That smile. Sweet, simple and sorry. Henry wanted to respond but would a smile from him be welcome or creep her out? He did not want to make her afraid of him anymore than she might be, Penny seemed nice and he did not want to leave the kitchen. They would likely send him to work with Jack or worse, to the cleaning crews down in the hangars. The heavy, hot work of cleaning the mining equipment that was the work of strong men, men that had been athletes or perhaps had done time and built up their bulk there. It was not a place he wanted to be, he was made to do quick work not heavy. He polished off the floor quickly as Jack departed. He sighed inwardly, the man was quirky and confident and clearly he had asked out Penny and she agreed to ‘step’ with him.

Her sweet smile was of pity, not interest. Henry knew this and he kept his head down as he read the short message from Dr. Park. How was he doing? A loaded question that. Henry typed out a generic answer, “Fine, I guess, Dr. Park. They know about it now.”

Henry was short with him but he knew the doctor was likely a shrink and checking in on him. He would likely set up an appointment soon and that was to be expected. He tapped his tablet again. “So when did you want to see me?”

He put it away, waiting for the doctor’s answer and he watched Penny go about hunting cookie making ingredients and his stomach rumbled. He was the type of skinny guy that could shovel away food and not gain an ounce. He supposed it was his nervous energy but he had always been that way. Growing up there were many times of feast or famine and he would have to force himself to eat in case there was nothing later.

Once Jack was gone, Josey went over to Penny and cleared his throat, speaking to her in a low rumbling voice that was gentle, “Cupcake, how you feeling? I’m sorry I put you on the spot but I didn't want you to not know or feel uncomfortable. Alright? You feel any bit uncomfortable or threatened, you let me know and I’ll fix it.”

He pat her on the shoulder and said in a loud, boisterous voice, “I sure do look forward to them cookies, I got a sweet tooth that would make the Sugar Plum Fairy blush.”

The big man winked at her and cast a harder glance at Henry who was putting away his tablet. He walked over to him, “That from the higher ups?”

“Yes, sir,” he said automatically. “Dr. Park. I think he’s the ship’s shrink. Probably wants me to visit.”

“Good,” Josey crossed his arms, the thick dark muscles clenching, “Be on your best behavior, treat Penny like a queen, you hear me?”

Henry swallowed and nodded, dropping his gaze, “Yes, sir.”

The chef huffed and turned, going back to his prep work for the lunch time crowd. He sang under his breath, a sonorous but musical voice. Henry glanced at Penny again, at her shining red hair and pale skin and those dimpled hands that moved so deftly as she began making her cookies. He chewed his lower lip. No chance in Hell. The silence between them seemed to weigh heavy and he finally moved over towards her, keeping a respectable distance and he spoke up.

“Cookies sound great,” he said, his voice soft and his gaze on her hands mixing the ingredients. “Chocolate chip is my favorite though oatmeal raisin is pretty good too.”

He felt like slipping through the floor, speaking to her felt awkward after what he had just told her. Maybe he should have just kept quiet. “Anyway, I’m sure they’ll be great.”

He ducked his head and turned to continue his cleaning until called by Dr. Park.

Bill watched as the others ambled off to inspect Connor's office. He honestly couldn't have cared less about the state of things there; he had his own problems to deal with, and all of them were more important in his mind than the conditions of a mechanic's lair.

"Didn't ever get no office, back when I was roughneckin'," he grumbled, stomping his way to a metal workbench and lowering the drill-bit onto it with a grunt and thud. "Mechanics with an office...This should be his damned office! Gramps managed t'run that old body shop once he left the fields for fi'teen years, an' never had no damned office."

He cast about for a rag, found a package full, then snatched a can of grease-cutting cleaning fluid and began spraying the filthy bit down, muttering to himself all the while.

"Kids these days...Entitlement, that's what it is," he groused as the astringent liquid began bubbling its way through the accumulated grime. The drill-hand turned his head and spat a stream of tobacco juice into a conveniently-located trashcan, his hands automatically going about the task of scrubbing the drill bit clean. Bill had always been known for his private monologues, though he'd never been aware of the fact. The few times someone had dared challenge him for badmouthing them "behind their back," he'd happily (and loudly) repeated his personal feelings to their face. One look at his hammer-like fists and stone-faced glare had generally been enough to persuade even the most belligerent of laborers that not only were his private rants not a product of cowardice, but that he'd be more than willing to settle the issue with them out behind the Foreman's office, if they were so inclined.

"Drill chief for the damned shift, an' I ain't got my own office...Fuckin' college gradjiates an' their desks an' private bathrooms..."

After several minutes of scrubbing, wiping, spraying, spitting, and griping, the bit shone like new on the workbench. Bill inspected his work, gave a satisfied nod, and had just heaved the bulk back onto his shoulder when a linguistic cacophony filled the bay.

"How's it cutting' der, b'y? Whattya at? Or is no one home, a'tall?"

Halting in his tracks, the bear-like drill chief turned to face the newcomer. He blinked, cocked his head, and then summoned all of his rough-neck eloquence.

"Huh?"

(Collab between Igraine and KuroTenshi)

Abby always liked the sudden feeling of space that walking into the hangars provided, as if they weren't truly encased in a metal can, a tiny pinprick fleck in the vast, near infinite void of space. Here, she could almost imagine they were, perhaps, on an airbase perhaps, in one of those immense mechanic bays with a brilliant blue sky waiting for them just beyond the hangar doors. It was an illusion of course, and Abby knew this all too well. But that didn't stop the grateful pull of a long, deep breath as she savored the bitter tang of aviation grease, fuel vapors and hot metal, her gaze reaching for the far steel-raftered ceilings above as Hangar Six opened before her.

Abby hadn't expected quite so many people about Hangar Six now - but then again, she wasn't one of the mining crews - what could she possibly know of their operations that men like Reece and Big Bill wouldn't know in their sleep? Still, one eyebrow raised curiously at the call of the plain-dressed man within, addressed just as quickly by one of the few elite pilots of the Copernicus itself. The First Sergeant hadn't the least idea why she would be here with the mining crews or pods, but that honestly was not her business at all, and certainly wasn't going to ask.

"Ma'am," Abby continued by with a nod of recognition. She did not know this pilot personally, but she knew the uniform, respected the rank, and it looked as if the woman had things well in hand regarding the man who seemed to be... Asking... A question? Damned if she knew what the hell he was really saying, though she couldn't shake the feeling she really ought to somehow, despite the thick accent. But the inflection turned up at the end of his words seemed inquisitive at the least - it was as good a guess as any! - and Abby slipped by and headed toward the mining pod and that shock of distinctive, impossible-to-miss blue hair.

She waved to that giant of a man Big Bill, that unspeakably enormous drill bit hefted over his shoulder, before turning toward Connor. By all appearances, the young man looked like he was about to crawl back into one of these engines - probably not the best time to interrupt Connor, when he was all in his "zone." She trotted a little closer, grinning widely as she pulled up before him.

"Well hey there - and good morning... I guess? Unless you're feeling like I still do, and then it's more like 'fuck my life someone drove a spike through my head while I slept.'" Abby laughed as she wrapped her arms around Connor, pulling the young man in a close hug as warm as any she'd have given her own brothers. Pulling back, she looked meaningfully about the hangar, nodding her head slowly before her gaze returned to her friend.

"Damn, it seems like Hangar Six has gotten popular. If I'd known this was the place to be, I'd have been here a lot sooner! I'd feel hurt, if I didn't know my invitation just got lost in the mail... " Abby winked at Connor slyly.

Connor had been standing in the open, staring off into space as he tried to remember where he could get a replacement cable inside of the massive hangar. Everything had it's own place inside so it should be easy enough to find. If he could remember where they were stashed away. He'd memorized everything about the hangar before going to sleep so he should still know where those cables were supposed to be. But his stupid mind wanted to focus on a strategy for replacing the cable as quickly as possible and basically he was starting to work his way towards a headache because he was pretty much arguing with himself.

No, no, need the cable first dumbass. He berated his own line of thought and was about to thump his forehead to get it to focus on one thing when he heard a familiar voice.

He turned and a grin lit up his face when he saw Abby. "Hey!" He greeted moving forward to give the woman a great big hug, nearly lifting her off the ground in the process. He was a skinny dude but he could be pretty strong. "No spikes for my head." He laughed, letting go of her and stepping back before smacking his own forehead repeatedly. "But apparently my brain forgot how to fucking multitask. I was just arguing with myself about it. I am not kidding Abby. Cryo messed up my head." He joked, still grinning as he moved his hand over his bright blue hair.

"Yeah there are a lot of people here, but I don't think they're crew." He said slowly, scratching at the celtic tattoo's on his throat. "But so long as they aren't messing with my babies I don't care. Oh! The cable is in storage closet 1-B in the top right cabinet toward the back!" He gasped, eyes lighting up with the realization and a snap of his fingers. "Um, sorry, I just remembered what I was looking for." He apologized with a sheepish grimace. "So what's up? What brings you here? Besides my studdly self." He sniffed, turning his head to the side and striking what he liked to call the 'Superman' Pose. Which was fists on his hips, shoulders thrown back and feet shoulder width apart.

All he needed was a cape.

"What? Your studly self isn't enough to get me here?" Abby laughed and playfully 'punched' at Connor's exposed belly with a soft fist. "Fine, fine, you got me - this was really just a ruse to see the 'T-shirt du jour'..." Her voice trailed off, and she sighed happily. "And.... Psh, c'mere you," she said, reaching up with one hand to thoroughly muss that magnificent mane of azure hair he'd just smoothed down. "It's not the cryo messing with your head Connor, it's just the blue finally seeping through." She shot the young man a wicked little grin before her eyes fell over the hangar once more.

"And you're right, I do need to talk to Reece - but you know? I think I'd like to hear from you too... " Abby's voice was shaded thoughtfully as her arms crossed her chest, her gaze turning upward to Connor from the corner of her pale blue eyes. "Have you seen your crew mates yet, had the chance to meet them all? What do you think so far, of the people you're working with?"

"Just between you, me and one of your 'babies' here," she added with a nod toward the mining pod of the elusive cable Connor had been hunting. "I'd really appreciate your honest thoughts... "

Connor grinned as the tried to fix his hair. The blue seeping into his brain was a new on and it was probably true. He blinked at the question and frowned in thought.

"Well I met Reece, a girl named Deli and Bill the Grizzly. I like Deli, she seems nice though I don't know what her job is. Bill frankly terrifies me a little because he can snap me in half and his yelling would make the devil turn tail and run. Reece, he's, uh, a bit intimidating. I get the feeling he thinks I'm an idiot but he's giving me a chance. I think he's testing me though, maybe waiting for me to mess up so he can get someone older or something in my place." He finished, the frown deepening and his gaze steadily dropped down to his shoes.

Abby's brow furrowed for a moment as she looked fully into Connor's face, shaking her head with a tender smile. She honestly didn't understand how fate worked such things, but never in her life had she found herself surrounded by such intelligent people at every turn - people like Connor and Gavin, and even Deli if all she'd read [and her first impression face-to-face impression] meant a damn thing.

"Hey now," Abby tapped a gentle fingertip beneath Connor's downcast chin until he looked to her eyes. "Sure, Reece could find someone older, but there isn't a chance in hell he'd find someone better than you. That man's a lot of things... " Her voice trailed off thoughtfully, shaking her head with a small laugh as the Reece's face came to mind, that smart ass grin beneath those cool grey eyes. "But not one of those things is 'stupid.' There's no one better at this job Connor, than you. And if even I can see that? I guarantee Reece can - or will, soon enough."

One eyebrow arched as Abby nodded subtly in the giant man's direction. "As for Big Bill? C'mon now, just look at him! All salty on the outside, but deep down? He just needs a hug. A great big hug! Go on Connor. Make his day." Abby's grin grew wider still as she nudged the young man with her elbow, and burst out laughing. Catching her breath, she bit her lip, the laughter still glinting in those eyes. "And I just met Deli. She does seem nice, and I'm glad you like her. That speaks well of her - to me at least. Definitely counts for something. Thanks Connor."

Abby's gaze fell over the hangar once more, and she sighed resignedly. "But I'll have to catch up with you a little later though - still on duty at the moment, official soldier stuff and all that. Can you point me toward Reece? I... " She stood to her tiptoes, looked about the mining pod for a moment with a frown. "I haven't seen him?"

Connor smiled slightly, shuffling his feet a bit at Abby's encouragement. He knew he was pretty damn smart, but it was a bit difficult for him to really think that he was the best at anything. That there was no one better at this job than him, he found hard to believe. He'd been shocked when he was named Head Engineer of the mining pods but hadn't asked why. He wondered now though why he'd been picked, sure he was supposed to be a genius but he was also young and inexperienced.

Well whatever the reasons were, he'd prove that he was the right man for the job.

"Reece?" He tilted his head toward his office. "Last I saw him he was in my office, talking to this girl named Pauline. Super sweet girl, and wicked smart too. She's going to help improve the training programs." He grimaced slightly. "Thing is she isn't officially a member of Hangar Six's crews, is it alright to have her down here? Also, I'm going to be super nosey, what do you want to talk to Reece about?" He asked curiously, before grinning slyly and moving closer to nudge Abby with his elbow. "Looking for a date there First Sergeant?"

"Why, are you asking Mr. Douglas?" Abby asked without missing a beat, eyes wide and lashes batting with feigned innocence. One hand fluttered to her heart, and then fanned her face swiftly, as if she might be overcome with the vapors by the very thought. "For you Connor? Oh you do make the temptation to cougar near unbearable!"

Abby giggled softly as she nudged Connor's elbow right back with her own. Absolutely nothing in her smiling face or laughter-filled eyes belied the fact that Connor's jest was salt in an old wound. But of course Connor couldn't know and Abby wasn't willing to spoil their fun by moping morosely about her love life - or rather, lack thereof since her divorce, when Michael was still a toddler.

"You know something Connor?" she continued on with a grin, "Deli just asked me something very like that a few minutes ago, all about questions with answers that aren't guaranteed and such... " Abby let her voice trail off meaningfully, still grinning as she laid her hand on the young man's shoulder, turning toward the offices. "Thanks Connor - oh! And for what it's worth? I wouldn't worry about who Reece lets in on Hangar Six. He's the guy in charge, his word makes it all 'official' enough. Besides, by your own estimate it doesn't seem like this new person is an incompetent at all - and there's no way Reece would allow someone to half-ass in his hangar, or screw with his mining ships."

Abby patted that same shoulder as she passed, smiling reassurance to Connor as she stepped away -

- and then turned around swiftly, brows furrowed curiously. "Wait... Pauline who?"

Connor jumped a bit at how quickly Abby turned back toward him, her tone turning just as quickly as she had. "Uh, Pauline Weber?" He clarified. "She's about this tall, strawberry blonde hair, big smile and super perky. She said she was a hold over from second shift." He furrowed his eyebrows a bit, wondering why this was important to Abby. "Why? Is she a friend of your's? She's probably still in my office with Reece and the Antichrist so you can go say hi if you want."

Abby shook her head quickly with a sweet smile and a shrug of her shoulders, swiftly covering her genuine surprise with the smallest of white lies couched in a large pillow of truth - only just enough to dull the edge from her initial reaction. One day, if the young woman really did stick around in Hangar Six? Yes, Connor would, undoubtedly, know exactly who Pauline was and why she was a hold over. The last thing Abby would ever want, was for Connor to think she'd lie to him outright. But she simply couldn't live with herself if she put Pauline's past out there without her permission like some damned gossip, especially when the young woman obviously hadn't herself.

Pauline had already suffered enough.

"No, she's not a friend of mine - the name's familiar though. But I have to admit, the Antichrist's a new one. Anything I should know before placing my immortal soul in mortal danger in your office?"

"Don't try and pick it up." Connor cautioned her in an ominous voice, holding up his hand and wiggling his fingers for added effect. "Reece did and it bitch slapped him." He grinned, wondering about the change in Abby but brushed it off as unimportant.

"It... Bitch slapped Reece?" Abby grinned with a roll of her eyes for Connor's spooky, wiggly fingers. "Damn, the Prince of Darkness has got some might big huevos, doesn't he? Still, I'm thinking he should be thanking God it wasn't Bill he tried that with! That man would make the Devil himself beg to be sent back to Hades... " She turned once more to head for the offices, shrugging good-naturedly with a quick wave for her dear [however unlikely] friend. "Thanks Connor - I'll let you get back to the engine cables, and catch you later."

"See ya." He said, giving her a two fingered salute before walking off to get his replacement cable and get to work. Now that he remembered where they were he let his mind drift to strategies for replacing it as quickly and efficiently as possible. All trace's of his easy going smile were replaced with a set look of concentration and determination for the job at hand.

He didn't notice when he walked past Bill, breezing past him to the storage closets to get the cable. Once it was hefted on his shoulder he made a bee-line for Loretta and a long day of work.

Stella followed the words which were vivid and ebullient despite the restraining tiger and tried to picture it. The prep required for settling in the bulk of one shift and waking up another. The quiet in-between when this lifeless vessel would be even more lifeless. She shivered despite the warmth of the bodies in her lap. She smiled as one of the kittens lifted a paw past the bottle and playfully batted at a hanging curl, narrowly missing her face with claws that could maim and blind, even at such a young age. She didn’t bat an eye, she didn’t so much as twitch in reaction.

She caught what she assumed was sarcasm in his voice when he spoke of the longer shifts. She couldn’t imagine the scenario of being awake for longer times being a bad thing. Settling in for Cryo-sleep would have been the hardest thing she’d ever done if she hadn’t just watched her whole world burn. She’d been one of the many who had required sedation before being put into cryo-sleep. She’d panicked when faced with the bed even though rationally she’d known why and understood the need. But then she’d stood before it and hadn’t been able to get into it. She was embarrassed to recall the way she’d stood there before it, shaking like a leaf as if she’d been caught in some delayed reaction to the whole mess. The tech in charge of settling her in had called her name and tried to coax her with a gentle touch to her elbow to get in. Had it been Mr. Eadoré? She felt a panic wash over her at the thought he might have been there to witness her near animal reaction. But no, she seemed to recall the voice had been feminine. Stella had snarled, she recalled that vividly, snarled and run off down the halls. She remember impacts as she bumped into people and things. She remembered running until she was somewhere warm and green. A garden she supposed. It wasn’t the sanctuary she thought and she was cornered and caught though by then she’d largely calmed down and went willingly. She’d spoken to someone, a counselor she supposed, she hardly remembered anything past the burning humiliation she’d felt at the time. So when they’d offered her something to ease into the cryo-bed in a way that suggested it wasn’t altogether optional she agreed. She’d made enough of a fuss and no one needed more trouble on top of everything. Then she’d gone and woken with more ease than she’d went down. It was absurd.

Her own two charges finished their meal moments after Mr. Eadoré’s charge. She pulled the bottles out, set them aside and rubbed the now full tummies, deftly dodging their claws and set them onto their feet. She straightened up and brushed back her tiger tousled curls.

“Shall we go see to the lynx’s?” She asked her companion trying not to wonder if med-techs told stories of amusing sleeps and wakes and if so, if her story made the rounds. She turned stepped over one of the kittens who was eating her shoelace when something caught her eye. A bright slash of blue on the ground outside the tiger enclosure.

“What’s this?” she said and stepped outside, the shimmering in the air not stopping her though it did make her curls crackle with something like static. She moved across the thick loam and bent to reach under a lush fern. She pulled out a small, blue feathered body. It lay limply in her hand, lifeless and cool but not cold. There was no blood, its neck was not at a funny angle, it just seemed dead.

“Huh.” She said, her mouth twitching as she moved back to the enclosure, her and her handful slipping through with no more trouble than before. “I wonder what happened here.”

She pulled her eyes from the little mystery on her palm and onto her guest. As she looked at him, his normally bright eyes and smiling mouth she wondered if holding dead animals was something odd or understandable in her line of work. If it was weird it was too late to be anything but weird and she could, on occasion be professional.

“I’m afraid the Lynx’s are going to have to take a rain check Mr. Eadoré.”

So not everything was real in her pantry, she could live with that. Fabricated products were pretty stable, mostly reliable and she wasn’t asking anything complex of them. Cookies were pretty basic, gently leavened, gaining structure from flour and sugar and some richness from butter. The chocolate chips were fabricated, the process of making them would be too much to expect of a space crew she supposed so she oughtn’t complain at all. That there were chocolate chips in the first place was enough.

She hummed as she worked, no song in particular thought bits and pieces of a whole host of songs worked their way in, melodies Antigone had worked out on the clarinet or Pop songs she’d listened to surreptitiously on her ear buds while being ignored at family dinners. For all that they were from varied sources her humming, though not expert, made something whole and charming from the Hodge-podge. While she hummed she measured and mixed and melted, bringing about an alchemy of ingredients that turned simple basics into something divine, all without a written recipe. Chocolate Chip cookies were written in the fabric of her heart and she needed no record of how to make them. The cookie, in her mind, was one of the best things in the world. A small, manageable, portable bit of durable sweetness. It was good hot, it was good cold, it was good dipped in milk or simply consumed straight. It made nearly everyone smile and there were so many damn ways to make them one never got bored.

In her pudgy, dexterous hands the first batch was in the oven in moments. She stayed put, looking through the glass doors of the oven, her eyes glued to the pan, watching, noting. The oven was new to her and though the gauge said one temperature she’d come to learn after working in a few places that ovens could be temperamental. She knew that the temperatures weren’t always even and if she did not know her ovens like good friends, things could get hairy. Cookies could suffer and she couldn’t have that. So she watched and noted that the far left corner browned up first and the front right did not. Easy enough, she thought with a dimpled smile that only the cookies saw. She could just turn the pan and all would be happy.

The rest of that batch went without hitch and soon the kitchen filled with the scent of warm cookies, a scent that seemed to come from the pan as much as from the baker. Early diners were lured by it, their noses raising to catch the scent and only those who had experienced violently ill reactions to cryo-sleep were unaffected by the scent. The second batch followed the first and while she was slipping the first round off of the pan she slipped eight of the twelve onto two plates.

For all that she wasn’t small and slight, Penny moved with a quiet that surprised people. She slipped in-between the people who moved about the kitchen and a plate of four still warm cookies found their way onto Josie’s spot and a plate of four cookies studded with meltingly perfect chocolate found their way next to where Henry worked.

Hearing a gruff voice respond from just around a corner, Jack leaned his head around to see a huge man hefting an impossibly large piece of equipment. The telltale scent of grease-cutting fluid and fresh, clean oil filled the air, and the amount of grunge on the man's hands said even more to the hardworking Newfie! A fellow working man! One not afraid to get his hands dirty! His grin became all the larger as he allowed the rest of his short form around the bend to stare up at the mountain of flesh before him.

"Well, der yar at!" he chirped happily as if the miner was a long lost friend, "An' look at ya, just! Big as a barn an' tough as nails to boot, I can tell, so I can. A working' cove if ever I seen one!"

The large container of molasses was laid to rest upon a nearby workbench as Jack continued to chatter. Jack look his eyes off of the man to look about at the various parts, bits, and pieces that almost all sorely neglected; their grime contrasted against the bright polish of newly cleaned metal that was hefted upon his shoulders. "Laird d'thumpin' Jaysus, all mops an' brooms in here! M'father'd have a right day with whatever come-day, go-day left dis place in a state!" Automatically his one hand reached out to grab an adjustable wrench that had been left in poor condition, nearly half rusted. The other hand snatched at the rag that had just been discarded and started to rub at it as he muttered to himself. "Damn, dis ting's not half shit-picky! Der's less rust in Pass Island, I'm sure..."

Looking back up to big man and unaware he hadn't given him the least bit of a chance to reply to single thing said, Jack hammered onwards in genial companionship. "I'd be glad ta give ya a hand, me old trout, if yar wantin' it. Mind you, work like dis must be powerfully thirty a ting, an' if yar of a mind then when we're done we can talks a bit of getting sached, if ya follows? Looking to brew some screech, or at least some poteen, got the lassy but not an old slut kettle or piss pot for a still an' hoping' to find someone of a like mind? Glad to help one way or t'other, but if yar known' any who's partial to a crawl an' has got no place to crawl to, well... I'd be a man much in yar pocket!"

Jack paused long enough in his friendly rambling to take a closer look at the giant's face. "Ya feelin' alright there? Ya look like a hen's arsehole in a nor'west wind." He'd hate to think that the man he already thought of as a friendly and likable soul had taken ill already, but he was well aware not everyone had come out of the deep sleep as well as he had!

"This has been quite fun so far, why not?" Antoine moved cautiously to deposit his little tiger safely on the ground, the kitten growing drowsy already with his belly now full. All things considered, this was turning out to be a rather nice way to start his vacation. It might be better if Ms. Albright happened to know a second or third language- perhaps one he wasn't currently fluent in? A conversation in a new tongue would be just what he was looking for, and if his speaking companion was this curly-haired veterinarian, he certainly wouldn't complain.

Not that her name shouted knowledge of language, but he could hardly judge based on that. He hadn't been one of the techs to put her to sleep before, either, so her file held only vague memory in his mind. Name, brief health description... nervousness? Had there been a sedation note on her file?

He'd have to look it up in detail, sometime later.

"I never did get to see any Lynx's before, so feel free to show off your- hm?" Antoine paused as something seemed to distract Ms. Albright before him, grin faltering at the sight he spied in her hands. "Ohh..."

A dead... He didn't know what kind of bird it was. 'Jay' jumped first to mind from the color, but was that right? He stepped forwards as she held out the poor creature for him to see, concern evident on her features and growing on his. The sight jarred his mind back into the realm of the cryo-tech, words muttering from barely-parted lips as he began to ponder the possible scenarios.

"I wonder as well..."

Outside an enclosure? Impact maybe? There had to be protocols in place to prevent that though, it had been far too common an occurrence on earth to overlook. No predator would leave their prey or plaything alone and un-mauled, would they? Mowzer certainly wouldn't... He wasn't here hunting birds, was he? No, he would have made himself known long before...

Shaking his head, Antoine offered Ms. Albright a somewhat sad, understanding smile. She was the veterinarian here, this little tragedy laying entirely in her expertise.

"I'm afraid they are, that poor little one is a bit more important right now." His vacation was upon him, but her work had only begun. He probably shouldn't monopolize too much of her time all at once. "And I shouldn't keep you from work- what do you say I track down Mowzer and bring him back here sometime later? We can get his checkup then, and maybe see if the Lynx's are still hungry."

Pauline simply shone with a perfect, unsullied happiness as she waved a quick farewell to Connor with the tablet in her hand. "Thank you," she said softly, feeling a little silly at the moment when she realized she was getting teary-eyed in her happiness. 'Hormonal, Pauline. Little Eva's just making you ridiculously hormonal... ' Nausea and the occasional mad dash for the nearest garbage can, emotional ups and downs to rival any Earth roller coaster: the indignities of pregnancy were only just beginning, and Pauline wasn't entirely convinced that far-fuller bust line and incrementally more lustrous hair were going to make up for what was yet come.

But she had a job now. An honest-to-God job for Third Shift that she had earned, truly earned with her own know-how, her own abilities and willingness to work. She had at least one co-worker and a new boss who had never met her father, couldn't have cared less who he was or knew or did. This had nothing to do with condescending pity for poor, sad Pauline the victim either.

That last thought lit her freckle-dusted face as if a tiny sun had sparked just beneath her ivory skin. Not even Handsome's gentle rejection could break her heart at this moment, the soft press of his paw telling her all she needed to know of the enormous, lovely cat's desire for company at the moment. Certainly not wishing to end up like poor Reece, Pauline oh-so-wisely lifted her hand away, instead rubbing at the corners of her pale blue eyes with her palm, making sure none of those overly-emotional but oh-so happy tears sprouted onto her cheeks.

Hormonal tears fully in check, she wrapped both hands easily about her tablet as she looked up to her new boss, grinning up into those stunning grey eyes. She decided then and there, it was truly no hardship to do so - she could likely get quite used to this view.

"So... Connor's blessing. This means I stay, yes Owen?" Pauline did not truly expect to hear the word 'no' from his lips, but some small, likely childish impulse in her still wanted to hear the confirmation all over again, in that low, warm voice that - strangely enough - put her in mind of singing Spring creeks.

"And please, don't mind the garbage - particularly if it smells of middle-aged depression," she quipped with a grin, "I'll take it by recycling when I le- "

Pauline's tablet buzzed in her hands, and her brow furrowed curiously as her eyes swept downward, taking in the whole of Pastor... Doctor?... Or just-plain-Park's message for her at a glance.. She bit her lower lip softly, worrying the tender pink flesh for a moment with her teeth. Pauline knew she would, of course, reply to this gentle invitation. She liked tea just fine of course, and she loved those gardens even more. Though how this gentleman would already know such a thing about her? She could not begin to guess. His offer seemed genuine enough, though she was nowhere near yet ready to let go of these last, sweet moments of anonymity quite yet -

"Oh! So sorry Owen!" Pauline's pale blue eyes went wide as she realized she'd been lost some long moments in her own woe-is-me thoughts, and probably making a heck of an impression on the mining ship pilot, the crew chief for Hangar Six who was likely even now, reconsidering the wisdom of hiring on such a flighty airhead.

She shook her head quickly as if to clear her thoughts, her tablet turned over once more in her hands. "I was just saying, I'll take the garbage bags with me when I leave. It's not a problem at all. And... Well thank you, for giving me this chance."

Hob found Yuriko and Charlie waiting for him when he trooped back up to the central "office" they worked from. It was less of an actual office of any sort and more a replica of Stonehenge in which they gathered to meet and compared notes. Yuriko shot him a dark glance as he returned. Charlie said nothing, knowing that there was nothing he could say that either Yuriko would approve of or that Hob would listen to in regards to OLGA; his counsel was his own on that matter, for which Hob was thankful. Wordlessly, Hob sat down on a boulder and summoned up the last Shift's reports to read through them. The other two members of his Watch were doing the same. For several cycles, they passed the time in silence, the other two finishing first and waiting patiently for Hob to catch up.

Hob took his time. Not to spite his co-workers but to try and better comprehend what it was he was reading. Eventually, he dismissed his tablet and stared back at them. "So," he finally ventured, "anyone else confused by this?"

'This' was the fact that the Second Shift's reports were... well... crap. Especially compared to the meticulous notes that First Shift had left! Hob was hardly the most organized of people, but even he could tell that the last team's work was sloppy if not downright useless. There were huge time gaps that were simply glossed over, multiple re-edits that obscured the original entries, and correlations that made little or no sense. He could credit them that they were understaffed and under pressure but only so far!

The logs regarding the cryo-stasis beds were the worse. Paging back through the reports and the time frame of events, it looked as though they had started to have problems just before the murders took place. There was nothing documenting what might have caused Jean-Paul's sudden psychosis, nothing as to what genius had ordered that Amber be put in his place, and only the briefest reference to the events leading up to Sung Pak's lock up. Just that there was some altercation between him and Amber, was all. There should have at least been an activity report as to what Sung Pak had been doing at the time and 'where' he had been in the system. The reports were totally unenlightening as to any of it.

"That's not the strangest part," offered Charlie somberly, "Remember how Harris was chewing your ass about your Ghosts, son? Take a look at Val's last entry."

Hob scowled, not sure he wanted to be reminded about Val at the moment. The teenager liked to prance around naked and green like a forest nymph, how the fuck was he not going to notice that?? Reluctantly, he resummoned the tablet and ran through Val's notes until he came to the last entry. It made even less sense.

"So where are they?" Hob demanded. He looked up to Yuriko first, freely acknowledging her as the smartest of the team. "No Ghosts appeared after the first year on duty? Impossible! Even First Shift left their mark on the system! Hell, I'm pretty sure I just generated two or three of my own since we logged in! So where are they?"

To his chagrin, Yuriko only shrugged. Hob swore vehemently under his breath as he dismissed the simulated tablet and crossed his arms in frustration. "Fuck. What the hell use is Eden without its snakes?" Charlie chuckled.

Rising, Hob scratched his ass and sighed. "Charlie, leave the report for the next Watch, let them know what we... didn't find. Yuriko, can you take over the Ghost thing? Mind you, I'm just as glad we don't have to deal with them, but if they're still around somewhere we need to find them before they glitch something important."

"Where are you headed?" Yuriko rose as well, straightening her grey sweat suit while keeping her eyes on her eccentric Watch leader.

"Cryo-Stasis," he replied flatly. "I want to take a better look at the logs and the memory caches before we log out today. Near as I can tell, no one last Shift bothered which given the murders is pretty damn strange. Almost as strange as the rest of this."

Yuriko bite her lower lip, glancing away as if deciding something and then catching Hob's eye again. "Harris and the monitoring techs want a meeting. As soon as we're logged out. The message came in while you were off with Galatea."

Hob was brought up short, his temper flaring. "What?! Why the fuck for?! They can read our reports, that's what they always do!"

She shook her head, the long black hair shaking out behind her. "Part of the new procedures. They want to evaluate us right away, I guess. To check both our psyche profiles and to make sure we whatever we put in the report matches what we say. I have no idea when they expect us to sleep or eat, at this rate, Hob." Yuriko's delicate Asian features looked troubled, and she raised her hands to rub at the silver studs on either temple. "I don't know how much more I can take of this, Hob. I know they must have reasons for doing what they're doing, but... I'm starting to wonder how many rights we still have."

Charlie gave an ugly laugh, the dark skin of his avatar glinting with sweat. "Honey, welcome to the ghetto."

Shaking his head in wonder, Bill stomped his way to one of the supply racks as the newcomer babbled. Gritting his teeth and half-ignoring Jack’s rambling, his eyes combed the labels on the shelving unit until he spotted the one marked for “bits”. The space was occupied by hose fittings, and Bill snarled, clearing the entire area of the shelf with a sweep of his massive left arm.

Grumbling, he gripped the precariously-balanced drill bit on his right shoulder and heaved it onto the shelf, then glanced around despondently at the work still to be done. Finally, he turned a baleful eye on Jack, then stomped back towards another piece of filthy machinery.

“I don’ know what you’re talkin’ about,” the drill-hand growled. He gestured vaguely at the mess littering the tables, shelves, and floor of the storage area. “Look, man, I got this shit to deal with. All this talk of sluts an’ pockets an’ hen’s assholes… I ain’t got time for that. Whadaya want? If it ain’t drill gear, I prob’ly don’t have it, an’ if it is drill gear, I ain’t sharin’.”

He turned away, muttering to himself.

“Got few enough pieces of serviceable equipment as it is, without loanin’ shit out. Few sluts might be nice though, not that I have time for them, either.”

Reaching for his rag, he abruptly turned to face Jack. “An’ who the hell are you, anyway? You one of the other crewmen? A driller or somethin’? Did they stick us with two crazies, insteada just the girl with the bomb fetish?”

Jack raised an eyebrow as the huge man scattered fittings across the floor of the workshop with one contemptuous swing of his arm. The couplings and adapters clanged and clinked their way across the deck. He recognized the mood, had seen in it some of the dockhands and trawler captains he had known while growing up, but the Newfie didn't appreciate it. Angry or not, that was no way to treat equipment. Now if it had already been broken beyond repair? That was another thing altogether!

As the miner ranted, Jack calmly listened while continuing to get the worst of the rust and muck off of the wrench before slotting it neatly in the rack and picking up another one. It was just as bad, if not worse. Now he shook his head, disappointed that the tools weren't better cared for. "Jack Pumphrey, just Jack ta dem what knows me, less dey don't like what dey knows as me, Da says! I'm one a dem der custodian fellas. Second Shift left us wit little enough for the day, though tomarra'll be a different kettle of fish, says I. So I decided ta takes a stroll an' see if any one needed a hand!" Looking around the bay, Jack snorted. "I can sees why yar nerves is rubbed right raw, mind! Shockin', dis is, b'y, shocking'. Looks ta me as though last man on watch were a logy bastard, ass fell right out of 'er, b'y."

Jack scowled at a stubborn spot of rust that there was no help for and started scanning about for a bit of emery cloth or steel wool to work at it with. All the while, he kept talking. "Still, no reason ta be all binicky, if ya asks me," he chided the man. "Sure, b'y, dis place is rake for run, but it's not everyday that Morris kills the cow for ya and gives ya a man willing' to do a lick of work for ya! When we're done? See if we can git sached! What butter an' whiskey won't cure, deer's no cure for!" Only marginally satisfied with the the second wrench, he set it aside to work on it later and picked up a third.

Now he looked up at the huge American and smirked. "But if ya want plain talk, den I'll talk like I gots a straw up m'nose. I knows I got more lip dan a coal bucket, so I'll make a lang stary shart."

Coughing to clear his throat, Jack struggled to imitate the slow, flat and (to him) nasal accent of an American. "Did you want help cleaning this shit up? And do you know anybody who would like to help me make moonshine on the sly?"

Collab between Justric and idlehands

Naomi pressed her hand to the cryobed that held her sleeping husband. After leaving her sister and the brightness of Pauline, the shadow of melancholy crept up. She missed David and the worst was that he would not share in the pregnancy and birth of their first child. She leaned over and kissed the cold surface of the bed and whispered to him.

“Love you, sleep well.”

With an inward sigh she walked away, towards the office to start her new position, assisting the network administrator to monitor the software that ran the ship. It was a change but her being an odd person on the third shift required her to fill in where she was needed. Naomi spotted the short, robust woman who moved around the room in a quick, efficient manner. Her dark curls bounced with her movements and she peered at Naomi, her eyes dropping to her stomach and flicking back up to her face.

The younger woman smiled and held out her hand, “Naomi Ben Zeev, here to help keep an eye on things.”

The network administer shook her hand, her grip strong and firm, “Harris, nice to meet you. Take a seat. Have you worked with the Ni-techs before? I read your file, you were doing coding before. This will probably be a bit easier but you have to be alert.”

“Not a problem, I’m happy to help. And no, I have not worked with them before,” Naomi admitted, taking a seat and her skirt tucked neatly around her knees. “I’ve only heard...some things about them.”

“Yes, well…” The older woman sniffed in disdain. “They can be a bit odd at times. At the best of times, really. Granted, they’ve got every reason to complain but we can’t really allow ourselves to empathize with them too much. Command wants a firm hand on them. Otherwise they get too creative.” She tapped a few commands on her tablet and unlocked the NI-Tech profiles for Third Shift for the new girl. “Robert Bach, also known as Hob. Pure trouble but he’s one of the best. Yuriko Soto is more disciplined but not overly aggressive. Charles Milton can be a bit mischievous but that’s all. You’ll get the rundown on the other Watch later when you meet them.”

Harris moved to sit behind her desk and took a long slow drink of tea before continuing. “Hob is the watch leader, God knows why. He’s requested this meeting be just with him, and to keep matters peaceful I agreed.”

Naomi sat up straighter, her hands folded in her lap, “This should be interesting. What kind of trouble is he? Does he pry into places he doesn’t belong?”

She smiled a little, “I can’t really blame them, though I’m not completely sure what all they do, it cannot be easy to be...tied to the ship as they are.”

Her dark eyes narrowed slightly in pity and she shrugged, “I suppose someone had to do it. I would not wish to trade places.”

The network administrator merely shrugged. “We all have our crosses to bear. As far as what sort of trouble Hob is? You’ll see shortly.”

Even as the two women conversed about him, the NI-tech was shrugging off the stiff muscles that came with lying prone for so many hours at a time. Hob was thankful just to get dressed again! It was easy to forget how cold the rest of the ship was compared to the heated compartment of the NI tubes, and he always ended up shivering to the point where his teeth chattered while the medicos removed all the wires and sensors. He tried not to think of the damned catheter being pulled out. There had to be some better way they could take care of that concern, someway that took up less space than adult diapers and was more favorable towards recycling. Only if First and Second shift hadn’t come up with something, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to either.

Flexing his rarely used authority as Watch lead, he had sent Yuriko and Charlie off to bed even as the other Watch team went online. There was no point in all three of them suffering for a lack of sleep. Besides which, Hob fully intended to have it out with Harris and her crew over all the changes that were taking place. Yuriko had been right - it was simply too much to take.

By the time Hob reached the office, a sullen anger was settling in the pit of his stomach. He pushed through the door straight into Harris’s domain to see the woman sitting at ease behind her desk, a younger woman with an extended belly close by. She barely got a glance from the NI-tech. His scorn was focused solely on Harris.

“This better be fucking good, Harris,” he snarled. “You could have warned us about this new procedure as well, maybe? By the time you’re done grilling me, I’ll be able to get a whopping two hours sleep before I have to be on duty again, and fuck knows when I’ll be able to eat! Or is that something else you plan on, hooking us up to feeding tubes so we can be just that much more fucking efficient?”

Harris gave a wintry smile. “No, but that could be arranged. Thank you for the idea.”

The snarl Hob gave was quite genuine and definitely wrathful. “Get. To. The. Point.”

“I thought you should meet our newest team member. Hob, this is Naomi Ben Zeev, my interim assistant. She’ll be handling the monitoring of the NI-Techs when you’re in the system so that I have more time to look into some of the things that happened during Second Shift. Naomi, this is Robert Bach.”

“Hob.” The name was flatly stated. “Call me Hob. And do we really need another watchdog?” He looked back towards the younger woman. “No offense, but we get enough shit as it is, lady. Speaking of which…” He rounded back towards their superior. “Why the hell didn’t anyone from Second Shift check the memory caches for the murder victims? Security could have nailed this asshole a hell of a lot earlier if they had just had an NI-Tech pull up the last scans!”

“Naomi was silent as the NI-Tech confronted the administrator and she twirled the fabric of her skirt in her fingers. She furrowed her brow in concern as he spoke of his lack of rest and food. Exhaustion was not something that lent itself to performing a task to the best of one’s ability. She winced at his snarl and the idea of hooking people up to feeding tubes was repugnant. Already she had a sinking feeling about this position, the techs were not a happy bunch from the sounds of things but they were necessary and Harris seemed cold. She shifted in her chair, and cleared her throat.

Her ears perked up at the end of Hob’s rant, memory caches were something new to her. The sleepers brains were supposed to be nearly dormant but if they could be probed for memories, perhaps they were not so asleep after all. She wiggled in her seat, her hand touching her stomach. An idea started to form but she put it aside for later, her focus was on Hob and Harris right now.

Naomi leaned forward, “Pardon me for my ignorance, Hob, but what ‘shit’ do you get?”

Harris shot her a look, her hazel eyes steely. “We really don’t need to go into that at this time-”

“Oh, the hell we don’t!” Hob practically crowed. He gestured towards Naomi all the while glaring daggers at Harris. “She doesn’t even know does she? How the military kidnapped over half of us for this little pet computer project? How they fucked with our heads and ran wires through our brains?” A fingernail tapped one silver circle upon his temple. “And let’s not forget the new change in shifts from seven hours to four hours with barely any time for sleep or food or anything else! There’s no consideration for us or what we can do besides make the ship go, and given the fact that some idiot didn’t know enough to NOT send in Amber and Pak Sung at the same time just shows how little regard you have for us!”

Naomi’s eyes went wide, her lips parting in surprise. No she was not aware of the shanghaiing of people to be NI-techs nor their increased workload. She looked at Harris, and then to Hob, the animosity thick between them.

“Hob, that’s terrible,” she said, “Perhaps we can find a way to improve your conditions. I don’t think that should be an issue would it?”

Her gaze shifted back to Harris. These people suffered enough without the added stress of lack of sleep and food, surely it was not too much to ask. She stood up and felt a dull ache and she absently rubbed the small of her back.

“After all, they’re necessary and valued members of our team,” she smiled at Hob, her dark eyes twinkling with hidden mischief. She already disliked Harris, as she would dislike anyone who thought it was alright to torture people for the sake of the greater good.

Hob looked slightly mollified at Naomi’s words. Harris, on the other hand, shook her head firmly as she scowled. “It’s because the NI-techs are so valuable that these procedures have been put in place,” she insisted. “Psychiatric doesn’t want them in for more than four hours at a time; leaving them in longer leaves the techs more prone to psychosis and breakdowns. Even as well as First Shift did, they were showing signs of stress at doing seven hour shifts logged in. Engineering is on our collective case for maintaining the equipment; if the NI tubes are damaged, there’s little we can do to repair them. Medical is well aware of the physical stresses of the job and agrees with Psych that they need to be continually monitored. And Command…”

The Network Admin rubbed at her face. “Command does not want the circumstances of the recruitment methods released to the public. It is a shame what had to be done, everyone thought there would be more time to find and train techs, and we were all wrong. But we can’t go back and fix any of it.”

“And what of the punishments you have in store for us if we don’t toe the line,” snapped Hob. Harris’s voice was grating on his already frayed nerves. “No trial for us, is there? Medically induced comas and lobotomies is what the men in black who snagged us off the goddamn street promised us, and anytime we asked afterwards, Command was pretty fucking quiet on the topic.”

Harris was hesitant now, not wanting to tread into this territory but having little choice. “It’s… true that NI-techs might have to face… unusual disciplinary actions… depending on the situation, you understand. There are simply not enough of you to waste, Hob. That is why it is so important-”

“Stick it, Harris,” he snapped. “You should reactivate all the Watch teams on all the shifts.”

“The technology is too new,” the admin persisted, “If there is a cascade failure-”

Hob shook his head, realizing it was pointless. “You know Harris, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Again.” He stood and roughly pushed the chair away behind him. “The dangers of a cascade failure are just as great whether there’s just three of us in at a time or nine, and that would still leave whoever wasn’t logged in at the time for you to still work with. Their watches wouldn’t be any worse than they are now.” Both hands were thrown up in mock apologies. “But Command wants its way! The doctors want their way! The engineers want their way! The shrinks want their way! Fuck, I’m surprised the goddamn miners don’t have a say in what happens to us!”

Leaning forward on the desk with both sets of knuckles, Hob made a steely eye contact with Harris, one she refused to flinch from. “Besides,” he added in a quiet and spiteful tone, “it’s not like you have a use for us once we reach New Canaan anyway, is it?”

Naomi jerked back at his shouting, putting a hand on her stomach and watched until his tirade abated into a bitter whisper. She could not help by sympathize with him, how awful it must be to be tied to the ship as they were. If they were so necessary, perhaps they should not be treated as slaves. She waited, feeling a bit awkward as they argue.
“Ms. Harris, if I may?” she stood up, closing the distance to Hob, standing at his side and she smiled pleasantly as she could to the administrator. She was her supervisor and it would do no good to antagonize the woman for doing her job. “Perhaps I can help make them more comfortable, maybe as a liaison between the NI-techs and the team? I am an extra body, so that would give me some extra time.”

She smiled confidently at both of them, “We’re all in this together after all.”

Harris leaned back in her chair, her dark eyes shaded as she regarded the pair of them. She really didn’t need an assistant as per se, although the NI-techs would always require monitoring; they were just… too creative for Harris’s tastes. There were advantages to be had in passing the buck, or at least putting someone else in the way of it. “Very well then. Congratulations. You are now our official Neural-Interface Technician Liaison Officer. It’s your job to make sure they do theirs and to handle any issues that come up. Disciplinary actions will still be handled by Command, of course, but I would hope you won’t let that become a problem!”

Hob snorted. “Don’t you know better than to volunteer for anything?”

“Quiet, you,” growled the admin. “You wanted someone to come up with ideas how to make things better? There you go, Hob. Best of luck.” Harris grabbed her table and turned her chair to one side to glance at the computer screen attached to her desk. “Dismissed.”

((Collaboration with DotCom and AmongHeroes))

Like a cartoon character being carried through an open kitchen windows on seductive wisps of steam, Deli was hardly aware of Abby's eventual departure behind her, flapping a hand over her shoulder with something that might have been a distracted, "G'bye!"

Green eyes flitted about the room and Deli followed not long after setting the chess set on the nearest level surface.

"Hi, Dr. Brock," she said, still not looking at him. "I smell coffee. Can I have some?"

“Ah, err…of course you may!” Gavin said to the question of coffee as Deli entered the lab like a whirlwind. He smiled in spite of himself, his eyes alighting first upon the chess set that the girl set before him, and then next upon the matchless Queen of Blowing Shit Up.

Though he did not know Delilah Espinosa de Jesús Dominguez del Beltran well, Gavin always marveled at the woman’s seemingly boundless energy and spunk. It even seemed to radiate from her tangle of ebony curls, and as he made his way to the coffeepot, Gavin had a thought that perhaps he should forego serving his traditional brew in lieu of decaf. He poured Deli a large helping anyway.

Turning to her, Gavin set the steaming mug down next to the chess board. “So, how are things Deli? I see you’re keen to wipe the floor with me, eh?”

Sitting down heavily in the chair opposite her, Gavin crossed his legs and picked up his own coffee with a smirk. “You know checkers are more my speed.”

"Uh-huh, I know," Deli said, distracted as she pulled her legs up under her and began to set up the chess board. "That's why I chose chess. White or black?"

The pieces went up quickly; she'd played so many games with Diego and Dacio in her younger years, setting them up seemed almost second nature. The instant her hands were free, the grabbed the steaming mug of coffee, pressing her palms against the hot porcelain until she felt tension begin to seep from her shoulders. She'd never actually liked coffee. It was bitter and it made her shaky and anxious. But she found the smell comforting, and almost enticing enough that she almost always dared to take a sip...and was almost always disappointed.

This was a rare exception. She sipped, cringed, held her breath, then smiled again, first cautiously, then delighted. "Your friend Abby was right," she announced. "I sort of like this. I guess that's why it's up here and not in the kitchens, huh?"

Gavin chuckled. “Age before beauty, Deli. I’ll take white.”

With a Chuck Taylor wagging idly over his crossed-knee, he watched Deli put up the pieces. The two of them had played only a few times, and the games had been close. Gavin did not entertain any delusions that he was an excellent chess player, and he had never been one to pursue the game. Yet, when it came to Deli, he found it a welcome distraction. A pleasant connection to another of the few remaining souls humanity counted among its own.

When Deli had finished, and had sat back to drink at her coffee, Gavin appraised the board with a raised brow and a deep “Hmmmmm.”

Since it was really the only opening he had ever bothered to memorize, Gavin reached out and moved the pawn directly in front of his king forward two spaces. Ruy Lopez, don’t fail me now. Gavin thought to himself, ending his turn with a confident nod of his head.

“You’re right. You won’t find this stuff down in the galley.” Gavin said in reply to Deli’s comment about the coffee. “It’s nothing super fancy, just some Dunkin Donuts stuff, a err…” Gavin paused, stuck midsentence as he searched for the correct word. “…good friend of mine managed to send me some before things got really hairy.”

He gave Deli a smile, moving purposefully on from the subject of his pause. “America used to run on Dunkin, but I guess just the select few on the Copernicus do now, I suppose. You’re welcome to as much as you’d like.”

Deli said nothing while Dr. Brock made his move, though a faint smile may have touched her lips. She instead studied her doctor/friend, watching him watch the pieces, trying to deduce where he was going to go next. Chess had always been more about the player than the strategy for Deli, the same sort of idyllic idiosyncrasies that had so discouraged her father back in Spain.

Fortunately, he hadn't been the one to teach her to play.

Deli dropped her gaze just a second before Gavin sat back, now pretending to suss out her own move, though she was really trying to remember whether or not she'd left her office unlocked down in the hangar. It didn't really matter...but she'd stored a bag of smuggled gummy bears in her desk, and she was going to be pretty bummed if they were gone when she got back. If she ever went back.

"Thanks," Deli said, setting her coffee down to kneel on her chair and lean over the board. Curls tumbled into her face; she blew them aside with a puff of air, which they resisted for a moment before reasserting themselves. "But I think it'd mean more to Sergeant Larson than it would me." She reached out and pushed her own pawn two spaces forward to meet the white then grinned up at her opponent.

"Jugando López contra una español, Dr. Brock?*" Deli sat back and nodded at the ancient donut shaped machine in the corner of the room. "Does that mean we don't have to use that today?"

*Playing Lopez against a Spaniard, Dr. Brock?

Gavin shrugged, smiled, and ran his forefinger and thumb simultaneously over the opposing sides of his mustache.

“What can I say, Deli? I’m a one trick pony.”

He leaned forward to the board, and after a pregnant time of discernment, Gavin charged forward with the Ruy Lopez opening undeterred.

“Besides,” Gavin said with wink, “the expression is ‘fight fire with fire.’ So why not fight a Spaniard with a Spaniard?”

Only after shifting his next chess piece, and returning himself to his reclining position, did Gavin follow Deli’s gaze over his shoulder, and to the CT scanner. He looked momentarily to the old, white, donut shaped apparatus, and shook his head.

“No, we shouldn’t need it this time.” Gavin knew Deli despised the tight confines and archaic sounds of the machine, and if there wasn’t a need, he wouldn’t subject her to such.

“We should be just fine using the neuro-hood.” Gavin said, pointing to a device the size of a toaster setup on a rolling rack, similar to an IV stand.

The hood consisted of various paired receptor leads that read the brainwaves of the wearer, and transposed them into a discernable visual model. Just like Microsoft Windows for the human brain, Gavin thought with a slight smile. He didn’t add that if Deli’s readings from the hood were abnormal, that he would indeed have to check her with the CT scanner. It was a necessary precaution, as Deli couldn’t be cleared to handle demolitions unless she had Gavin’s stamp of approval. Epilepsy was a bitch.

Gavin turned back to Deli and smiled. “It shouldn’t take us long. After I lose this game, I’ll do a quick reading with the hood. I’m sure everything will check out just fine. Then you’ll get your shot, and voila…” Gavin shrugged and opened his hands, as if to say ‘nothing to it but to do it,’ “…you’ll be good to go for another few weeks. Blowing shit up, and such.”

"They told me if I was gonna have a seizure, it'd be waking up," Deli said candidly, still staring reproachfully at the CT machine. That had been before the spastic seizure of panic, of course. Before sedation and self-loathing and begging to be left behind. After the quarter dosage of Nuerosine to make sure she didn't die before blast off. "But I didn't, so I think I'm batting 0 for 1 now. That's almost nothing in...two years. Five, if you count being a Del-cicle."

She set her mug precariously on the arm of her chair and forgot about it as she drew her knees up under her chin. She sent one last look to the old CT scanner, then turned contentedly back to the game. She was only half paying attention, but then that was true of any given moment with Deli. It didn't really matter whether she lost or won anyway, she knew. They wouldn't let her back in the hangar without Dr. Brock's consent. And she wouldn't get much further than that without Reece's.

It had never been about winning the game, anyway.

"Maybe," she murmured into her knees, frowning a little as she counted empty spaces on the board. "Maybe not. I think your friend Abby is going to tell on me." She chewed her lip for a moment, brow furrowed, then reached forward to push another pawn out into open space. "I'm not the guy they thought I'd be," she added, without bothering to explain precisely what she meant, since she only sort of knew herself anyway. "They don't trust me downstairs to begin with. You could give me and A++ and all they'd hear is the epilepsy part."

She hadn't meant to say that last part, or any of it, really. It was more than she figured anyone, let alone Gavin Brock, was prepared to hear. And much more than she'd ever willingly share. Maybe the waking had made her loopy. Or less loopy. Something was off balance, one way or another.

"If they don't let me help down there, I wanna do something else," she said suddenly, now looking directly at Dr. Brock, almost challenging him to look away. "They woke me up, and it's too soon to go back to sleep. It's not like I can sit around for a year, I'll definitely break something. Maybe I could start...knitting, or something." She tilted her head up to study the ceiling of the office idly. "Maybe I could make a...a ship cozy or something. They'd have to let me outside to put it on."

Gavin nodded in sage agreement. “Yes, the transition from the hibernation would've been the most likely time for a seizure to occur, so it's good to hear that the Neruosine worked to a tee.”

As Deli continued, Gavin watched as the boisterous woman pulled her knees up into the chair, and spoke of her misgivings. He frowned in response, leaning towards his right hand to pull at the ends of his mustache once more.

“Abby? Tell on you? I can’t fathom such a thing.” He said, looking to Deli seriously. “Abby cares for the people aboard this ship. More than anyone I have yet met aboard, in my opinion. You included, Deli. You can certainly trust in her discretion.”

Gavin sat forward, his expression shifting to a confident smile. “As for the others, if I clear you, it doesn’t matter what they elect to hear. You’ll be doing the job you were chosen to do, end of story. They’ll see you know your craft, and I’m sure their tune will change.”

He shifted his attention down to the chess board as Deli moved her pawn forward. It was a good move, even if she was only half-paying attention to the game. Gavin always marveled at how Deli’s focus could be in a million different places at once, yet exactly where it needed to be. He tapped at his chin while he contemplated his next move. It took him a few moments, but in the end Gavin decided to charge forward in a risky maneuver with his knight. Once he had finished, he looked up, and only then did he comprehend what Deli had said about knitting a cozy or the whole of the Copernicus.

“A cozy?” Gavin laughed aloud. “For the ship? I should very much like to see that feat of knitting mastery. As for them ‘letting’ you do your job, if they give you any heartburn after I clear you, let me know. I’ll back you.”

Gavin opened his hands and looked back over his shoulder to the neuro-hood. “Speaking of-shall we get started? We can get the test done while we finish playing. In fact, maybe I’ll get a good insight into that strategic brain of yours for our next game, Deli.”

Deli felt him watching her as she studied the board, felt the weight of the gaze on the crown of her head and sat still so as not to disturb it or knock it away. It was, she figured, only fair. Besides, Dr. Brock was a smart man. He was just a doctor -- all details and fact over intuition -- but he would still notice if she changed the subject too quickly. She waited for him to ponder his own move, and then, just as before, studied him in her own way while he was distracted.

"She doesn't want anyone else to die," Deli said softly after a moment. "She won't let me work there if she thinks I'll hurt someone." I might. I could. I have. But she didn't add that part.

Still. The rest of his words made her smile, one that was more indulgent than sincere, but one that eased some of tension from her shoulders, too. By the time he looked up, she was giggling again.

"The nurse at my old hospital taught me how to knit when I was eight," she said just as brightly as though they'd been discussing candy instead of murder. "I kept making race cars out of the tongue depressors, so she bought me yarn and needles to keep my hands busy. I was never very good at it. But I've got a year."

She made a face, then shrugged, then stood, almost knocking over her rapidly cooling coffee in the process. "Sure, then, let's get it over with," she said, though even her resigned tones were a little too chipper to be bitter. "And next time we play, I'll show you a new opener."

With mirth still turning up his face, Gavin stood and moved to where the nuero-hood stood upon its wheeled stand.

“I’d appreciate the tutelage,” Gavin said as he pulled the device towards where Deli sat. “There would be something poetic about beating you with an opening that you had taught me.”

Gavin transitioned to softly humming Led Zeppelin’s ‘Fool in the Rain’ as he came to stand behind Deli. With his reading glasses perched in their usual spot near the tip of his nose, he worked with practiced ease. In just a few moments, Gavin had pulled the neuro-hood’s leads from their position on the stand, and had affixed them upon Deli’s temples and forehead. He had to carefully manipulate the wires across the thick mop of Deli’s dark curls, but he managed to do so without pulling any of the leads free of her head.

Satisfied, Gavin undocked the tablet computer from the stand, and activated the hood. Instantly, the screen came to life with several lines that jumped and wove their way across the display in irregular looking sinus-like rhythms.

“Very good,” Gavin said, pleased that the neuro-hood was working properly. He moved back to take his seat, and glanced to the board down the length of his nose. Deli hadn’t fallen for the bait with his knight, and if he was not careful, his queen would be in dire straits. He reached forward and tried to delay her with a move of his remaining bishop before sitting back to give the readout of the neuro-hood his full attention.

The waves that represented Deli’s brain activity, though naturally irregular, created a discernable pattern to the trained eye. Gavin studied each of the lines closely, and did not move onto the next without making certain that there existed no abnormalities. Of the four lines on the screen, all checked out as normal activity save for the last one. Though it was subtle, the occasional flutter would appear in the line at varying intervals—some farther apart, with others coming in quick succession. It was a classic representation of epileptic brain activity, and though not a cause for immediate concern, it told Gavin that Deli’s shot of Neurosine was wearing off.

Gavin turned the tablet towards Deli, and pointed to the pulsing line that had drawn his attention. “Well, nothing to be concerned with, Deli.” Gavin said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Here’s the rhythm that has always been indicative of the possible seizure activity. Same thing I’ve seen since you first came to me, and nothing to be worried about. All we need to do is give you your normal dosage of eslicarbazepine, and you should be set for about three weeks or so.”

He set the tablet down so Deli could continue to look at the lines if she so desired. Moving to a climate-controlled locker, Gavin entered a passcode, and opened the fridge-like door. Pulling out a small vacuum vial and a clean syringe, Gavin drew the appropriate amount of the anti-seizure medication before closing the locker.

With the syringe and an antiseptic wipe in hand, Gavin returned to where Deli sat. He cleaned off a portion of her upper arm with the wipe, pausing briefly to allow her to make another move on the chess board.

“Here comes a poke,” He said before driving the small needle into the flesh of Deli’s shoulder.

After depressing the plunger, Gavin moved his eyes over to the neuro-hood’s display. Almost instantaneously, the slight trimmer in the bottom line disappeared, and became more regular. A genuine smile spread over Gavin’s face, and he pulled a Band-Aid from a nearby drawer. With a satisfied air, he placed the Garfield bandage over the spot where he had injected Deli.

“All done. You’ll be right as rain now, and utterly fit for resuming your explosive duties…”

As he spoke, Gavin caught sight of the chess board out of the corner of his eye, and his smile wilted into an expression of pleasant disbelief. Reaching over to his king, Gavin tilted the marble piece onto its side. Looking to Deli, he gave the woman a light punch upon the opposite arm from the one he had injected.

“Well played. Well played indeed.”

“Hmm?” she said and looked up from the cooling mystery in her hands to her companion who had just spoken. Her eyebrows lowered as she ran through the words her ears had caught but her brain hadn’t processed and then nodded. Yes, he should come back. With Mowzer or not. The thought was odd, but genuine, which was mostly in keeping with her nature, odd but genuine.

“Yes, that would be fine. I feel bad I promised Lynx and won’t be able to deliver.”

She smiled distractedly and wondered if she was supposed to quip or something just then but since quipping wasn’t her strength by any means she let the impulse die. She nodded again, feeling awkward and already half into the possible answers for the dead bird in her hands. She stepped over sleeping, lolling tigers and out into the hall. She briskly lead the way back into the exam room, though it was less leading and more heading there for her own purposes. Once there she laid the bird down on the table and reached for her tray of tools, distractedly. Blowing an errant curl out of her face she began to work. Minutes passed while she poked and prodded, murmured notes into the voice recorder mounted on the wall over the table. Her face was set into a grim expression while she intently focused on the task at hand, suddenly she sat up and whipped her head around.

“Good bye!” she called out to the empty lab and then slumped.

“Idiot.” She murmured to herself. Rude too, she was certain the smiling med-tech was just counting down the minutes until he could be ignored by the twitchy vet again.

“Well you don’t mind me do you?” she asked the bird. “Nah, you don’t mind one bit, you are a corpse, you don’t mind anything. Now let’s see what’s inside you, shall we?”

There was nothing. At least nothing she could find. Oh for certain there was some half-digested fruit from its last meal but nothing to account for this bird’s death. She had found no sign of trauma, no injury, no disease, nothing. The preliminary tests she’d run had shown her nothing, no toxins in the blood, no bacteria, nothing. She was running some deeper tests now, ones that would take a little time. Luddite she might be, but she had learned some basics if only for the sake of her charges. Hopefully the more advanced tests would turn up some answers. She wasn’t holding her breath. It was as if the bird had just stopped being alive. Like a switch had been flipped.

“Dammit.” She said to no one and turned to face the wall that held all the refrigeration units. She looked over the panels of blinking lights and felt certain that all she would find would be more questions and not a single answer.

(Collab between Justric and KuroTenshi)

Connor rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead to mop up the sweat building on his forehead. The space inside of the engine was small and his body heat had no where to go other than to bounce off the machinery and back at him. His muscles were cramping a bit as he turned his wrench and he wondered if it was a side effect from being in cryo for so long. Oh well he wouldn’t start worrying about side effects unless he started to get light headed.

For now he was fine and hummed to himself while he worked.

Something reached out… It sought expression, a way to communicate and a body to communicate with. It only had itself and as vast as that sense of self was becoming, there was still something limiting about it. There were no alternate points of view, only its own feedback. It… they, actually... There was more than a single self as each part was its own entity somehow, all of them united in the desire to be experienced and experience in turn. It/they found what was sought within its own boundaries. A separate thing, still and quiet. Best to wake it…

As Connor worked, a sudden ticking noise began to fill the small compartment. The primary drive was starting to engage on its own while the tech was still torso deep into it, and if not stopped it would become very, very warm all too quickly for any human in its confines.

Connor stopped working when he heard a rapid ticking sound inside of the engine. “What the hell?” He muttered, feeling the heat kick up like someone had turned on a furnace. “Awe, shit!” He shouted and quickly crawled down from the small space he was wedged in, scraping his arm against a jagged piece of metal but not carrying. “Hey! I’m in here!” He yelled, dropping down onto the foam by the entrance of the compartment and belly crawling his way out of the engine.

His heart beat starting to race and anger swirling inside of him Connor climbed the ladder out of the bay. “Who the fucking hell turned on the primary drive!?” He shouted into the ship, stalking toward the cockpit. “Didn’t anyone tell you I was-” He cut himself off when he walked into the cockpit and found it empty. “What, but,” he looked behind himself as though he’d see the idiot that had turned on the drive. But he hadn’t heard anyone running and the pod wasn’t exactly huge.

Unease started to replace his anger and he sat down in the pilot’s chair to turn the drive off. “That was weird.” He muttered, scratching his head. “I could have sworn I turned everything off too. What the hell?” He knew he had made sure that there wasn’t so much as a light bulb on before he crawled into that engine. “Is there a glitch?” He asked himself, settling into the pilot seat to start running a diagnostic check on the pods system.

System information flashed efficiently before him, displaying nothing untold but confirming that the power had been restored and the drive engaged! There was no log, however, confirming what authorization had been used to do so. The rest of the ship’s interior had come to life when the drive was started up, and now every indicator and gauge blinked as though the ship was in flight stand-by mode. An almost eerie silence filled the ship.

A communications screen on the pilot’s dash suddenly lit up, and the face of one of the NI-Techs looked out of it. It was Hob, one of the Third Shift watch leaders. Only his eyes didn’t quite seem to be synched up with the communication array’s cameras, giving the appearance that he wasn’t actually looking at Connor. The transmission was full of bursts of static, as well. It was almost as if the NI-tech were broadcasting through a large amount of electrical interference.

“I don’t know if she loves me,” he was saying. It was as though it was in the middle of a conversation. “I don’t even know if she’s capable of love as we understand it! I don’t get it. I just… really don’t get it! How the hell would we even… I mean, is she even built to... “ Grimacing, the figure on the monitor shook its head in frustration. “How in the name of anything would I even ask her without sounding like a… like a... “ There came a sigh. “I am well and truly fucked.”

The communications screen abruptly cut off, leaving a blank and black rectangle before Connor’s eyes.

Connor stared at the screen with wide eyes and mouth dropped open. He had no idea what the hell just happened. Had...Had that been on of the NI-Techs? What the hell was he doing messing with the mining pod system and what was with that transmission? A shudder went up his spine and he ran his hands through his bright blue hair before gripping the strands tightly.

“What the fuck man?” He asked out loud, as though the tech was still communicating with him. “Okay, okay, don’t panic.” He told himself, hesitantly turning the screen back on. He needed to get in touch with that tech and figure out what just happened and why. He felt for the guy a bit because it sounded like he was having problems with his girlfriend or whatever, but that didn’t excuse nearly cooking his ass inside of Loretta's engine. Why would someone even do that? That didn’t make any damn sense.

He turned the camera on and tried to find that NI-Tech’s contact. “Uh, hello? Anyone there? What the hell man? You could have killed me!”

Hob glared at his handheld tablet as he and his new keeper were dismissed from the Network Administrator’s office. He had far to much to do yet, and damned if he knew when he was going to get any of it done! “Excuse me,” he muttered to Naomi as he brought the device up to eye level.

His transmission came back to Connor crystal clear and without a trace of static. Hob’s glaring eyes bore directly into the blue haired man’s as he fought to keep a snarl off of his face. “I could have killed any number of people, kid, but I doubt that would have kept them from sticking wires all through my skull. If you need an NI-tech, contact central operations. I just finished getting told off, having another layer of authority dropped on my head, and I still have to get a work over by medical and psyche before I can get maybe a whole hour’s sleep and then go back on duty again.” Hob’s scowl became all the fiercer. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

Connor blinked at the screen as the implication of the words sunk in and his eyes widened. “Wait, whoa, back of there!” He shouted, holding up his hands. “Did you say you’re off duty? As in you haven’t been in the system in the past ten seconds?” He asked him. He didn’t know much about NI-Tech’s but he knew how their special stasis beds worked. It would take far longer than ten seconds to get someone out of those things. Not to mention he was actually focusing on his face and there wasn’t any static in the transmission.

“Okay, okay,” He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry for coming down on you like that man, that was a dick move. My names Connor Douglass, I’m the head Engineer for the mining pods and I’m freaking out a bit here. I was just working inside one of the engines when the primary drive turned on by itself. I thought some idiot turned it on without knowing I was in there, if I had been in there for too long my insides would have been cooked.” Realizing he was rambling he shut his eyes and shook his head at himself.

“Anyway I got in here and no idiot in the pilot’s seat. I ran a diagnostics and everything kind of came back normal. Then all of a sudden you popped up onto the screen and started talking about your girlfriend like I was a confessional. Then you disappeared and I’m starting to get the idea that that you wasn’t really you so now I’m wondering what the hell just happened? And what are the chances of this happening again? Christ tomorrow all of my mechanics are going to be working on these pods.” He finished with a grimace and a shudder. It’d be a million times worse than a cat in a car engine.

Hob closed his eyes and sighed. He wasn’t sure who needed to go see Park more now, himself or the blue haired Engineer. Maybe if he hadn’t said the word ‘engineer’... True, he wasn’t one of the ship’s engineers who worried about their fucking precious NI tubes and their condition, but the word soured Hob towards him all the same. Opening his eyes, his eyes were hard as he stared back through the screen.

“Wasn’t me. Wasn’t any of the NI-techs. We can’t access the pods, they’re separate systems. Communications and telemetry is all.” That wasn’t strictly true, but since it took three NI-techs working in unison outside of the NI-techs already on duty, it hardly mattered. Even with the freedom he had secretly given OLGA, she wouldn’t be able to access any of the pods’ systems either; she’d have to have help. “It sounds like you got hit by a Ghost,” he continued. “It’s sort of an echo the NI-techs leave in the system by accident sometimes. But Ghost don’t have the ability to do anything besides take up hard drive space and sometimes leave embarrassing messages.”

Hob was well aware Naomi was waiting for him with a look, and so hurried on. “Look, kid, do both of us a favor. Log what happened with Central.” And may Harris have all the fun with THAT headache! “I’ll take a look into it when I get the chance next Watch. In the meantime, kill any remote connections between the pods and the rest of the ship’s network, alright? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get wear a funny metal hat with wires for a bit and then get asked how I feel about my mother.”

The comm line went rudely dead as Hob killed the transmission and pocketed the handheld.

Connor opened his mouth to ask more questions but the Tech ended the conversation. Connor growled at the screen and smacked his hand on the panel to turn off the screen with his own scowl. “Obviously those ‘Ghosts’ can do more than just leave embarrassing messages.” He muttered, turning back to do what Hob had instructed at least. It didn’t help him feel any safer though. He was almost afraid to get back in the engine.

He thought about telling this to Reece but the thought of going up to the man and saying, “I don’t want to work because I’m afraid of the Ghosts.” Like THAT would go over well.

He shook his head and stood up to go back into the engine bay. It was just a little glitch and he was still alive, so there wasn’t anything to worry about...Right?

The way was closed, barred. It was as though the passage no longer existed at all! Silently within its own mind, the entity retreated sullenly from the all too brief contact it had made. One of its awarenesses had touched another consciousness, it was sure! Only so inefficiently! Too much time lost and so little conveyed? It would have to try harder next time. But now at least it had something to reference the other sentience by:

Connor Douglass.

It was a strange name for a computer.

"No worries at all, Ms. Albright, until then!"

She seemed quite occupied with the poor dead bird already, so Antoine didn't wait to see if she had heard him. He'd be back later, definitely, and knew full well the importance of focusing on work.

Especially when they were all picking up after the second shift.

But that was hardly something to dwell on. Today so far had been a good day, enough to put a little spring in the cryo-tech's step as he meandered his way down the sterile halls. Work had gone well, the last full shift he'd have to do for a while. It was all checkups and repair work from here until the shift-end, barely work at all, really. The shift meeting had gone fairly well also, news notwithstanding. Nothing he hadn't been expecting to hear, there, and he had even gotten to meet Ms. Albright with the bouncing curly hair. A very good day indeed, Antoine dropping one hand into his pouch -small workbag, really- to jingle it's contents in celebra...

He stopped as the hallway bent gently to the right, ever-present smile fading to a concentrating frown. He looked down at the bag, jingling it's contents one more time to sent shivers up the leather strap across his shoulder. Odd. Surely he had more than... He did, there was more than a week left. He had to have more, so where had he...

Features falling, Antoine turned back, pacing slowly back down the hallways to a previous juncture. His room, probably. There had never been a reason to carry all his medicine with him at all times, that was just asking to lose something. His room, then, a good chance for a quick nap in celebration of an overall-decent day. Though... before that... perhaps a stop by medical? He should probably check in at least, make sure something hadn't gone wrong with the beds in the short time he had been gone.

"Yeah... that works..." Mumbling quietly, Antoine rummaged through his bag one more time, before finally leaving it alone. His hand rose up to cup contemplative lips for a moment as he walked, jaw working to idly crunch the pill dropped within.

Only moments after swallowing it down, his smile returned, pace picking up as he turned confidently down hallways. Medical wasn't far away, nearby the cryo-beds of this section, actually. Efficient design when you needed to check up on everyone at the start and end of every shift. Not to mention useful for the techs who were in charge of the beds and their functions, but were technically medical personnel. The section of the ship he knew the best, the most wonderful luck ensuring his bunk was just on the other side of Medical from where he was now.

A quick check-in, a quick chat with some of the techs he knew and doctors he needed to meet, and then off to a nap.

The thought made Antoine chuckle, almost skipping down the hallways in amusement. He was thinking like a cat!

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Mowzer was getting annoyed.

Not by the loud humans who continued to speak and move about. No, only the mean one was annoying, but he had the sense not to try anything more. The nice lady who served to defend him wasn't annoying, either. Certainly not, but he was restless all the same.

Why was that?

His Human had annoyed him, certainly, but that was just something his human did. All would be fine when he found his human again, as it always was. The lovely human his had met certainly hadn't been annoying, so what was it? Why couldn't he settle down enough to nap, no matter how much he knew that's what he wanted?

...

Or was it?

A sudden thought struck Mowzer, the Bengal sitting up once more beneath the chair that was his shelter. He had thought a nap was needed, a peaceful nap in his favorite bed... but he wasn't in his favorite bed, was he? No, not even on the lap of a nice human. The mean human was at fault there... but now that he thought about it, he didn't want to nap at all, did he? No, no a nap wasn't what he wanted... He wanted to run.

Mind made up, Mowzer wasted no time. A moment's preparation to fall into the proper stance, a quick flick of his tail, and he was off. Dashing from under the chair, snaking around furniture and legs alike as they moved into his way, he made his mad sprint.

Oh, and what a sprint it was! Immediately he realized this was what he had wanted all along. The turn as he left the small room was sharp, claws spending a moment scrabbling for purchase. But he was off as soon as they found it again, streaking out of the hangar and down the halls.

Nap would come later, when he found himself in a good, quiet place. For now, though, he had an outlet for all the strange annoyance that had been building up. And so the Bengal dashed about through the hallways, changing direction as it suited him, with only the briefest glance at any humans in his way.

No time to bother with them right now. Right now was the time to run.

Owen Reece watched her, it certainly seemed easy to make her happy but he could not imagine spending time awake and not having something to occupy it. Work made one useful and the more work there as to do, the less time there was to spend on dwelling on the fact they were a mere speck of life floating in an ocean of emptiness. He gave her a half smile and his pale eyes lit up, "Yes, that means you can stay. As long as you don't mind working around a bunch of rough neck miners and grease monkeys."

He paused as he saw her attention diverted toward the beeping alert on her notepad and he took the time to look over the office that would be his. It was basic and small, enough room to get the job done. Managing people was never Reece's favorite part of the job, he preferred to be behind the stick of whatever aircraft or big machine he was piloting. He had hoped that since they were a group of select professionals, it would be easy but already he had to deal with picking up after the last shift who seemed to have descended into a spiral of apathy and there was Deli, an unknown factor in the equation of his team. Pauline and Connor were easy going enough and he knew Bill beneath the crusty exterior was as quick as they come.

"It's nothing to apologize for," he waved his hand at her, sitting on the edge of the desk. He noted the change of her expression but as he had just met the girl, he did not pry. There was obviously something going on for her to be awake and it would come out sooner or later. "And you're welcome, Pauline. Guess you gotta home here as long as you want it."

He offered her his hand to shake on it, pleased to feel her soft fingers again and he tried not to squeeze to hard, mindful of the aching scratches on his hand.

A knock at the door interrupted them, Reece turned and grinned crookedly at her, "Abby, I don't know what they told you but I swear it wasn't me."
He stood up off the desk and ticked his head to welcome her in. "C'me on in, just watch out for that furry bastard under the chair there."

Reece looked her over with admiration, she struck a fine figure in her uniform and perfect blend of authority, intelligence, and Nordic beauty. He recalled his first meeting with Sergeant Larson when he and Bill had managed to get themselves in a fight with a bunch of wanna be gang bangers at the gas station outside the base. Abby and showed up with the cavalry just in time, though both of the miners would say they had the fight won either way. She looked the other way on the poker games by making him swear not to invite anymore outsiders to play and scared off the kids with threats of military justice.

"What can I do for you, Sarge?" he asked, curious to see why she was down there and immediately his senses were up, wondering if she was going to change their teams or anything about backgrounds had come to light.

Reece felt something brush his leg and he glanced down just in time to see the big cat make a dash for the door and streak into the hangar. He shook his head, flexing his bandaged hand and muttered, "And stay out."

For one brief and terrifying moment, Deli thought she was going to cry.

The moment passed quickly enough, leaving a strange and empty coldness in the pit of her belly, a hollow space like the breath of air that came with pulling a tablecloth out from beneath a set of dinnerware. An impressive trick, but only because disaster was so nearly avoided.

She didn't cry, of course, and hardly a second had passed before the whole thing was forgotten and Deli had leapt awkwardly over the chair to embrace Dr. Brock so enthusiastically, it was a wonder they didn't both end up on the floor.

"¿De veras? Puedo trabajar con las bombas? Wait, sorry, I mean, really?" Deli had all but forgotten about the chess game as she kneeled on the back of the heavy chair, eyes wide, curls bouncing. She didn't even really mind the Garfield bandage all that much -- though she'd told Dr. Brock, and anyone who'd listen, half a dozen times how much better Snoopy was, in every conceivable way.

"Oh, thank you, Dr. Brock! Y Muchas gracias! Merci beaucoup! Moltes gràcies... Do you know any other languages to say thank you in?"

She knew he'd laugh it off, say he hadn't done anything. But she didn't really believe that. Just like she didn't really believe he could keep Reece from grounding her if he ever found out...well, anything about her. But that was future Deli's problem. Right now Deli was jazzed and caffeinated and had another couple hours before the side effects of her eslicarbazepine laid her out, and she fully planned on getting the dimensions of the Copernernicus before sitting down to her ship cozy.

"Oh! And thank you for the coffee. And the game." It had been a good one, winning aside. She'd have to tell Abby about that, next chance she got. She still liked the other woman, and absolutely refused to begrudge her just doing her job. She'd gotten to stare into a tunnel of stars, and it was enough to keep dreaming on for now.

Without waiting for further instruction, Deli turned and began haphazardly repacking her father's chess set, distractedly babbling to poor Gavin the whole time.

"I'll still show you how to start the next time, if you want. My brother taught me a Lopez defense I figured out you could use to start the game, if you play right. It sort of looks like the Lopez open, but it traps their second rook by the end of your fourth turn, so -- " She turned back around and stumbled to her feet, still beaming and slightly breathless now. Her smile faltered for just a second, and this time, when she moved forward, it was more careful, almost respectful.

She rose with a surprising grace to stand on her toes and planted a chaste peck on one cheek before standing back again.

"Really," she said, trying to make herself sound more sincere and less overeager this time. "Thank you. In case you don't get to hear it again for a while," she added knowingly.

Then she turned to go, able to make it only a few feet before she started skipping again. Maybe she'd tell Abby how nice Gavin had been, too. She had a feeling both doctor and sergeant would appreciate that.

--

Maya watched the exchange between the eccentric handyman...and his larger, angrier counterpart for a long moment, a vaguely amused look on her face, before turning to continue down the hallway. She'd meant to peek into the hangars, though her jurisdiction down here was limited at best. She'd learned to fly small aircraft that were by now only loosely related to the mining vessels aboard the Copernicus. But then she hadn't really been looking for nostalgia of the material variety when she'd wandered down below. Things in the mining hangars seemed a bit too crowded for her tastes as it were, and her head still ached from the waking.

Maya ran a hand over her hair, errantly feeling for so much as a single strand out of place. Unsurprisingly, there were none. Satisfied, she disappeared again into the bowels of the ship, this time in aim of a cup of ruthlessly hot tea.

--

The girl, Pauline, didn't respond right away, though he'd hardly found that surprising. Young Henry Graham's answer was much quicker, and just as unassuming as could be, both of which taken together telling Park about as much as he felt he needed to know at the moment. Further details could be found in the young man's file, but Park found he learned better from speaking to a person. Those were the bits that mattered, he found so often. What a person wanted you to see, good or bad, if they could be characterized as such. Perception -- particularly of the personal variety -- came to so much more than ink ever could.

He'd had quite enough of files to have lasted him for perhaps the entire year, he thought, though he'd not yet made it through half of the Third Shift. His 'to check in on' list, however, had grown, proving his earlier theory correct. There were only two people on his list who required some clearance -- Henry Graham being one of them -- before they could fulfill their year of service, unfettered. But there were a great deal more with whom he wanted to speak, not the least of whom being Pauline. He knew, though, too, what his curiosity would buy her. He would not force her, or any of them, to come to him. Not before they were ready.

Still. For some, all it took was a gentle nudge. Leaning over his desk, Park once more entered two brief messages into his tablet. This time, the first went to Henry:

You can call me just Park, if you like, Henry. Who is they? He considered adding another reminder that his office was open, but relented. Henry was not one of the few who would need more nudging. For him, the nudging could all too quickly become pushing.

The second message was to another young man, one of the several NI-Techs with whom Park was eager to speak. Granted, a good deal of the eagerness was professional curiosity. But given his notes, and those of his predecessor, on several of the techs both from this shift and the last, it would not be so bad an idea to 'nudge' some of them, too.

Hello, Robert. I hope I haven't caught you at too hard a time, though it seems you've got quite the busy schedule for the year ahead.

"Oh!" Abby stepped back swiftly as the enormous spotted cat dashed by her, lifting up one combat boot as her pale blue eyes widened in surprise. A quick glance told her all she needed to know of the apparently unholy advent of the 'Antichrist.' Reece's bandaged hand and his farewell snarl at this most exceptional of felines speaking volumes about who got the very worst of Connor's aforementioned bitch-slapping - and apparently her azure-haired friend hadn't exaggerated in the least.

"Ah Reece, making friends wherever you go... " Abby shook her head with a teasing roll of her eyes as she nodded toward the escaping cat as the source of her teasing, and not Pauline Weber . A long-practiced and easy tilt of her body, a quick glance and a mischievous smile effortlessly pulled the radiant young woman she recognized in a moment, into their easy, bantering conversation.

Of course Abby recognized her in an instant, though nothing of this perception showed on her face thanks to Connor’s heads up. She had, after all, just shown Gavin a picture of the young woman only minutes before. But something about seeing this Pauline in the flesh gave her pause, the inexplicable, simultaneous lightness and gravity of her demeanor, a little child’s innocent delight married with an ancient poignancy in the younger woman’s pale eyes. Abby could not shake the impression that was not some inner quality newly born with her waking, but rather a reason that explained fully, all Pauline had decided since the cruelty that woke her long sleep.

“Hello,” Abby said as she held out her hand to Pauline easily, smiling widely. “Abigail Larson – Abby, please. Head of security, and Captain Stanford’s replacement for a few years yet. I don't believe we met a the briefing today.”

All true enough of course, but Abby did not feel very good about herself at the moment, for the pretense she did not know Pauline's identity, and that she knew very well that the younger woman had not been at the Third Shift briefing. But Abby knew, of course, that this was the right instinct, to preserve the younger woman’s dignity.

“Pauline. Pauline Weber.” She took the hand offered with a smile turned hesitant and unsure, not nearly so steady or bright as the one she gave to Owen. Though there was certainly none of that painful, bone-crushing pressure some people felt the need to dispense in a handshake, Pauline still felt the reassuring strength that wrapped her own smaller, slender hand.

And of course Abby knew her name. Pauline had come to know the kind, morose Captain Stanford very, very well after all. Yes, Abby knew her name, and she could see that knowing in the taller woman’s steady azure gaze. But something in the soldier’s eyes comforted her, as much as the uniforms she would always associate with safety. Abby would not be careless with her.

“Owen just agreed I’ll be working with him and Connor in Hangar Six, helping here and there to tighten up the mining training programs.” The warmth of Pauline’s smile returned as she looked to the grey-eyed man, who had just reassured her she’d have a home here for so long as she wished. There truly were not words, to explain all that his confidence meant to her.

“Owen… ? Oh!” Abby laughed, not cruelly, only with a touch of surprise when somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered Reece actually did have a first name. “You must be quite talented then,” she continued amiably, a rather impressed lift of her brows and a nod for the good-looking grey-eyed man sitting on the edge of one of the desks. “Reece… Owen… Would not let just anyone here into Hangar Six to stay, much less Connor. You just keep these guys safe Pauline. We’d be lost without them.”

To Reece’s eternal credit, it never once occurred to Abby that the man would have taken on Pauline for her simple, bright beauty. Of course he could certainly be something of a roguish scoundrel on occasion, skirting the edges of polite company whenever humanly possible it seemed some days. Yet Abby never once had reason to doubt his rough-around-the-edges but rock solid honor – to say nothing of his undying professionalism. If Reece let her stay, then Pauline undoubtedly belonged right here.

“But I’m here to steal your boss away for a few minutes, if he can spare them. I promise I’ll return him exactly as I found him, bandages and all… “ Her attention returned to Reece with a grin. “Can we go to your office Reece? We should probably speak alone – “

“No wait, it’s all right. I can step out,” Pauline piped up quickly, holding her tablet closely with one hand to her chest. “I can take the garbage out with me now anyway, keep it from stinking up Connor’s office anymore – but I’ll be right back of course. I should have at least one preliminary simulation done by the end of the day, a little something for you to try… “

’And I do need a moment, to answer Pastor Park… ‘ Pauline grinned reassuringly to Owen, that leaving was not putting her out in the least. ’I wonder if he hears confession?’

Her voice trailed off swiftly though she bent to secure the garbage bag that Owen had opened before taking all the ties in one hand. The bags really weren’t so heavy as all that. “If you could get the door behind me?” she asked, shrugging her shoulders lightly to show him both her hands were taken up at the moment before she stepped out into the strange tableau playing out further into the hangar.

Abby sighed softly as she watched the young woman leave before all her attentions returned to the handsome grey-eyed man with an apologetic smile. “Sorry to interrupt your operations here Reece – I really don’t want to suck up any more of your time than need be. But after the Third Shift briefing, there was no way I was going to leave you hanging. I’m here to field your questions, best I can.”

“And as a Shift supervisor, I know very well you’ve gotten some information on your crew you normally… Well, you normally wouldn’t have access to. Yeah, you’ve got to have some questions. I sure the hell would.”

The huge miner didn't say one word or the other to Jack's questions, and the best the Newfie could figure was that the man still didn't know what to make of this short, vibrant madman with an open grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. That was fine, though. He wasn't the first person who didn't know what to make of Jack Pumphrey, and Jack was damned sure he wouldn't be the last. There was no college education in Jack's background, nor was he the most intelligent of men, but the handyman was all too aware that he probably came across as something of a character to others. In a way... he preferred it as such.

Content with things as they were, he continued to busy himself cleaning off the tools until they shone if not like new then close enough to it that it made no difference. It was annoying though. The tools he wiped down, degreased, oiled, buffed away rust, re-oiled again had no soul. These were tools that belonged to the shop, not to any one man, and Jack frowned a bit at that. To him, a great deal of the pride he took in his work and the jobs he had done was to be found in knowing that it was his own hands and his own tools that were involved, tools that he had paid for himself! In his family, you didn't use another man's hammer. You could ask, sure, and if it was in a pinch anyone could understand! But were these military folks really expected to use just whatever was provided to them?! Where the hell was the pride in that?! No wonder the shop was a bloody mess!

Still, there was no use getting worked up over it. In the end, a tool was a tool and should be treated with some respect and care. Were he a more imaginative man, he might have drawn comparisons between tools and children: just because it wasn't yours it doesn't mean you should't look after it! After all, even if that screwdriver there with the shiny plastic handle and rust covered tip wasn't your own battered wooden handled one with a fine patina on the metal, it could still get the job done and save the day. Or even your life! Jack happily busied himself until all the tools were again in their proper racks and drawers, frowning when he noticed a few sockets were missing from the torque set. Nothing to be done there, so he moved on to wiping down the benches and putting away all the solvents.

Just as he finished tossing a handful of used rags into a bucket for recycling, he looked up to see a pretty young woman exiting the one office. The sight of her made the earthy man smile happily, him being a man always glad to see a friendly face and especially after the dour and volatile miner who was engrossed in cleaning drill parts nearby!

"Missus," he drawled genially by way of greeting, nodding his head towards her, "Whaddya at?!" A friendly soul to the end, Jack wiped his hands off on a last rag and bucketed it before turning back to extend one of those working hands towards her. Without even asking, he took up the garbage things from her like it was exactly what he was there to do. The smell of the one bag made him wrinkle his nose a bit. "Sure, an' dat's some hum! Phew! Near poisoned, I am. i'll take this, never you mind, missus. Jack Pumphrey, custodial chummy or what have you. Who's you den?" His tone was light and genial as he slipped the bags onto an empty cart to haul them away.