a virtual sculpture that he would give to her. It was his way of relating to OLGA, as well as a way of teaching her a more human way of looking at the world. Granted, it was Hob's way of looking at thing. Still, it was a start. "Where did you want to go? Paris? Tibet? Scotland? Morocco? Or did you want to just stay here and enjoy the ocean for a bit?"

collab between idlehands and Dotcom

She was not much more than a girl, hardly old enough to drink let alone handle explosives. He nodded at her wave, his face blank at her cheerful greeting. His gray eyes looked her over, she was pretty in an exotic way, with a thick Spanish accent.

“Name’s Owen Reece, I’m the pilot you’ll be working under,” he replied, looking unamused. “Deli, is that like a salami sandwich with a pickle on the side?”

Deli beamed. “Touché,” she said. Then, “It’s a nickname.”

He turned to look at his tablet, tapping the screen, “Delilah Espinosa de Jesus Dominguez del Beltran. That’s a mouthful. Guess I’ll stick with Deli.”

Reece butchered the pronunciation, he had hardly use for Spanish growing up in the mountains. He looked back up from the notepad, “You haven’t had much experience, only just learning while on the Mountain. And yet, here you are.”

He cleared his throat loudly and gestured to the pod, “That is “Loretta” she is our ship, she will be treated like a grand lady. Now, look here. You were a last minute replacement, our man got himself hurt before we took off and none of us have worked together. One thing I want to have is complete trust among my crew. I don’t give that away, you gotta earn it, just as I gotta prove it to you. The one you call...Curmy, is Bill Cothran and I’ve worked with him longer than you’ve been wearing a bra. He’s earned my trust and I have his.”

Reece rubbed his hand down his short beard, “You got any questions so far?”

Deli stared at the older man for a second, studying him in a way that might have surprised most aboard the Copernicus even if they had recognized it for what it was, before shrugging and offering up a wry grin.

“Sure,” she said errantly. “How do you know how long I’ve been wearing a bra?”

She ignored the part about her inexperience. She figured he was right, at least relatively, and going into the sort of experience she did have -- playing with exposed wires and RC car batteries from early childhood, breaking into her father’s labs since puberty, almost two years’ unofficial military training from her brother -- would warrant questions she didn’t want to answer. Instead, she looked past him again, green eyes settling once more on the swollen curve of the mining pod. She smiled again, this time a bit more reverently as she moved closer to run her hand along the side, much as any young mother might admire her own pregnant belly.

“’Loretta,’” she repeated. “That’s nice. You should paint her name here.” Then she turned abruptly, eyes gleaming. “Or I could do it. It’d be fun.”

"I'll be taking care of the paint job, don't you worry," he said, eyeing her closely. Reece had a roguish sense of humor and while he would have appreciated Deli's flippance outside of the hangar, inside he was all business. "As for your bra, I'd guess less than ten years, not counting the three as a meaty ice cube.”

“Ten years and two months,” Deli corrected in that same light tone, though whatever slight tension that might have crept into her shoulders slipped away at his answer. “Or something. I dunno. I know I made mi mamá buy me one before my cousin’s wedding, and I was...eleven then.” She shrugged. “It was a training bra, but still.” She looked at the pilot again, her gaze once again going deeper than one might expect from her. “But I guess that doesn’t matter, does it? You and Curmy have known each other forever. Got it. Do you know why they put me with your crew?” she added as casually as she could manage. “I mean, if you and Curmy are already compadres para siempre, why add me?”

Reece winced and waved at her, “Alright, alright. I don’t need to know all that. Christ.”

He tapped at the notepad, "Says your Daddy's one of the uppity ups in the rocket program. Now, as for why they put you on my crew, I can only guess."

Deli looked away again, leaving half a moment between the word ‘daddy’ and her actual, physical reaction. In her pocket, her tablet buzzed, with a loud quacking sound -- something she’d preprogrammed into her tablet, because as far as she was concerned, normalcy was boring. She ignored the notification, though. She had a good idea of who it was from and what it was about, and she was going to avoid that as long as she could.

“He was,” Deli said, still studying the pod, though she’d lost interest by now. “He designed the fuel systems that power the engines. Something about perpetual motion or magic dinosaur bones or both. He got us on the ship. My brothers and me, I mean. He didn’t put me here, though, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She looked at him almost defiant, though her eyes still glittered with a smile. “I’m here because I’m good at blowing things up.” She grinned again. “Most of the time, it’s on purpose.” It was as much of a test as it was a joke.

Reece cocked his eyebrow at her but said nothing else. He was being hard but no harder than he had been on the young engineer. Conner had scored points with him by being able to bypass the day off and getting right to work. The fact he was cleaning up the mess left for him by the previous crew sat well with Reece. He would watch him and see how things progressed but it was a better start than he had hoped for. Now the young woman in front of him, his new demolitions expert, he could not test. Other than computer simulations of course, which were fine but it would not be like applying the real thing. That would not occur until they were out in space, perched on some asteroid. He looked at her pretty face, her smooth caramel skin and shook his head slightly.

"Whatever the reason, it is what it is. Once Bill gets here, we'll get started on some training programs. Shake off some of the cryocobwebs," Reece said, putting his notepad away. "Deli, I won't sugar coat it, I'm expecting you to fail but I'm hoping you don't. We need everyone out here on the top of their game."

He gave her a pointed look, his pale grey eyes on her dark ones.

His last words to her only confirmed what she’d already been thinking, but it made her laugh anyway, a genuine, surprised sound, and when she spoke this time, it was the most earnest she’d been since puking in the conference room.

“You sound like him when you talk like that.”

Reece glanced up at her laugh with a quizzical look, “Your Daddy? Well I’m old enough to be that. Alright, so, about your blowing stuff up. Let’s keep that for outside play, ok? I like having all my limbs.”

He hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked up at the mining pod, “The mechanic, Conner, he’s in there now working on her engine. We’ll let him be until Bill shows up and then we’ll do the grand tour. Looks like they made some adjustments since we left home.”

Reece looked at her out of the corner of his eye as they focused on Loretta, wondering what he was going to do about the situation. He was reminded uncomfortably of another bright young lady who had put her trust in him which had ended in the worst result.

Deli nodded once, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a neon green bandana, tying back her wild curls before turning back to the pilot.

"Sure thing, Cap," she said brightly, hitting a not-so-clean salute. "Right behind you."

He gave her once over and turned back to the ship, “Alright then.”

Stella sighed and smiled and soaked in the wonderfully soothing, heady feel of petting a cat. So simple, so earthy and so delightfully needed. Her expression was that of soft bliss as the wiry little body ran itself under her hand, pressing against her palm and dictating, as well he should, the pressure of their contact. She let the velvet tips of his ears rub deliciously against her fingertips as he aimed his head under her palm. She greedily traced the aristocratic angle of his jaw and worshiped it with fingers and eyes, rubbing and scritching with expert touch. It didn’t matter their size, she knew how to pet a cat and she could tell that despite this one’s slender, compact size he had the ego and personality to top even the largest of the captive big cats she’d worked with in her various posts through the years. An ego she was more than delighted to stroke just then.

She grinned and looked away from the regal beast and was almost startled to find that Mr. Eadoré had crouched down to offer a conciliatory finger to Mowzer, a finger which was batted away. A position which put his face well in line with hers. A proximity which made her feel very self-conscious of the need so plainly written on her face. She smiled and dropped her eyes, a little embarrassed to have lost herself so much in the simple act of petting a cat. How to explain how much it meant to her, the common mundane act of petting a cat? It made it less horrible for just a little while that they were homeless, a bunch of invasive species just waiting to find the right planet to invade.
Would they do to a planet what had been done to theirs? Such big uncomfortable questions. Questions that were not hers to decide.

“I know I was unaware while I slept but being here, touching him, makes me feel the three years in my bones. I think of all that I missed, all that I lost. Does that make sense?”

She shook her head sheepishly, her curls tumbling over her face, shielding her vulnerable expression while she caught up with the moment and the conversation she’d started after all.

“Anyway,” she said as a clumsy segue, “I would love to give him a more careful exam if you don’t mind. Cat’s bodies can be so sensitive, especially their kidneys.”

She looked down at the still contented cat and lavished more attention on his delightful chin.

“And I would never dream of picking him up. He’s got four feet and more than enough will to get him where he needs to be. Don’t you Mowzer?”

She laughed and ran her hand once more down his deliciously sinuous spine and then stood and offered her hand to his human.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Eadoré. If you like, bring him by my office when you have a moment and we’ll make sure he’s fit as a fiddle. And if you need,” she gestured lightly towards his chest, “I have some antiseptic that’s suitable for humans as well.

"He did," Abby replied over the rim of her coffee, lips set close to the rim to gently blow off the steam. She waved off his apology with a warm smile, as easily and quickly as he did hers, before she sat in the rolling chair Gavin offered. Her tablet was perched across her knees as both hands wrapped around the hot mug. "But the truth is, as talented as the man is? He's not a medical examiner - any more than my predecessor's an investigator."

Abby took a small, slow sip. God this is amazing coffee... She had no idea how the hell Gavin did it, but his brew was always second to none. The fruits and nuts she brought were entirely for him of course, a "Good Morning Sunshine" gift for a man who had been so good to Michael, endearing himself to Abby. But all she and her lingering headache needed right now, was this unspeakably good hot cup of coffee.

"Please don't get me wrong," she said, swallowing down that mouthful of heaven before she continued, "I'm not criticizing what they did - there's nothing to say that any one of us could have done better. But in the end, I'm wondering if they asked all the right questions."

"Oh, and there's a reason you didn't have access to those autopsy reports - well, until right now." Abby took another sip of coffee before reluctantly setting it down on the counter beside her, by the plate. With an impish little grin, she reached for the pocket of Gavin's hoodie sweatshirt and helped herself to his reading glasses. "Sorry, completely forgot mine."

Finger and thumb held Gavin's purloined glasses daintily just over her nose as she peered at the tablet in her lap. The fingers of her other hand flew over the screen, that devilish grin disappearing behind a frown of concentration. "There. You should have full access to them." Abby folded Gavin's glasses again with one hand, and tucked them back into his pocket with a small sigh. "The last victim, the one who survived? She didn't go back to 'sleep.' She's pregnant now, and she's keeping it."

"But there's more to the sealing of those records, more than just this girl's 'privacy' - even if that is the official version of the story. Here... If you take a look at the names, you might semi-recognize one. Adrienne Lahan, the third female victim?" She held up her own tablet to Gavin, fingers widening the three dimensional image of a lovely young woman, dark brown hair and green eyes and the kind of beautiful that can even make official identification photographs seem glamorous.

"She was General Lahan's daughter." Abby closed up the screen on her tablet and set it back in her lap, letting her words sink in for a moment before she spoke again. She bit her lip thoughtfully as she looked up to the decent, handsome face of one of the handful of people aboard this ship she genuinely trusted. Some small part of her desperately wanted to confide more of her thoughts about the Copernicus' commander, about Stanford's last words to her before he went to "sleep" himself... No. No, what she brought him now was enough for anyone's plate. Let Gavin make of her words what he would. He'd have plenty on his mind soon enough.

"The autopsy reports though," she said quickly, "Yes, I read them and they didn't tell me anything I couldn't have guessed on my own. There was no sexual assault examination done on the deceased since, until the last woman was attacked? There was zero indication what they were actually dealing with. The unthinkable was out of mind - until it suddenly wasn't - but the dead had already been 'buried at sea,' so to speak."

"Chemistry and toxicology findings all came back the same - these people, in essence, suffocated in their 'sleep' via an overdose of their meds. Now if there's anything awry with the reports themselves?" Abby laughed mirthlessly with a helpless shrug of her shoulders. "I sure don't have anything to offer in that department - that's all you, Gavin."

"But assuming those findings are accurate? Here's what I'm wondering - and hey, I'm just a dumb cop, so take my random musings for what they're worth," she teased with a wink, though yet again, the levity couldn't last long. "We have the benefit of hindsight, and know all five of these people were murdered, that it was no kind of cryobed failure."

"But aren't there supposed to be safeguards on these beds? Correct me if I'm wrong, but every shift that's woken? This isn't simply done by a cryotech walking around with a notepad, flipping a switch and checking off a box. All of this is timed and calculated out, from the meds to the monitoring. No one is ever simply 'accidentally' woken. True, the 'sleep' medications have to be dealt with. But the cryotech Sy Jacobs, the one they executed, would have had the expertise to do that. My question is, how did he get past those safeguards? Past the alarms, without leaving any kind of trace?"

"You're the man who created OLGA. You're the geneticist, the doctor. I can open doors, anywhere you'd care to go from here - well, until I can't," she added meaningfully. "Honest to God, Gavin, I'm hoping there isn't a damn thing to find. Michael's still 'sleeping,' you know... ?" Abby's voice trailed off with the question and she looked away quickly. She blinked a few times, and forced a small smile to her lips that bowed upward but showed no teeth. Abby reached once more for her own cup of coffee, wrapping both hands around the mug tightly as she pulled it close.

She’d done it again. Somehow despite having done all she could to memorize the route to the kitchen and still wound up lost. She had studied the map outside the auditorium, made a note of all the turns and levels found herself nowhere near the kitchens. She’d made it to the auditorium for the briefing, barely even though she’d woken up pleasantly and with no discernible side effects and as such had no excuse for being so late. Since she’d slipped in so late to the debriefing she had sat at the back and caught her breath as people introduced themselves. The room, for all that it was cast with the illusion of trees, and how cool was that, had reminded her of a lecture hall. That association made her think of her family, her scholarly family and she felt her stomach sour and it had nothing to do with the effects of stasis. She fiddled with her sleeves and tried to focus on the meeting, feeling as out of place there as she had most everywhere but a kitchen. When the others rose to introduce themselves she hadn’t stood up, they were important people, leaders and skilled workers who would be doing vital work for the ship. She was just a cook. But that was ok. They didn’t need to know who she was to appreciate her cooking.

When the tide of people had left the hall she’d left with them, smiling and greeting people as they moved and dispersed to their stations. She’d spent a moment outside the hall to study the map and then set off, confident that she’d be apron-ed and cooking in no time. But that just hadn’t worked out, had it? She’d made a wrong turn or two and wound up near a garden of some sort and had asked directions from a gentleman who was wearing a paper suit who was going from flower to flower sticking a long metal instrument into the bell-shaped flowers hanging from a trellis. Directions had been given but then curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d asked him what he was doing. Many moments later she knew more about pollination than she had before but she had lost some of the direction in the conversation and had to be re-directed by some women who were wheeling large carts of laundry down a corridor. They had gotten her a little further and had even supplied her with an apron from their stock and with smiles and promises to say hello when they were down for meal she’d taken off at a jog, certain she’d make it there in no time. Except she’d gotten distracted by the sound of singing, loud nearly discordant singing and she’d paused outside a small classroom and watched as a group of about twenty children, led by a smiling teacher sang one of her very favorite songs “C is for Cookie.” It was a short song which was fortunate and this time when she set out it was at a run.

She’d been close at that point and in less than a minute she scents and sounds of the kitchen called to her despite the sterile air of the ship, guiding her to the one place she wanted to be just then. She skidded into the kitchen and waved in the general direction of people and then slumped forward, putting her hands on her bent thighs and gasping for breath. Boy was she out of shape. No toned, tight military body for her. Nope, just one more way she was a disappointment to her family. But it didn’t matter, what was that old saying? Never trust a skinny cook?

As she slowly caught her breath she finally looked up and grinned a sweet, sheepish grin. She looked around and held up her apron as if it answered some question that had been asked.

“Sorry I’m late.” She panted, her eyes falling on a pair of men. The older one was a heavyset black man with a mouthful of rolls and eyes that sparkled with humor. She liked him immediately, he reminded her of a few of the chef’s she’d worked with in the past and her smiled broadened as she took him in. The young man next to him was skinny and tall and she wanted to walk over to the pair and put a roll in the younger man’s hand after slathering the roll with butter. She resisted the impulse and instead calmly made her way over to them holding her hand out for shaking.

“Hi, I’m Penelope Raffin, Penny for short and I’m supposed to report here for work. Do either of you know who is in charge?”

"O, we sailed away at the break of day
to pull traps in oilskin trousers,
on the Suzy Jack but tonight we're back
wit a thousand pounds of lobsters.
O, Shantytown, we're gonna tear ya down!
I got money comin' outta me stockin's!
Tonight I'm due to bushwhack Sue
an' take her to the gumboot cloggeroo,
an' we'll do a little gumboot cloggin'...
Do a little gumboot cloggin'..."

Jack voice wasn't the greatest in the world, and the truth be told he didn't mind much. Maybe if he had gone to one of them there fancy schools in Montreal and took lessons the such, he'd be able to sing the larks down from the trees. Only he never saw the point in that. Most of the folks he heard on the radio or saw in the television who made their money by singing or acting or anything of the like also seemed to have their fair shares of woe with all the drinking and drugs and carrying on. It was nothing Jack wanted any part of. So with a decent if untrained voice, he sang to himself as he finished mopping up the last of cryo-stasis bays that had until recently held the rest of the Third shift crew. The day had brought lots of vomit. Someone had been thinking straight on that, he mused as he rinsed his mop in the bucket once more. The first people roused had been the cryo-bed technicians and the top officers, followed by... the custodians. Someone had to clean up after all the heaving stomachs and aching bellies as everyone else awoke! Jack wasn't sure what the problem was, himself; when he had been awakened, he had felt fine! At worst, he had been a little stiff in the joints but that went away quickly enough.

His work day had started a day earlier than most folks, which was good since some duck who'd still been all in had gone green right into circuit panel in the auditorium and let her insides out over one of them there projector things. Jack hadn't bothered to attend the Briefing. Rumor and gossip were second nature to the cleaning staff, and while there were those generous enough to say the custodians' work was just as equal to any of the doctors' and astronauts' and other chuckleheads', they felt they knew where they truly stood. Even before the a quarter of the Third Shift had been revived, the Second Shift Custodians had told the Third Shift Custodians all that had happened... colored by their points of view, of course. Jack thought it a sad, sad thing. As easy a man as he was, murder like that didn't sit well with his soul. Still, as terrible a series of deeds as they had been, Jack had hardly been in a position to do anything about it and the matter seemed over and done with now. Life goes on, after all, and there was work to be done.

Once done with the last of awakened crew's regurgitations, Jack pushed the bucket down the ship's corridor to the nearest maintenance room where he tipped the mix of water, disinfectant, and bile down the drain to be recycled. The water would be purified, the bodily fluids processed, and the soaps... Well, he wasn't too sure about that part. The engineers who gave the custodians a run down on the ship's plumbing had mentioned it, but Jack didn't bother paying attention. If someone asked him to fix or replace a pipe later, he'd learn more about it then. Pulling his handheld tablet from the breast pocket of his grey coveralls, he squinted at the tiny screen and checked off the job as done. Jack had thought to get a start on helping with the Second Shift's last loads of laundry, only someone had already taken care of it it seemed. The next job on the list...

"Well, ain't dat sumptin', b'y," he muttered to himself. The schedule was clear already! Scrolling through the job list, he smiled widely. It seemed the Second Shift folks were as decent as they all had seemed and had put spit and shine on everything before Third Shift could even get underway! Jack and the rest of the current custodians were going to have any easy day of it, and Jack painstakingly tapped out a message to the rest of his coves that they should make sure to do the same for First Shift when it was their turn. The only question was, what was he going to do for the rest of his day?? Leaning on the mop within the maintenance room, he chewed the stem of his unlit pipe much as his grandfather had done whenever thinking something through. There was a project he had in mind, the only question being how to go about it? Jack doubted it was anything that the proper authorities would appreciate it, but there would always be those who would be a like mind to Jack. He just had to find them...

Stowing away the last of his gear, he pulled his battered baseball cap down firmly on his head with a decisive motion. If he was going to start, now was as good a time as any! Who knows when he might have a light work schedule again? "Not everyday that Morris kills a cow," as his father would say of an unlooked for opportunity. Jack figured to the best way to find who and what he was looking for was to actually go look, and so with hands in pockets and pipe between his teeth, the handyman sauntered his way down the halls. His first thought was to head for the bays where the mining ships were; his family had distant kin in Wales, and Jack knew miners could be partial to a drop. He could only assume that the same applied to miners from the States. He had been half way there when his stomach growled.

Pausing in the middle of the hall, he looked down at his belly with a frown. "Jaysus, b'y, I'm that hungry now I can eat the arse of a low flying goose! All right, b'y, all right," he grumbled back in response, "Don't get all biniky on me. Let's go an' see what's on da stan, den."

He headed instead for the cafeteria, following his nose as much as his memory until he arrived at the open area with its tables and chairs and steam tables set out. There weren't many others what had arrived as of yet, most folks getting their heads down after dealing with the strain of coming out of stasis and the shock of the recent news. The Newfie frowned at the quiet. It seemed strange that there wasn't any music or background noise of note in the cafeteria, just the quiet murmurings of the few folks who sat quietly and the patter of the cooks behind their counters in the kitchen proper. Glancing over the food, Jack grimaced. While he was sure the folks in the kitchen knew their business, he didn't quite see anything even vaguely appealing. Bold as brass, the custodian wandered over to the door leading into the kitchen and poked his head in calmly. Jack was careful not to actually enter the kitchen; he'd learned at an early age from his mother that coming into the kitchen unbidden was asking for a thumping with the mixing spoon. With a friendly and open gaze, he took in the trio: the big black man, the skinny young buck, and the cute foxy head in the apron.

"'Ow she cuttin' dere, by'e?" he greeted the staff warmly. "Jack Pumphrey, I'm one o' dem dere custodians an' dis is my walk. T'ought I'd drop in an' give a bit of a wave. I were wondering, d'you have any lassy to spare? Maybe an ol' slut about you've no use for, den? I got this idear for brewing up a bit of screech, but all I'm having is air. Could ya do the proper ting, b'y, an' give me a hand without bigger ears about?"

Jack looked at the crew expectantly, hoping they might have some spare molasses or an old kettle he could use to make a small still with but willing to take a gentle rebuke if needed.