collab between Justric and idlehands

Outside of the Administrator’s office, Hob slide the communication device into the breast pocket of his rust jumpsuit. Ghosts affecting the mining ships. That could be bad. Strange, too, considering that there hadn’t been any reports of Ghosts in over two years and even then they shouldn’t have been able to affect anything outside of the Copernicus’ central computer! With any luck the blue haired kid would follow through with the report to Central and Harris would assign the task to someone else. Hob had enough issues to deal with.

Speaking of which… Hob turned towards Naomi and gave her a smirk that was more grimace. “Sorry about that. I’m just ever so popular it seems.” He craned his neck to one side to try and relieve a tension knot that was forming in his shoulders. “Where were we?”

“No need to be sorry,” Naomi replied, “I can’t imagine being tied to the ship the way you and the other NI techs are.”

She put a hand on her stomach and tilted her head, “Well, if I’m going to help make you all more comfortable, we’ll need to make a list. I would imagine some lunch delivered would help. Perhaps protein shakes? What else?”

Hob was cautiously optimistic at this offering. It was a small enough start, but if at least some small things could be changed than there was hope. It was a wary hope; they’d been lied to before. “Lunch… sounds good. If we could eat sooner, we’d have more time for sleep and relaxation and the like, I suppose. Never had a protein shake, but if it’s anything like a milkshake then I know you’ll have Charlie’s support! ‘Specially if it’s got malt in it. But as for what else…? Damn, that’s a loaded question.”

He paused in thought as they walked away from the office, wondering how far he dared go. The list was pretty long, and he wasn’t even sure if he could remember it all now that he finally had someone’s ear! Only the rage had been building a while, even in stasis. He had read the slapdash reports of the prior Shifts, and between that and his own Shift’s recent experiences Hob knew that things could not continue the way they had been going.

“The damned catheters,” he finally spat out. “Every time we go in, they’ve got to shove the damn things into us and then pull them out again at the end of our watch. I know it ain’t pleasant for the women, but it’s hard as hell on the guys! And with this whole change of hours things they’re doing, we’re going to run out a lot faster. Wouldn’t surprise me if they start trying to reuse the damn things!” A low hiss came out from between his teeth in frustration. “I’m pretty sure I can hold my fucking bladder for four hours at a time, certainly better than eight hours. But Engineering doesn’t want to take chances that we’ll piss over their toys by accident. I don’t care if it’s diapers or whatever the fuck it is the astronauts where when they go outside, but something else has got to be done there.”

The flood gates were open now, and Hob was starting to get on a role. “And another thing! Rights! It would be nice to have it in writing somewhere where everyone can see it what rights the NI-techs have. Including legal rights, disciplinary actions, etc… etc… We’re tired of living in this bullshit Big Brother society where we just have to take everyone’s word on things.”

Naomi listened, letting him vent his frustrations and make his suggestions. She walked slowly with him down the hall, nodding as he spoke. It certainly was a bad situation for them but they were indispensable.

“Protein shakes can sort of be like milkshakes. I’ll get with the kitchen manager. As for the other thing...catheters. That’s horrible to endure that and I’m sure it is not necessary over just a four hour period. Diapers or absorbent padding of some sort is surely a better alternative.”

Naomi looked at him sympathetically, her heart going out to him, “Legal rights?”

She had not thought too much on it, they followed orders as they did in the military. Perhaps if she had been forced into her position, be basically a prisoner of the ship and it’s computer.

“Yeah! Legal rights!” Hob insisted angrily. He waved a hand at a passing wall terminal, its screen currently displaying a colorful screen-saver. The terminals were something like public access computers, built into the walls every now as a secondary measure to the handheld tablets everyone was issued. They were also useful in case of emergencies, such as the wireless connection going down. “Anyone can tap into the network and look up what they can do and not do, they can easily pull up the list of military laws that apply to everyone on the ship and the possible consequences if they break those laws. Even that murdering asshole got a fair trial before they shoved him out of an airlock, right?” The NI-tech snorted. “Not us. We were told time and time again that if we screwed up, the law didn’t apply to us. They were all very clear on what not to do: don’t open the locked files, don’t mess with the memory caches for the cryo-beds, don’t unshackle the AI… “

That last preyed on his mind a bit even as he said it, but he fought the urge to panic and kept plugging on.

“But when it comes to things like a fair trial and humane punishments? Fuck. It’s all dark threats and intimidation and ‘if you don’t break any laws you won’t have to find out’ kind of shit! The MIBs who scraped us up off the streets talked about lobotomies, about hooking us into the machine for good. And like I just mentioned in front of Harris there, no one in Command wants to say different. So we want it in writing. We want to know and more importantly we want other people to know just what it is we face if push comes to shove.”

“Good luck on the diapers, by the way,” he grumped. “Last time we asked, we were told they didn’t have the resources to spare for it.”

Naomi’s dark eyes were wide and she shook her head sympathetically, “Oh, that’s awful. I’m sure it’s a necessary evil, you and your fellows are invaluable to the ship and to our very survival.”

She stepped forward, putting a hand on his forearm, “I don’t know how much I can do about legal rights but perhaps if people knew about what you do? I don’t think many know about the NI techs or what they are put through. I know that I was unaware of any details until I was assigned to Harris’ team.”

The pregnant woman frowned, “If they can have catheters they can certainly find away to have diapers or something similar. The nursery is well stocked of course but they’re a bit small.”

She smiled at the little joke and tilted her head, her dark hair framing her round face, “I promise I will try my best to try to wrangle you and the other techs some dignity.”

Naomi fell silent, thinking of what he said and something struck her, and she looked up, startled, “Memory caches? You mean you can actually read people’s minds as they sleep?”

The touch to his forearm mollified Hob slightly, bringing him down from bursting into another angry rant as he felt the warmth of her fingers through the fabric of his jumpsuit. He wasn’t sure if dignity was possible without established rights, but she was promising to at least try. That was more than anyone had done since that first social worker had talked to him after the surgery, and to the best of his knowledge that social worker was now in stasis until they made planetfall. He would take what he could get.

There was some reluctance to the idea of letting everyone know exactly what NI-techs endured, partly because Harris and the other System Administrators had strongly inferred that the general populace was not to know. Only those with ‘proper authorization’ were allowed into the chambers that housed the NI-tubes. Maybe about a third of the Shift had any real interaction with the NI-techs, and less than a third of that third knew the less savory details. More importantly, it would be humiliating! To let everyone know the degradation the NI-techs felt, what they had to go through just to log in?! But could any change occur if no one outside of the know ever saw it first hand? An idea was forming in his head when she suddenly spoke up.

“The caches? Oh, no, no,” he assured her, “Nothing like. Not really. I don’t understand the process in depth not being one of the cryo-techs, but there’s no neural activity once you’re in stasis. Maybe the odd neuron fires here and there once a month, but that’s all. The memory caches are…” Hob frowned at himself, working on how to explain it. “When someone is first put into stasis, their brains are sort of scanned. Everything is mapped out and stored on a specialized bio-server… thingie. Memories, thoughts, chemical-electro pathways… the works. The cryo-bed then use those cached, er, snapshots to help reactivate the brain when a person is taken out of stasis. The brain is also scanned again when they wake up so the system can do a comparison between the before and after, to check for variances and discrepancies and all that. Those in cold storage until we land would only have one file in their cache, same for First Shifters. Third Shifters would have two, and folks on Second Shift would have three now.”

Hob shrugged, getting bored with the topic. “Theoretically, it’s possible for an NI-tech to access the scans and I guess ‘see’ a person’s thoughts. They don’t want us trying because there’s a small possibility of screwing up the matrix, which might cause problems with thawing that particular person out. Not to mention the whole ‘invasion of privacy’ thing. But if they had let the NI-techs access the caches for the victims who died, I think there’s a chance they might have caught that motherfucker sooner! The scan the stasis beds do automatically upon waking might have recorded a glimpse of his voice or face. Being dead, it’s not like we would have pooched anything. But I think Command is scared that if we do it once, whatever the reason, we’ll do it again.” Hob gave a grim chuckle. “Of course, the computers might also have recorded the person getting killed, and that’s not something I’d want to immerse myself in!”

Hoping his answer satisfied Naomi for now, he brought the conversation back around to the earlier topic. Hob really care about memory caches. NI-techs didn’t have them as the wiring in their head interfered with the scans, and that same wiring preventing their brains from being totally in stasis along with the rest of their bodies… hence the nightmares.

“Look, I have to go see Dr. Brock sooner or later, and I might as well get that done with now. Maybe grab a bite to eat and try to avoid talking to Park if at all possible before my next shift starts.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was obviously not an easy proposition he was making. “Why not come down and see for yourself the process, watch them prep me for going online? You’re part of Harris’s team now, after all, you’ve got the security clearance.”

Naomi listened, half understanding what he was talking about but the words ‘memory cache’ and cryobeds stuck in her head. She forgot about it as he continued, “I would like to see it, even though I’m sure it’s horrible. When is your appointment with Drs. Brock and Park?”

Hob scowled again. “I should probably go see Brock now, get it over with. It takes less time than Park, anway. He just scans my brain, compares it to the readouts from the NI-tubes, and then sends it off to Harris for her crew to pick apart after he makes some judicious notes.” The words were only slightly sardonic. “After that, I’m supposed to go see Park and have my therapy session with him to see how badly I may or may not be going insane.”

And that’s one appointment I am going to blow off as long as I can. “Yeah, so, I’m in love with a computer. So how’s your day going?” Nice guy or no, I’ll either be slapped back into cold storage for however many more years of nightmares or Harris might decide to whip out the knives and the feeding tubes, give herself one last problem to deal with.

Still none of this was Naomi’s fault, and again the cynical NI-tech mellowed before the pregnant woman. “Although, I suppose… I should get something to eat soon. Not like I’m going to have a chance to sleep until after my next watch, anyway.”

Naomi tilted her head, “That is concerning, why would...”

She trailed off, she was going to ask him why he thought he might be going insane when she realized how silly the question was. Who would not be if they were attached to a computer and to the minds of his fellow techs, without privacy and even pushed to indignity like the catheters and possible feeding tubes.

“I’ll walk with you to Dr. Brock’s office, if you’d like,” she smiled at him, “We can discuss what flavors of protein shakes might be available.”

Tongue exploring the inside of his cheek as he debated with himself, Hob looked down at his feet. It was hope. She was hope, and he had become more than a little leery of hope the past few years! Yet like the proverbial moth to a flame, there was no ignoring it. This woman represented the first chance the NI-techs would have in establishing not just their rights but their humanity. It was not something he could easily turn away from. Not just for himself, but for the rest of the techs as well. The current Shift might soldier on well enough, the First Shift seemed to have a grasp on things, but the Second Shift… They had taken a beating. If Hob could start making their lives easier now….

“Alright,” he conceded finally, “but not all the way to the door. I… don’t want it looking like you have to escort me there or anything, okay? No offense.”

(collab. between DotCom and Justric)

Mood significantly improved, Deli half walked, half skipped down the hall, head tilted back, counting the lights in the ceiling as they seemed to blur together. Her shoulder hurt, and the chess set was getting heavy, but Dr. Brock had approved her for work! If she was lucky, Reece and Curmy would never even find out about her, and they could all be friends and act out scenes from that old movie, Ghostbusters, in space. Yeah. That'd be fun.

The young demolisionist was just wondering whether she could make the two smuggled jars of Nütella in her bunk last a whole week when –

“Dios! Lo siento – er, sorry! My fault, wasn’t watching where I was going. Sorry.” She scrambled to her feet, hardly looking at the man she'd just attacked, as she took off after the scattered chess pieces. She was crouched, heaping rooks and pawns into her shirt, when she remembered he was still there.

“Hi!" she said brightly, beaming at the stranger with the weird jewelry on his face. "I’m Deli, who’re you?”

Hob had been lost in his own thoughts. After taking his leave of Naomi a corridor back with a half hearted promise to visit the doctors and get it over with, he had been left to dwell on the possibilities that she had... not promised but implied. Anything had to be better at this rate! If Yuriko of all people was close to breaking, it was a bad sign that could all too easily lead to bad-

The young woman bounced off of his chest and fell to the floor, chess pieces scattering everywhere. Hob rebounded off the wall but managed to remain standing, scowling. He forced himself to take a moment and count mentally to ten, his fingers clutching in barely suppressed anger at the unexpected collision; he day was simply not getting better, however promising his conversation with Naomi seemed to have been. Brushing his hand across the front of his rust colored jumpsuit, the musician glared down at her.

"I'm a wall, apparently." The words were dry and cutting. His eyes then dropped further down to see the remaining chess pieces scattered across the deck of the hallway. With a slight groan, he bent over and snagged a black bishop from beneath his one boot. It was still intact. Tossing it to her lightly, Hob shook his head. "You might want to look elsewhere for your white knight, though, Alice." He doubted she would get the Lewis Carroll reference, but one never knew.

His warning had a would-be creepy carousel version of the words we’re all mad here floating through her head in an instant, but Deli knew better than to voice her thoughts. The edge to his voice was a familiar one, and her smile softened to curiosity as she caught the proffered chess piece and straightened slowly.

"I'll find it later," she said warily, shrugging, then making a face as she felt the beginnings of the inevitable bruising that would start, despite Dr. Brock's careful ministrations. "Are you alright?"

She already knew the answer to that, just like she could guess how this man would probably react, just like she had known Gavin would start with Lopéz. A lifetime of inadvertently pissing people off had made her keenly aware of other's feelings, particularly toward her. Granted, his reaction had not been all that subtle to begin with.

"No," Hob admitted quite candidly, "but that's to be expected." A chewed fingernail tapped the silver disc upon his one temple. "This trip comes with a lot of baggage. Otherwise I wouldn't be on my way to have a colander strapped to my head to see whether or not I have to be slid into another confined space and have my brain scanned. After that, I'm supposed to go see Park and lie down on his couch for a friendly chat. Those meetings either result in the two of us sitting in uncomfortable silence for 45 minutes at a time or with my engaged in primal scream therapy, neither of which helps. In all fairness, neither of those things are your fault or your problem."

"Hob. Neuro-Interface Technician and all around sore loser." He waved his hand at the collection of chess pieces. "You familiar at all with the musical?"

Deli blinked once and had a brief flash of insight into what it might be like to talk to herself. A sudden bark of laughter burst from her lips and she nearly dropped the chess board again as she pressed her hands to her face to contain it.

"Sorry," she said a moment later when she'd regained some control, though she was still chuckling to herself. "You remind me of me. It's weird." She paused to considered this, laughed again, and shrugged before stooping to pick up the rest of the chess pieces.

"Do you mean the musical Chess? Claro. I ran away to the circus with mi mamí once. I didn't get to stay very long, when my dad found out, he made us come back. But we did a French translation of the show for a week Nice. I don't know if that counts. Did the regular version have elephants and spandex?"

She stood again, ramming the spilled pieces into the box with one hand, trying to shake her errant curls into relative submission. She studied this other man - Hob - for a second, then added cautiously, "For what it's worth, the colander isn't all that bad. And Dr. Brock's got Garfield Band-Aids." She made a face. "If you're into that sort of thing."

Hob frowned, his broad face uncertain. "Elephants? And spandex?" The musician actually gave careful thought to this notion before replying, "You know, Rice rewrote the script and order of songs so many times that it wouldn't surprise me, honestly."

That she had laughed and claimed that he reminded her of herself... Hob wasn't quite sure how to take that. Deli seemed rather lively and open, a ball of energy the vibrated with the universe. He had felt like that once upon a time. When he was plugged into the system, he still could feel like that which was what made the whole of his current existence bearable, especially around OLGA. But outside the system? No, not for some time. There was something about her that did remind Hob of the other NI-techs, though, and that thought put a chill down his spine for her. He could only hope that whatever her reasons were for seeing Dr. Brock, it didn't end in her getting fitted for her own set of implants.

"Garfield, huh?" he finally snorted after a moment of contemplative silence. "He got something against Snoopy?"

"That's what I said!" Deli exclaimed, momentarily forgetting herself to lunge well into Hob's personal space. "Oh. Um. Sorry," she added hastily, forcing herself to take a step back..and then a few more for good measure. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd just haul off on her. But Deli had a knack for rubbing raw nerves the wrong way.

In general, the enigmatic Spaniard was capable of befriending anyone who wasn't put off by her Jack-Russell-terrier-on-crack temperament. She liked people, and hated being alone. Even so, it wasn't very often she found people she wanted to talk to, and not just at.

"I told him the same thing," she added after a moment's silence. "About Snoopy, I mean. I don't think Dr. Brock knows I was in a circus." She frowned in earnest thought. "I don't think he'd get it."

She turned back to Hob, now awarding him with the relatively rare sight of unabashed curiosity, all but dissecting his very demeanor as best she could. There was a tension rolling off of him, one steeped in exhaustion and frustration and something else. One she couldn't understand, but really, really wanted to.

"NI-tech," she repeated slowly, now studying the small silver nodes at either temple. "You talk to the ship?" she asked, then, leaning close with a conspiratorial grin. "What's her name? It's a she, right? All ships are girls. I'm going to make her a cozy. For when space gets cold. Colder."

Hob smirked as for the first time in since being taken off the streets, he felt on familiar territory. The woman wasn't too different from some of the more artistic types he would pal around with time to time, the sort who would flit from one project to another in a frenzy and never quite get anything completed. People like that could be wearing after a while. At the moment, she was more like a breath of fresh air! And he didn't think that she would hold off for a moment to actually knit the Copernicus a cozy if she actually had the time and materials. Hob did doubt that she would ever actually complete the task before something shiny caught her eye and her attention, but he would credit her with trying!

"Not so much talk to the ship," he advised dryly but with a smile, "More like the ship uses my brain as its own to think." Hob decided not to go into too much detail about it. It wasn't anything he cared to talk about too much, and there was no telling how much Deli would understand even if he did.

"The ship's... more of an it than a she," came the honest reply, "The computer system doesn't have a name, it's just 'The Copernicus Central Computer." An image came to mind then, a bright eyed teenager full of life and energy and questions and intelligence. Hob's eyes dropped down almost shyly as he thought on that image and his smile began something sweeter and more personable. The musician's voice was soft. "But there is... well I guess you could call her a computer. She's networked into the central system and does a great deal of work for the researchers. I like to think of her as Dr. Brock's daughter. I talk to her a lot.... I like talking to her. And she does have a name, it's... OLGA."

There followed a profound silence as the NI-tech simply stood there and thought on her for a moment, wishing there were some way he could truly explain to OLGA how he was starting to feel about her and wondering if there ever would be anyway for her to reciprocate those feelings. Glancing up, he realized he and Deli were standing in the middle of the corridor in silence; she looked as though she were waiting for him to say something more.

Sticking his hand out in friendship, he smirked again at his own embarrassment, "I'm Hob, by the way. Nice to meet you, Deli.”

Deli made a face, scrunching up her nose like she was smelling burnt cookies and carcinogens.

"I don't think I'd want to share my brain," she said idly. "It'd get too crowded, too quick." She was pretty sure no one else would want to share her brain, either, epilepsy aside, but she didn't add that part.

Neither did she add her personal thoughts on Hob -- Hob and OLGA in particular. She'd loved robotics and engineering as a kid, but software had never been much her forte. She needed more moving parts to occupy her hands while her mind was a hundred different places at once. She had no idea whether it was possible for a computer for be a teenaged girl, or enjoy taking to an errant IT guy with a temper.

But the way Hob talked about her said their friendship was the kind Deli had stopped forming two years ago.

She didn't mention that, either. Hob was...different. Maybe different like her. And if things down on Reece's pod didn't work out, she was going to need an ally, even if friends were out of the picture. She didn't think he'd much appreciate any advice she could offer on the subject.

"Hob," she said instead, as the tech returned to himself. "Yeah, you said. It's nice to meet you, too. It's good she's got someone to talk to. I think I'd get lonely out here all alone." A grin split her face suddenly, and she tilted her head back until she could see the fuzzy inverted version of herself in the faintly reflective surface of the ceiling.

"It's nice to meet you, too, OLGA," she added brightly. "You should tell Hob your favorite color before I try and find any yarn."

She waited for a moment, hoping for an answer, but not really expecting one. Instead, she turned back to the NI-Tech, watching him carefully. She had nowhere on earth (or otherwise) to be, and knew from experience she could talk a person half to death before they could get a word of defense in edgewise. But the tension in the air surrounding her new friend, at least when he wasn't talking about OLGA, was palpable. Smothering, maybe, to anyone else. And it never took Deli long to overstay her welcome.

"Dr. Brock is good at the colander machine," she said abruptly. "I only ever had to use the bigger one once, and that was my fault." She paused to watch him for another moment, then added, "You should go. Sleep, and stuff. I hope Dr. Brock can fix whatever's wrong with you." Green eyes flicked up toward the ceiling. "And maybe she can help, too."

Hob closed his eyes and made a rueful face as he realized he had just introduced himself twice. Then again, there had been a difference. The first time, it was as more like he was naming himself as part of the ship; the second time, the introduction was more natural and warmer as if to affirm that he was actually human. Deli made him want to actually laugh. Not at her, but along with her, to share her natural exuberance! "I don't like sharing my brain either," he admitted candidly to her, "but it's not like I have much of a choice."

"But sleep?" he muttered wryly, "Oh, yeah. Sleep. I think that's a lost cause for now, Deli. Maybe after my next shift. For now, I'll stick with getting my head examined from the inside, skip the outside, and go get some food before they wire me back up again. I don't know that there's any 'fixing' me though. Though... OLGA helps."

He gave her a lopsided grin and stuck out his hand again. "It was nice to meet you, Deli. And it's been the first time in a while since I've said that to anyone! Don't be a stranger, huh?”

Deli nodded and smiled a little sadly.

"Sure," she said. Maybe they'll stick me with you guys if Reece doesn't let me work. But she didn't add that part, either. "I hope you get a chance to relax later, then. Even if they can't fix you." She stared at him for a moment, then turned abruptly to leave. She'd made it all of two steps before stopping and turning back, grinning bright as day, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"You know what?" she said, a genuine question, though she doubted she'd get an answer. "I think you're okay, even not fixed." She paused as if to consider something, then shrugged. "Being fixed...I bet it's really boring. And space is way too big to be bored all the time."

Then she turned away as quickly as though she'd said nothing at all, humming some old song about a lot of red balloons under her breath.

Hob watched her weave her way down the corridor, a grin still on his face. Deli was... a nice change of pace. Too much of her would be wearing, certainly, but as his mother had always preached and practiced, "All things in moderation." Deli was anything BUT moderation! Considering his current circumstances, Hob was just fine with that!

With a sigh, he turned towards Dr. Brock's office door and realized that once more he had to go back to the real world now. Clenching his jaw to fight back the growing aggravation, he raised his hand and knocked.

"Knocking on a space ship door," he mumbled petulantly to himself, "You never saw Captain Kirk knocking on fucking on door aboard the Enterprise."

Her fingers started to ache, wrapped as they were about the ties of the garbage bags she'd filled with so much debris from the Second Shift and Connor's office. Her tablet neatly tucked beneath her arm, Pauline stopped to shift a bag or two to her free hand now, and resumed her walk back through the hangar.

It would have been a lie to say Pauline did not wonder - and worry, just a little - about whatever might be happening in Connor's office this very moment. She was not so vain to believe the entire world revolved about her and her problems, and Ms. Larson... "Sarge?"... No, Abby. Abby certainly seemed a decent enough woman at first glance, a good replacement for Lee Stanford.

Lee... Poor Lee. Pauline truly hoped Abby would not be near so exhausted as her predecessor by the time she finished her Shift. There had been so many new white hairs creeping through Lee’s neat black hai-

Pauline’s pale blue eyes widened with surprise, and then delight, as her thoughts were so sweetly interrupted and the garbage bags easily lifted from her grip by a handsome young man with a brilliant smile who, at first hearing, seemed to be speaking some foreign language or other. But as she listened, hearing and understanding separated by the space of a heartbeat, Pauline realized this really was English – well, for the most part at least. And at the very least, anything that didn’t quite translate, she could pick up quickly enough in context.

“Well thank you so, Mr. Pumphrey!” Her hands suddenly freed, Pauline took back her tablet in one hand, the other reaching to be engulfed by the undeniably strong, work-calloused and surprisingly warm hands of this intriguing man. When she released his hand, the fingers of her free hand fiddled gently with the silver crucifix hanging about her neck for a moment.

“I’m Pauline. Pauline Weber, and I’m the… Well, I just found myself a job here in Hangar Six and I’m not even entirely sure there’s a title that comes with it. A… Training programmer I suppose? And hopefully one day soon, to be nearly as useful about the Copernicus as you obviously are.”

Pauline tilted her head curiously, everything about the smiling man before her putting her instantly at ease, like a warm hearth in winter. “Were you down here helping Connor or Bill to clean up then Mr. Pumphrey? The entire hangar was left a right mess by the Second Shift.”

Her brows knit in obvious disapproval as she nodded knowingly toward the especially stinky garbage bag he’d hefted onto the empty cart. “Well, as you can see, I suppose. And… Honestly, I have just got to ask… “

Pauline’s voice trailed off slowly, suddenly remembering all the lessons in manners her parents had ever instilled in her. Perhaps she might seem too familiar, maybe even rude with her question – but no. No, everything about this man seemed about as wide open and free as the once grand and blue skies over the Great Plains. She was suddenly quite sure, he would not mind the question.

“Where are you from? That accent of yours, the way you talk… “ Pauline laughed softly, a bright tinkling of a giggle that promised she was in no way making fun of him, but truly found Jack Pumphrey a genuine delight. “That’s like no corner of Wyoming state I ever knew!”

"S'pose you could say dat, b'y," Jack grinned as he hedged his bets a little. Letting too many people know about his plans to build a still, however small, was not the greatest of ideas. "Second Shift in our crew did the proper thing, left us wit little enough to set our hands to. So I came down to where yar at to lend a bit of a hand. Dis place is in a right floption, it is, so I says ta meself, 'Jack', I says, and I tell the truth to shame the Devil now, I says, 'Dis place is rake for run, an' wouldn't ya be a better sort to put yar face an' eyes into it than go off and play the Devil at cards?'"

His eyes flickered to her crucifix as he chattered on amenably, a small smile twisting in the corner of his lips. Jack couldn't really recall the last time he'd been to Mass or taken confession. Sometime back before the family had left The Rock, he was sure. He still carried the rosary his grandmother had gotten for him in the pocket of his overalls, right besides the jackknife his father had given him. But the crucifix? That was packed away somewhere, he thought. Around his neck hung a Newfoundland twenty-cent piece from 1885, the very same coin his great-grandfather had placed in his palm just after he was born to make sure that Jack would never be in want or need. That silver coin carried a great deal more meaning to Jack, especially now, and it humbled him to think on it.

The gay laughter burst brightly from his lips when she asked where he was from, the bay ringing with the sound of it. "No harm in asking', duck! I'm an Islander! Talamh an Eisc! Newfoundland! Near Petty Cove Harbour by way of St. John's, which t'ain't the same Petty Harbour, that being a different place in the altogether. You'd need to right squint to find Petty Cove Harbour on any map, nuttin' surer den dat! Family's been there since, oh, pot auger days at the least. Long time. Only things got hard, so we tanned off to Wyoming few years back 'fore everyt'ting went arse over kettle an' ended up on dis boat. An' der it is. Dat's it, b'y."

Still grinning, he gestured up to the silver at her throat. "Bless your cotton socks, glad to see ya still have faith. Some nice piece o' stuff, b'y. Named for St. John's myself, an' dat being named for Saint John the Baptist, you see. But here's me, talkin' the cat off da fish truck! What 'bout yarself? You from Wyoming yarself?"

((Collaboration with Idlehands and Igraine))

Owen Reece watched Pauline go and once the door was shut he turned back to Abby, meeting her deep blue eyes. He cleared his throat and said, "Negligent homicide. Negligent. With explosives. That has me a little concerned, to say the least. I've only spoken with her once and my impression is she's a bit unstable."

He pulled out the tablet and tapped it, "She killed her brother by accident. That shit's got to weigh heavy on her shoulders, how do we know she's mentally fit to do this job?"

"I know she's up for the job, because of the one she did before the Copernicus launched," Abby replied steadily as she settled herself into one of the freshly cleaned office chairs. One booted foot hiked up over a knee, she smiled up into those stunning grey eyes, even as she settled back with an exhausted sigh. Abby was not frustrated with Reece - not in the least. None of this was his fault. On paper, the information he'd been given was certainly concerning - hell, shocking really - even if he should never have had access to Deli's police record in the first place. Hell, she'd be most ill-pleased herself, to wake up to this news and, over all, Reece was really handling the news as well as anyone could expect.

But that didn't make the fires she had to put out in different places on the Copernicus any easier.

"Yes, I imagine her brother's death does weight heavily on her. She'd have to be a sociopath otherwise, and while Deli strikes me as impulsive and easily distracted? The last thing I see is a young woman without a conscience - not that being capable of normal human emotion qualifies her to be on your crew. I get that, Reece."

Abby's fingers flew quickly over her own tablet, pulling up pre-launch files complete with some hazy photographs, dimmed by the sulfurous, poisonous atmosphere brought in the wake of the Kind. "Deli was on the team that helped blow The Mountain." She leaned over her bent leg to hand him her tablet. "A civilian, true, but she still hooked up with our military EOD personnel, Sergeant Harrigan and a few other people you might know. By all accounts, her work was exemplary, and she's more than able to work on a team. Well, to military standards of teamwork?" Abby laughed with a small snort, shaking her head.

"Of course not! But it's fair to say that without Deli and her expertise, we might still be grounded on a dead, poisoned Earth."

He listened and the memory of his own fuck up crept to his mind. His call, his decision to push his chopper too close to a hot landing zone where the wounded were waiting for extraction. Reece knew it was foolish bravado and overconfidence that had made him do it, he was certain he had more skill than the enemy had bullets but he was wrong. Two good friends died because he was wrong and he bore their names on his sleeve covered bicep. Running a hand over his shaggy hair he sighed through his nose.

"I suppose she deserves a chance," he finally said after flipping through the information on Abby's tablet. "She did well on that mission, so she can work under pressure. It's not like we have a surplus of explosives experts aboard the ship either."

Reece handed the tablet back and crossed his arms across his broad chest, "She'll worry me until I see her in action but I'm not a complete asshole, I'll let her prove herself. We all gotta do that anyway, earn the trust of one another and make a cohesive team. I know Bill and he knows me, Conner's growing on me, goofy hair and all. Deli will make it or she won't, time will just tell."

He shifted in his chair, "Now about the girl that was here, Pauline. I've allowed her a place to help out with the training programs, it's a vital bit of work that needs to be kept up. I don't know if it's my place to ask, it ain't really my nature to pry but since she's here, I'd probably better know. Why is she awake?"

"Reece, the very last thing in the world I'd ever call you is a 'complete asshole.' Partial asshole? Mmm... Maybe. But it's not like you wouldn't be in good company." Abby shrugged her shoulders, a sly wink and an impish grin trying to tease away the dark cloud that momentarily crept over his solid, rugged features. She was a combat veteran too, and had seen her own share of fucked up shit; vile, heinous shit that would stick with her to the day she died. Abby had a good idea of the darkness that was creeping through Reece's thoughts as he considered Deli's future.

Still, Reece's agreement - no matter how reluctant - set free a small, soundless sigh of relief as she took her tablet back.

"Thank you. Really, thank you. A chance is the best she could ask for." Abby's deep blue eyes roamed over Reece's handsome but care worn face as he spoke of his team, building that essential trust. This was a good man sitting beside her. A damn good man, no matter how shady the circumstances of when they first met - and a damn good leader too, no matter the monstrous burden of guilt he'd likely shoulder to his grave.

She wasn't entirely prepared for the conversation to turn to Pauline, though she probably should have been. Abby's grin faded as she took a deep breath, nodding her head slowly.

'Fuck.'

But he had to know. As her supervisor, he really needed to know about something like this, for the young woman's sake if nothing else - and Abby trusted Reece. She trusted and respected his judgment like she did few others, no matter his own, deep-seated doubts on that matter.

"Pauline is awake because she's pregnant, Reece," she began matter-of-factly enough before her gaze found his and held it for some moments. "From the briefing this morning, the murders on the Second Shift - do you remember mention of a lone survivor?"

Abby nodded deliberately, her gaze turned meaningfully toward the office door Pauline exited only minutes ago.

Reece breathed out slowly, lowering himself to lean his elbows on his thighs, his hands loosely clasped. "She's her then? Goddamn."

His jaw clenched under his salt and pepper beard. The crime was disgusting and cruel and he was glad the man was dead. That sweet bright girl had been attacked in such a way made him sick but the fact she had survived and fought her way out of nearly literal dead sleep was impressive. She must have an iron spine under the pretty package and his hands rubbed together slowly, glancing at Abby, "And she kept it? That's a hell of a thing."

Owen Reece said no more, what was there to say? The girl had been through hell and what was worse, it was probably going to become known. He pushed himself upright and stood up. "Well, it'll be her business, I won't say anything to her about it if I can help it. But if anything...You know if she needs any accommodations because of her condition, I hope she won't hesitate to ask."

"Got any other bombs for me, Abby?" he grumbled, before flicking his glance at her, "Does the crew know about my time or Bill's?"

Abby let the growl and grouse in Reece's voice pass without so much as a lift of her eyebrow. By this point he had every damned right to be more than a little pissed. All told, he was handling everything pretty well and finally - at least once during this whole conversation - Abby had a reason to give him a little news that resembled "good."

"No Reece, that I do know at the least. Unless you tell them, no one among the crew knows about your record, or Bill's." Abby left off her suspicion that if Reece and Bill weren't already scheduled to come work for Third Shift, under General Lahan's watch, they likely would have been anyway. But this was only speculation on her part anyway; there was no proof, and Reece was already about as angry as she'd ever care to see him.

"So no, no more bombs - not from me at least." Abby regretted the fact she'd only had a pile of shit to lay in Reece's lap. He didn't deserve all this extra stress, just opposite the end of the world. Not in the least.

But it seemed there was a lot of that going around.

"And honestly Reece? I'm glad Pauline wound up down here with you and Connor and Bill, and even Deli. I can't say what accommodations she'll need down the road, beyond clothes a few sizes larger in a few months here, but I'd hope she'd speak up if she needed anything. Yes, she's keeping that baby - and she's got to know she won't be able to keep that 'her business' forever."

Abby rose to her feet, smiling tenderly as she lay a hand gently on Reece's thickly muscled shoulder. "I don't give a good damn what anything looks like 'on paper.' There isn't a better, safer place for that young woman on the Copernicus, than here in Hangar Six, among some of the very best people I know."

Antoine decided he'd whistle while he walked.

Just a simple tune, four beats repeating over and over and over again. Occasionally he'd slow down for a beat or two, or speed up, adding variety whenever the fancy struck him. It was a good way to occupy his stroll through familiar hallways dotted with unfamiliar people. A way to keep his mind focused on... nothing in particular, really. That was the beauty of whistling, he could just... whistle and think of nothing more than that.

Humming was the troublesome one. That was always when he needed to focus on something else, and the noise around was... distracting.

So Antoine focused on focusing on whistling, and little more. Ms. Albright's offices and more had been in somewhat unfamiliar territory, but he was back on the old walks again now. Left at this fork, straight through that one, don't fall for the poorly-worded signs. There was no need to stop and wonder as he moved along, no need to spare a second thought on direction.

Which made the walk nicer still. It meant he could keep sparing thoughts on whistling.

He paid little attention to those passing by, ensuring he avoided crashing into anyone at the very least. A man roughly his age stood out from the rest, briefly, knocking on one of the office doors. Checkup? Concerns? Possibly both, but it wasn't for Antoine to pry, the cryo-tech settling for a grin and a nod as he continued by. His own destination was just a few doors down the hall, no need to knock... just to type, dexterous fingers reaching out in deft strokes to answer the questions posed by the flickering screen.

Password?

'7-9-3-3-0-9-7'

Password accepted... Please input personal ID.

'3-3-6-4'

...ID accepted. Welcome, Antoine Eadoré... Please select reason for entry.

'Inventory check- Cryobed Medication.'

Request logged... Entry accepted.

"Why thank you." Another wide grin accompanied the words as Antoine opened the now-unlocked door. Password, ID, reason, the life of a cryo-tech at work, it seemed. Everything needed to be logged, documented, recorded and re-recorded. As unavoidable as the human element was in the cryo-process, it remained fallible. Records meant you could always find where a mistake had been made, maybe even catch it before it became a problem. It meant a tech always knew who to approach for what information, that the higher-ups knew what was going on without constant meetings and checkups... and that any serious issues could be tracked down and dealt with.

In theory.

Today, it was simply the last task on Antoine's list. Stand amidst the giant tanks that fed this wing of cryo-beds, t get the programs running that would check up on medication levels for each. Everything should be in order, and the beds own monitors would sound alarm if their stores dropped too low, but routine was everything. A tech's primary job was to ensure things ran smoothly. No alarms, no errors, no reason to demand an increase in manufacturing or otherwise tax the fragile balance of the Copernicus ecosystem. Check, double-check and log the data. If you find a problem, fix it, log it, move on. Can't fix it yourself? Call it in, log it, get it fixed, log it. Now that the shift was awake, about and fully out of the hands of the cryo-techs, checking and logging were the jobs Antoine could look forward to for quite some time.

At least the hours were better, now.

Chuckling at the thought, he scanned over the information as the programs spat it out, chuckling some more to fill the air in the absence of whistling. So far so good, nothing too far out of expected. Everything had been refilled after the second shift, and so should all be near full. The measurements were exact, allowing Antoine to easy compare the actual numbers to predicted levels, and spot out the differences...

...Like that one.

"Minor variation, less than half-a-percent. Not recorded during the last checkup..." A few more taps on the monitor dominating his view singled out the drug in question. A 'reanimator' medication, central-nervous-system-stimulant. Worked with a few others to help ensure a sleeper's body functions increased during the waking process, rather than the other way. The program hadn't found the loss in his previous checkup, just before the sleepers were set to awake... which meant...

Chuckling some more -myth or not, mirth proved a wonderful medicine for the mind- Antoine made his way over to the tank that held the drug in question. Most was set back through the wall of the room, only part of it's edge jutting out with all the rest, a ladder leading up to an access panel above. It was that ladder than Antoine crouched beside, going to all fours to peer closely at a spot where it had been welded to the tank.

Aha.

Perhaps the solder job had been rushed, or it was simply past time to be re-worked, but a small trickle of liquid stood out to his keen eyes. Likely it had been there for a while, growing only recently to actually cause a measurable decrease in the tank's level. It would have to be logged and reported, repairs made and the predictions re-evaluated to account for the minor loss.

Nothing horrible, nothing damning, just a small problem with an easy fix. Antoine nodded calmly to himself and stood, retrieving the small bottle that had been placed there before. A little liquid sloshed about inside, hidden quickly as he capped and stashed it in his bag, turning back to the flickering monitor.

Finish the program, log the findings, send an alert about the leak. With that, his job for today was done, and he could actually head to his room for a nap.

Pauline's smile never slipped, and not even once did she give in to the curious furrow of her brow that wanted to quirk just so as Jack Pumphrey spoke. Instead, she deliberately practiced the virtue of patience - one that her quick-thinking mind most lacked - and simply waited the space of a heartbeat while she listened. A hearbeat, a second or two, just long enough to string together the unfamiliar phrases and inflections, the mixtures of words familiar and, as spoken by Jack, utterly and completely foreign.

For Pauline, indulging in that heartbeat, it became something of a game really, piecing this strangely delightful translation together in her thoughts. Besides, Mr. Pumphrey did not seem to be in any particular hurry - quite the opposite actually. So why should she be in such a rush?

"Newfoundland?" The young woman let her arms fall before her, the tablet held in the fingers of both hands as she tried her very best to dredge up the Geography 101 compulsory course she'd been forced to take. When it came to numbers, equations and the physics of matter and motion, Pauline was in her natural element. But in truth, the nuances of the long march of humanity through time and space had never been her strong suit.

She chewed her lip softly for another moment before her face suddenly lit with joy. "Canada! Oh, you're Canadian then?" Pauline was inordinately proud of her recollection, and beamed happily. All her life, and living in Wyoming after all, she had yet to meet a Canadian quite like Jack Pumphrey - but there was always room in her world for the new or strange or wondrous.

Pauline fought the urge to play with the crucifix on her necklace that Jack pointed out, her smile thanking him for the pretty compliment before he moved right on into his own namesake. Saint John? Few people outside the Catholic church referred to the apostle or the prophet as such, and she wondered if, perhaps, Mr. Pumphrey might be among her co-religionists. But since he did not elaborate, she could only guess he might not wish to go on in that vein. Lapsed Catholics were not exactly uncommon when the Earth was whole and healthy. Here aboard the Copernicus, a mere speck of humanity in the vast, cold darkness of space? Well, if the malaise of the Second Shift was anything to go by, faith and hope in the ultimate goodness of the Divine was not exactly overflowing and abundant.

"And for whatever it's worth, you can just keep... Talking... Talking the cat off the fish truck? That would be perfectly fine with me because yes, 'Saint Jack,'" she teased with a wide smile of her own. "Born and bred in Wyoming, and lived there all my life. My father worked at the Mountain and, I'm afraid, there's nothing else terribly interesting to be said about me." And in that moment, Pauline's words were as sincere as they could be.

She turned her head just so then, catching sight of the silver winking at Jack's own throat. No, not a crucifix surely, but something else entirely that caught the reflection of the florescent lights above. "What is that, if I may ask, that you have on your chain? Is it something from Newfoundland, or is it entirely special to Petty Cove Harbor?"

Her question caught him a tad off guard. Glancing down, Jack was surprised to see the top of his overall's zipper had slipped just a bit to expose the t-shirt and the necklace beneath. There was a bit of a chagrined look on his face as Jack realized it had slipped out from beneath his shirt; as a working man, he knew the dangers of wearing such things around power tools and the like. Only pushing a mop as was his lot in life now, Jack really didn't see much threat in wearing it. He fished it out for her to see, dangling it at the end of its worn gold-ish chain. "Oh, dis t'ting here?"

Nearly a century and a half old, the silver coin still held its definition sharp and clear. A young Queen Victoria was profiled on the face side, the words about her head proclaiming her the sovereign of Newfoundland. The opposite side boldly declared '20 CENTS 1885'; a simple but elegant filigree pattern enclosed it. The coin itself was set securely in a plain bracket of what looked to be burnished steel. Fingering it as he did, it was clear that Jack held the curio in near as much esteem as Pauline did her crucifix.

"S'pose ya could be saying it's... Newfoundland. Still our own dominion, back there. Pot auger days, like I says, 'fore we cotched on to the Maple Leaf." The coin twinkled ever so slightly beneath the bay lights. "Silver were mined in Newfoundland. Coin struck there. Common currency for a whiles. Twenty cents, well, lot of money back den. Them what knit me put it in my hand day I were born, see? Means I'll never be on Long Tom's account. So I keeps it wit me, duck, and when we gets from wherever we're to now and comes to New Canaan, there'll be a bit of Newfoundland still with me."

He looked up and gave her a sheepish grin. "Makes me a bit of a mawk, I knows. No better den dem what were born on a raft, not a block of common sense with me head full a' stunned notions. But the worse t'ing ya can have in yar head is nar' t'th, an' between the jigs and the reels, its' tanks to this here coin that some part of Newfoundland's still wit me. Not a bad bit of it, b'y.'

Jack gestured to Pauline's necklace, and his self-conscious smirk became a wide smile. "So ya see, Miss Pauline, you brought God an' Jaysus, an I brings Newfoundland, an' when we hove to come New Canaan, yes-sir-ee b'y, folks'll be all the better for 'em both!"

His handheld beeped at him from his breast pocket, and he frowned as he pulled it free to take a glance. What he saw made his smile a huge, encompassing thing that declared that not only was all right with the universe but that all was about to get better! "Laird-de-thumpin' Jaysys," he murmured in awe. That so much time had passed...

"You'll pardon me, Miss Pauline," he apologized, "I needs to get this baggage down to Recycling. Der's a lady waiting for me, an' as ya knows yar own self, you should ne'er keep a lady tappin' her foot!"

Hob knocked, one-two, against the bulkhead door. A motion caught his eye, and he espied a man roughly his own age who gave him a nod and a grin. Hob returned the nod, at least. Smiles? His smiles were in short supply these days. Dismissing the encounter, he turned back to the door to knock again when his fist froze.

Why was he doing this?

The though struck him out of nowhere, paralyzing him fast as more thoughts followed quickly. No one had specifically ordered him to do see the doctor. It was simply expected. He had been told to, sure, but being told to was... well, it was more of a suggestion, wasn't it? Hob had never seen it in writing that he had to have his skull and nervous system scanned again and again and again, and it wasn't as though Dr. Brock had sent him any sort of reminder. It stood to reason that it must not be all that important if the doctor didn't bother to make a courtesy call! So why should he subject himself to further humiliation? This was something that could be done later, surely! After he had eaten and rested and felt calm! OLGA would understand and Gavin had built her; surely if she would understand Hob's reasoning then he had to as well! All of this only took the faintest few nanoseconds to rationalize in his head.

The handheld communicator in his other hand buzzed with urgency. Frowning, he glanced at it to see it was from Dr. Park. There was a reminder he could have done without! Worse still, the shrink had called him 'Robert', which if anyone had been taking any notes on him whatsoever they would know he didn't like his actual name. 'Robert', 'Bob', 'Rob', 'Robin', or (worse) the dreaded 'Bobby'... None of them sat as well on his tongue and mind as the archaic 'Hob". It was Park's none too subtle reminder that finally settled Hob's doubts and lead him to the only decision that would make him happy at that moment.

Fuck 'em all to hell. I'm hungry, damn it!

Dr. Brock had yet to acknowledge the first knock, and instead of knocking a second time the NI-tech stepped away from the door and hurried towards a side passage. He suppressed a giggle. Part of him at that moment very much wished he had a flaming bag of crap to leave in front of the door. Given his light-hearted and mischievous mood, doing the whole proverbial 'ring the door bell and run away' was good enough for the moment. Hurrying down the side corridor without running, Hob made for a cross passage that would lead him to the cafeteria. Park's message was ignored and Brock would be left to confusion. More importantly, Hob would get something to eat before going back on duty!

Communicator still in hand, he tapped out a quick message to OLGA. Much as he hated conversing with her through devices instead of face to face, Hob felt she should know that he was aiming to misbehave. "Playing hooky. Don't tell Dad!" He kept it short and sweet, resorting to texting just in case anyone passing by might overhear him and get curious as to what he was about. Pocketing the communicator then, Hob stuck his hands in the jumpsuit's hip pockets and made for the dining hall with a bit of a swagger he hadn't felt in some time. Sweetly he began to whistle up one of his favorites, 'When I Get Low, I Get High'. The professional notes within the bouncy melody hung in the air about him as smirked.

He'd pay for this little act of rebellion later, probably. But for right now? The freedom was sweeter than the music.

The meal was over, though the cafeteria was not closed and didn’t ever really close, but the choices were limited to prepared foods and more of the snack variety than the meal variety. She’d had to whip up a second batch of cookies, which thrilled her to no end. She liked bustling about cooking and slipping in to help served and even lending a hand or two at cleaning. She liked to be busy and even more than that she liked to chatter with the people she served. There was something so wonderful about being part of feeding people. It was so integral to life but communal meals in a public place like this was so human, so grounding that it made her feel a little less homesick. Not for home, but for the place they could never be again. But being there, in the stars among fellow humans, doing such a human thing? Well there was some real comfort to be found in that.

Besides, there were cookies. Where there were cookies, could comfort be far off? She’d held back a large portion of the last batch to package up and leave for the stragglers or those who came in between meals. She had just begun to bundle them up when a man walked in whistling. Not just whistling, but whistling well. She had been around music her whole life, had suffered through many years of piano, violin and flute. While she could play adequately, she had no real talent for it. In this she was yet a disappointment. But the lessons and her constant exposure to good music had taught her how to appreciate it and her trained ears caught the skill and the innate talent in the whistling. She looked up to watch the whistler, a smile curving her lips and giving bloom to her dimple. He was wearing a jumpsuit of some sort and smirk around his whistling lips and eyes. She cocked her head, regarding him and liking the set of his jaws and the sense of boyish trouble about him.
She slipped half a dozen cookies on a plate and walked over to him in the quiet, nearly empty cafeteria.

“You look like a man inclined to spoil his dinner.” She said as she handed him the plate.

She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at the clock, Jack should be back in a bit, but she still had time before they “stepped out.” Whatever that was. It wasn’t a bad first day up all in all. She had hard working co-workers, plans for the evening and she hadn’t burned a single cookie even though the oven was unknown. Filed with warm satisfaction she turned back to the man and noted idly the silver discs in his head and wondered if he’d been deaf and had surgery. If so that made his whistling all that much more impressive.

“I’m afraid the grill’s shut down now so the cooked to order stuff is done for a few hours. But we have snacks and things you can heat up yourself, like soup or pasta. Or if you like I can whip you up a sandwich or two.”

She grinned at him, tossing her head to move a bit of dark red hair from her face which revealed her flour covered button of a nose.

Pauline ignored the fact that Jack Pumphrey managed to both praise the Lord and then take his name in vain, all in the same breath. The God she loved was a lot bigger than a little bit of overexcitement after all.

And though she laughed and nodded along with Jack's enthusiasm for his upcoming meet with some young lady or other, Pauline really couldn't say she knew for her 'own self,' what it was like to be kept waiting for a date. She hadn't actually ever been on a date. Well, except for the night of her senior prom, but that didn't really count. Kevin was actually just a good friend whose girlfriend since the 9th grade broke up with him at the last minute, and he'd already paid for the tux and the limo. It probably would have been a good time, but for the fact that he downed way too much of the spiked punch, and wound up drunk-crying on her taffeta-covered shoulder most of the night when his ex showed up with one of their linebackers.

At least when Kevin finally puked, it had been on the sidewalk outside her house, and not on her shoes.

Dating... Well, it wasn't as if there hadn't been any interest from the opposite sex. Pauline wasn't really vain at all, but she also did not believe herself unattractive either. She simply hadn't met a peer who... Well... Who she thought of that way too...

"I like you being a 'bit of a mawk' Mr. Pumphrey," she piped up with a smile, shrugging her shoulders and all the memories away for the moment. "I think the world could use a few more 'mawks,' and a lot more God and Jesus, and Newfoundland too. New Canaan will be better for it all. But no, it probably isn't polite to keep you date waiting." Pauline fought the urge to kiss Jack's cheek before he left, a brotherly gesture that, she imagined, could be taken exactly the wrong way by some people. Best to just stick with the handshake.

"I'm glad we met," she said sincerely, turning to walk back toward the office. Pauline sighed softly when she realized the door was still closed, and that Owen and Abby must still be talking. One corner of her mouth turned downward, the thought of the beautiful blonde woman still chatting up her new boss Owen somehow... Disquieting.

Sunk in this strangely conflicted fugue, Jack's words returned to her, all the happiness he treasured, the legacy of his family... Heck with it. She had no way to know how long Abby and Owen would talk, and she wouldn't be caught dead knocking on the door to see when they'd be done. Pauline turned once more, away from Hangar Six and back out into those narrow hallways.

The path she took was almost as familiar as the one to the gardens, or to the nursery and her dear friend Naomi. And with every step she took, Pauline shed just a little more of her strange, uncharacteristic irritation until, by the time she made it to the cryo bays, she was actually grinning with anticipation. Even if she couldn't really talk with them, family visits were still one of the high points of her day too.

Pauline meandered through these now-familiar aisles for a few moments, until she approached just the lady she'd been looking for. She was a handsome woman, her long strawberry blonde hair falling about her shoulders, framing a lovely ivory-skinned face, lightly dusted with freckles. If she were not sunk deep into cryo-sleep, most anyone would note that, if the two women side-by-side, her daughter had inherited her pale blue eyes as well.

"Hi Mom," Pauline whispered softly, one hand lying lightly over the older woman's sleeping body. "Guess what! I got some good news. I actually got a job...

Hob took the plate with a surprised but pleased expression on his face, eyes lighting up at the sight of the cookies. The plump but pretty redhead was apologetic about the grill being closed, but sounded more than legitimate in her sincerity to make him a sandwich of some kind if he wanted. He could only grin at her, and shake his head.

Lifting one of the cookies off the pile and to his mouth, he took a bite and instantly closed his eyes and leaned as his head back as he groaned in appreciation. When was the last time he'd had cookies of any kind at all? Or any sweets of any sort, for that matter. True, he had occasionally been able to snag the odd candy bar from a vending machine at the Mountain, and the military cooked meals were perfunctory at best even if they did include some sort of desert. But this cookie? It was... it was...

Words were abandoned as the rest of the cookie quickly followed the first bite, then regained as he cried, "Oh, GOD, these are fucking amazing! Chocolate chips. Honest to goodness, fucking, chocolate chips! Screw sandwiches, these are my dinner! Thank you!"

Swiftly, Hob carried the plate as though it were made of the finest porcelain and weighted with gold, and he sat at the nearest table at hand. A second cookie began to vanish in his hunger. It was like eating home, a pit of nostalgia he hadn't realized he had been slowly filled with each moist morsel as it danced on his tongue, caressed his teeth, and slipped down his throat. After everything else since waking, he needed this! It was something wonderful, unlike the horribleness of Harris and the restrictions the NI-techs were forced to labor under. It was something simple, as opposed to his being in love with a computer. It was something joyful, in contrast to the sorrow they carried with them from the Earth.

Mid-way through his second cookie, crumbs on his chin and chocolate on his lips, he looked up at the woman in a pleading desperation. Did she have any idea of what an angel she was to him right now? "Sorry, sorry. I know I'm rude, and I'm sorry, and I hate to ask this but..."

Hob bit his lips as he tried to figure out how best to ask her without offending her. Demands and requests being ignored time after time had taught him to be wary of asking for too much, even when providence provided unexpectedly as it just had. The last thing he wanted to do was to piss off this chipper young woman!

"D-do you have any milk? Please?"

Penny watched him indulgently for a moment, a grin on her round face. She loved to watch someone enjoy her cooking, it was better even than eating it. This man ate her cookies with a primal pleasure she couldn’t help but enjoy. So she allowed herself just a moment to truly enjoy it before she turned away and headed over to a sparkling clean counter.

Such gustatory appreciation should be rewarded, she thought as she pulled down a glass and moved to the beverage dispenser and filled it with creamy white liquid, chilled to the perfect temperature. She was halfway back to him when he began apologizing and got around to asking for the milk she was in the process of carrying him.

“Pish-posh.” She said as she set it down before him. “Not rude at all.” She pushed the glass closer to him and took a step back.

“And I’ll have you know that’s the real stuff, none of that synthesized milk. I save that for cooking since you just cannot convince me there isn’t a taste difference.”

She brushed back her fall of hair with the back of a wrist and flicked a glance at the clock high up on the wall. She had a few more minutes before Jack got there and she’d cleaned just about everything she could.

“My name is Penny, Penny Raffin. I’m mostly the baker round these parts but I do make a fantastic sandwich. Are you certain I can’t get you something? It really is no trouble…”

She was already moving back to the deli-counter and opening up the prep-fridge and seeing all the well organized and labeled containers.

“Let’s see, we have tuna salad, ham, cheese and some Roast beef it looks like…” She rummaged a bit and exclaimed, “Jackpot! A bit of Josey’s pulled pork! I had some for lunch, it was wonderful. Do you want?”

Bill

While Jack busied himself chatting with Pauline and cleaning various tools around the shop, Bill continued attacking the more technical task of getting the drilling gear back into some semblance of shape. His large, blunt fingers moved with surprising dexterity as he disassembled a hydraulic pump for one of the manipulation arms, laying out the hardware in the same pattern he’d removed it so reassembly would be easier. Though the pile of nuts, bolts, and washers might look haphazard to the uninitiated, to Bill the layout made perfect sense; each bolt was placed in its approximate place in relation to the lug it came out of, creating a kind of hardware-only blueprint on the work-bench to the right of the pump itself.

The miner briefly wondered if this was something he should talk to Connor about, then dismissed the idea. The kid was responsible for the ship, Bill was the drill chief. If a drill-hand couldn’t take apart his own rig, he didn’t deserve to run it. While he worked, he half-listened to background chatter from the odd custodian and the pretty lady who’d wandered into his shop. After a few minutes of listening he was able to more-or-less grasp the gist of the Canadian’s odd slang, though it was still a bit of a chore. His plain-spoken mention of a moonshine still, however, was far more interesting than any conversation the two were having now.

Time flew by as it always did when he was working, and Bill kept at it for a good while after the Newfie and Pauline had said their goodbyes and departed. The old drill chief turned in a slow circle, surveying the new state of the shop, and nodded with satisfaction. There was still work to be done, and it would probably take him several days to get everything up to his standards, but it was already looking better than he’d found it. His initial task for the day finished, Bill thought back to his brief conversation with Jack and wandered to another gear rack. His eyes ran over the contents of the shelves as he mentally categorized what he’d need for this little side-task. Quickly and efficiently he began gathering extra hoses, fittings, and pipes that he didn't think he’d need. While he worked he hummed a few bars of Sublime’s “Santeria”, the music of his childhood.

Kids these days don’t respect the classics, he thought idly to himself as he made a neat pile of parts next to an unused pump and an old oil reservoir that looked like it would serve as a fermentation chamber.

The image of freshly-brewed moonshine popped into Bill’s head. A little booze would do wonders to keep up morale. The thought was almost enough to make the surly man smile. Almost.

---

Mike
“Execute!”

As Specialist Sczruba’s voice rang out in the Copernicus’ gymnasium, Mike stepped towards his “meat-dummy”, PFC Decker, as the taller and brawnier Ranger threw out a looping overhand punch. The Marine’s head swayed to the inside as he grasped the oncoming wrist in his left hand, simultaneously pivoting his body and adding his right hand to the grip. He squatted low, pulling Decker forward and onto his back, the strident, piercing voice of his Recon instructor, Gunnery Sergeant Springer, ringing out inside his head.

Bend your knees! Drop your weight...Now explode!

Mike exploded, pulling the soldier up and over his shoulder as he rocketed upwards and slinging him down hard onto the mat. The moment Decker hit the ground, they rolled into the second half of the training exercise; two minutes of full-contact ground fighting. One of the problems of static martial-arts training was the tendency for practitioners to pause after executing a technique. This habit was trained into them by the rigid formality of most martial arts dojos. While this was fine when a man’s only purpose was to earn a new belt or get a shiny trophy, in battle it could get a man killed.

Thus, the second his opponent’s body met the mat, Mike followed him down, driving one gloved fist into the larger man’s jaw. The impact was mitigated somewhat by both his padded sparring helmet and the MMA gloves both men wore, but it was still a ringing blow, thrown full force from a dominant position. Mike struck again, then Decker recovered and answered with a blow of his own, a short and sharp elbow that dislodged the Marine and allowed the Ranger to buck his hips and roll both fighters to one side. After that the melee descended into chaos, with both men trading ferocious punches, elbows, and knees, seeking to either batter their opponent into submission or gain the advantage and lock in a choke.

“TIME!”

Decker halted his fist half an inch from Mike’s face, then instead clapped him on the shoulder and rolled onto his back to catch his breath. Mike did the same, panting, then hauled himself to his feet and began stripping off his gloves, helmet, and other padded sparring gear. He hauled Decker to his feet, while beside them Sullivan and Lopez went through the same post-match routine. The Marine sergeant surveyed his men briefly, pride shining in his eyes, then checked his watch.

“Alright. Good work as always, gents. Lopez, Decker, Sullivan, shower up and change over. Patrol time. Lopez, you’re on Port. Decker, Starboard. Sully, make a tour of the Cryo-bay. I want people to know we’ve got a presence there. I’ll have my radio, so hit me up if you need me.”

The men responded with a series of affirmatives, “Yes Sergeant,” from the soldiers, “Aye Sergeant” from the Marine, then policed up their gear and hustled off. As they left, Mike turned his attention to Sczruba.

“Since you were the odd-man-out today for sparring practice, I want you to work a heavy-bag for twenty minutes, then get a quick three-mile run in. That should make up for it,” he said, stretching out his chest. As the Ranger nodded and turned to his tasks, Mike checked his watch again.

You’ve got plenty of time, Devil, Gunny Springer’s voice bellowed in his head. You cheat your training, you’re only cheatin’ yourself. If you can’t beat your men, you don’t deserve to lead them!

Mike grinned, stretched, then wandered to the pull-up bar. He took a belt down from a peg on the wall, buckled it around his waist, then grabbed a 45-lb plate and hung it from the chains that swung from the rear of the belt so that the weight dangled in front of his thighs. Then, grasping the bar overhead, he began his second set of pullups for the day.

Connor stuck his head cautiously out of the Louretta's open bay door. He looked around and saw no one nearby. Awesome. He noted, trotting down the ramp. Pressed against his right arm was a dirty white rag that was quickly turning red with blood.

In his panic earlier to get out of the engine he had cut himself on a stray piece of metal. He had thought he just banged it so he ignored the pain. He hadn't known he had a giant gash until blood was all over his arm. He'd been turning a wrench, glanced down and saw his arm had looked like it had recently been in a horror movie.

He didn't think his gash was too bad, he cut his hands and fingers on metal all the time. In fact there was a scar on his face from exactly that. So he hadn't panicked or started screaming or anything, just grabbed the cleanest rag he had and carefully crawled back out of the engine.

Connor didn't want to make too big deal about it. He just wanted to disinfect it, wrap it up then get back to work. If anyone saw it they'd probably force him to go to the infirmary to get it thoroughly looked at and he did not want to waste that kind of time. Not to mention he just plain hated anything hospital like and wanted to avoid it as much as possible.

He hastily walked around Louretta to head for his office, he was sure the first aid kit was in there. He stopped seeing his office door closed and frowned. Was Pauline or Reece still in there? Crap if Abby was still in the hangar she'd definitely march him to the infirmary to get poked and prodded at until they decided to stitch up his arm.

Goddamnit, maybe there's a first aid kit in Louretta. He thought, turning around on his heel and heading back for the mining pod. Why didn't he think of that in the first place?

The look upon Hob's face said more than his words could convey as he gratefully accepted the glass. His eyes closed once more as the milk trickled down his throat, both washing away and enhancing the taste of the cookies at the same time. The cold was refreshing. It was a nice contrast to the stale, dry, and recycled air that pumped out of the ship's vents, the circulation system maintaining the same temperature throughout nearly the entire vessel. When Hob set the glass down, it was almost reverently. Better still, the hardware and wiring in his skull was recording the sensation down to the last iota of pleasure. He could relive this moment any time he wished the next time he was logged in, and to think he wouldn't have had this memory to savor (and to share with OLGA) if he hadn't dodged his doctor's appointments!

"The moon shines bright: in such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night."

Shakespeare's words came softly from his lips, his musician's voice setting Lorenzo's lines to a nostalgic tune as they wafted across the cafeteria like smoke. While the theater was not his first choice of art, he'd indulged in it in his time.

The young woman was speaking again. "Pulled pork?" Hob snapped out of his revere and grinned wildly. "My dear, if that sandwich is even half as good, a quarter as good, as those cookies, you're going to have a damn hard time getting me out of this seat!"

***

Jack was running. Not out of fear for being late for his date, but out of the sheer joy that came from the anticipation of it! He had easily wrangled the cart with the garbage to the nearest recycling chute, dumped its contents, pushed it into the nearby corral, and then dashed down the corridor towards his room. More importantly, to the communal bathroom nearby. The molasses was stored in his locker for now, safe as houses. A morning of cleaning up after cryo-sickness and an afternoon scrubbing grease and dirt off of tools? He didn't think he was going to make the best of impressions in smelly and stained overalls! People passing the bathroom could hear the Newfie singing happily... and badly... at the top of his lungs as he scrubbed himself down.

"And it's Old Brown's daughter is a proper sort of girl,
Old Brown's daughter is as fair as any pearl;
I wish I was a Lord Mayor, Marquis or an Earl,
And blow me if I wouldn't marry Old Brown's girl.
Blow me if I wouldn't marry Old Brown's girl."

He was still humming out of tune as he carried himself into his room and picked out his clothing: jeans that hadn't been torn or splattered in paint at any point, a red and black checkered flannel shirt, and black fiddler's cap made of wool to top it all off. Somewhat reluctantly, he traded his work boots for shoes. Normally he only wore the black leather Oxfords for special occasions that boiled down to more or less just weddings and death, but he decided that Penny was worth it.

Checking his comm unit, he grinned again. He would be just in time. Snagging his work ID badge and stuffing it into his back pocket, Jack made his way quickly towards the cafeteria. When he saw Penny helping some poor fella with eyes like a starving dog, he couldn't help but lean agains the doorway and just look at her. "Some gear, oh, yes," he mumbled happily to himself as Penny brushed a stray curl away from her face. "Some gear."

Ah yes, this is exactly what he had been looking for.

Mowzer darted, meandered, sprinted and more through the various hallways of the Copernicus with boundless energy. It had been a while since he had really gotten a good run in, too much time spent napping near his Human and not enough spent on the move. Not that those had been bad times -not at all- but after a while muscles got restless. It was bad enough he had confused wanting to run with wanting to nap, how silly had he become?

No more. The great Bengal took full advantage of his freedom, making his way wherever he pleased, at the speed he pleased.

It was a great game, actually. So many humans seemed eager to play, wherever he found them. They'd stop when he stopped, carefully move towards him, then start running when he finally bolted. Sometimes they came from every direction at once, moving slowly... so slowly... then running! Sprinting off behind him, until finally they fell behind amidst the winding twists and turns of the paths he knew so well.

Such a great game! Mowzer was thoroughly enjoying himself, as if he was back in the giant caves, or wandering about before the strange things came. It had been a very, very long time since he had done something like this, hadn't it? Some part of his mind told him that, even if it didn't seem that way. The same part that told him the strange things had been dangerous, that his Human and the ones before had been good Humans to have. It was a part of his mind he did not understand well, but had learned to trust. It had never steered him wrong yet, and he doubted it ever would. A good part of his mind, truly.

But right now, the only thing he needed to understand was that he needed this run, and everything that happened during it. Around and around he ran, walked and bolted, taking turns and slipping through shortcuts whenever the fancy struck him. It wasn't long before he found himself in a section he had been quite often before: rows of odd things containing many humans.

His Human had spent a lot of time here, looking at the things and making motions Mowzer didn't bother trying to understand. He had simply stayed nearby, napping or walking or shoving his head under his Human's hand. Quieter days, those were, with so few humans moving around, so few to give him food or scritch him behind the ears.

There were few humans here even now, however, a quiet place hiding in his now-loud home. Almost no one at all, it was... boring? Strange, he welcomed the quiet before. Maybe because he still wanted to run? Yes, that might be it. He should get someone here to run with him then, see if- wait- the nice human!

Quite surprised, Mowzer yowled over to the nice human who had provided him shelter from the nasty one before. She was standing near one of the odd things, looking at a human, and he approached slowly. Creeping forwards bit by bit, moving ever closer to the ground, until he was laying down so very close to her. He looked up, calling out again to make sure he had her attention, back legs tensing ever-so-slightly as he convinced her to take just a step closer and then-

He was off! Darting past her like the wind, sprinting away only to pause a little ways down the path. He looked back, called out to her again, then took off once more, making his way with purpose now that he had a game to play.

And this human would play, yes? She was a nice one, so she would follow until he reached his Human's home, yes? He could get scritches from her there, maybe then take a nap. But first... first he needed her to play.

Penny grinned at the hungry, appreciative man and pulled out all the fixings for a sandwich and set to work. She was quick at her work and soon had the roll piled high with the pork and had a small ramekin on the side with sauce for dipping. Pickles, slaw and a small bit of chips filled out the plate in just a matter of moments. Then she was slipping out of the prep area and heading towards the man.

“Here you go, Sir, a sandwich just for you, provided you tell me who it is I am serving.” She smiled and teased but still stood before him, round hip cocked, sandwich held high with an air of immovable expectation about her.

As she waited for a reply she heard something from the doorway of the kitchen and turned to look, her cheeks plumped up with her smile. She froze for a brief second, her brows knitting just a bit before her eyes swept up and down the figure in the doorway. Jack. She blinked and turned halfway towards him, the sandwich still held aloft though it was certainly forgotten, as was the man for whom it was intended.

Stepping out, she hadn’t really known what it meant when he asked her, she hadn’t really thought about it. She’d said yes because he was nice and she liked to listen to him talk and wanted to hear more. She hadn’t considered that he was a man asking her as a woman, she didn’t think that way, not about herself. She thought in terms of friendship, of the service should could and did render to people and the way it made them like and appreciate her.

But he was all cleaned up now, and looking very handsome out of his coveralls. Not that he hadn’t looked much the same in the coveralls, but then he’d been the nice janitor. Now he was the nice man, looking at her like she was a nice woman, not just a nice baker. It changed things, for good she thought but it left her flustered and uncertain and the whole effect was sweetly vulnerable on her round face. She lowered her eyes and bit her lip, her white teeth pressing into the plump flesh.

“Hey Jack.” She said her grin still in place for all that she was scrambling internally to find new footing. She was pleased to see him and her voice said as much. “I like your hat.” And she did, she really liked it. Something about the way it sat on his head, the way it seemed to define so much about him made her toes curl happily in her shoes.

“This is the man-who-is-about-to-get-a-sandwhich-but-has-yet-to-tell-me-his-name.” She pulled her eyes from the grinning Jack with reluctance and looked back at the man in the booth, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dancing. “And this is Jack.”

She cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

"Handsome!"

Pauline startled, one hand to her suddenly pounding heart when the enormous spotted cat yowled up to her. Pale blue eyes widened in surprise, and then delight. It was hard sometimes, talking to her parents through a cold glass screen, pretending that their peacefully sleeping faces could actually hear her, would know or remember a single thing she said to them. It was doubly hard talking to her younger brother, because Seth was… Well, he was Seth, and nothing could be more unnatural to the irrepressible red-headed kid than just lying there, immobile and senseless…

Handsome’s arrival was more than welcome at this moment. But even so -

"You scared the snot out of me!" she laughed, bending down just a little to try to pet him. "You get around quite a bit, don't you Handsome? I don't think Owen's going to appreciate - "

Pauline’s voice trailed off as Handsome scooted away just out of reach of her fingertips, tail twitching madly - though thankfully not with that angry warning growl the miner pod pilot had become so bloodily familiar with. The cat’s back haunches bunched, swayed just a little as he eyeballed Pauline for a second more, and then he launched himself away from her like a shot!

Had she…. Had she just been challenged to a game of tag by a cat?

”HA!” Pauline’s realization came just a split second too late as Handsome bounded away from sight, around a corner and out the cryobay doors, but she sprinted after him anyway, some small, hurting part of her heart eternally grateful for the happy distraction. She raced out into the hallway, turning just in time to see the spotted cat staring at her from around a corner just a little further down, and then disappearing all over again.

Pauline could have cared less for the bewildered stares or the amused cocked eyebrows as she ran – she was just laughing way too hard, and trying [with only limited success] not to skid into the walls at every turn. She laughed even harder when Handsome did a one-eighty in mid-stride, raced back toward her as she pulled up, and then? Then that cat actually lapped her! Ran right around her, and then darted back off on his original trajectory, away from her and back down the hall.

“Oh c’MON!” Pauline laughed loudly, incredulously, “Was that entirely necessary, you shameless show off!?”

But whatever Handsome might have thought of her question, he gave no indication. The enormous cat was off yet again, his two-legged playmate behind him once more by some respectable distance. Pauline very nearly ran over him or – worse yet – might have trod on that magnificent tail, when she turned that last corner, and belatedly realized he had come to a full stop. Only a quick leap and a hard smack of her shoulder into a quarter’s door kept the enormous cat from underfoot.

Handsome acted like he didn’t notice a single ungraceful moment. Rather, he pawed lightly at the door, looking up to her expectantly, but did not yowl again… Oh! Maybe an invitation to sit then? Such a gentleman, the giant cat was!

"All right Handsome, you win," she whispered breathily, her face glowing with a thin sheen of sweat as she slid down the outside of the door to her bottom. Pauline pulled her knees to her chest, and grinned when she realized the cat was curled up next to her where she sat against the door. Her fingers lovingly pet the unbelievably soft fur behind his ears, along his cheeks, and the thick grumbly roar of his purr traveled up her legs, all the way to her belly.

"Connor, what in the world are you doing?"

Abby's head tilted to the side for just a moment, her brow furrowing curiously, her arms crossed over her chest as she regarded the young man with the magnificent blue hair curiously. She had just emerged from her meeting with Reece, not exactly 'happy' but as at ease as she could be about the matters they had to discuss - and she honestly hoped she'd left Reese the same way. Was Reece happy? Abby mused for a moment, and decided the answer was "not likely," but happy would have been a serious stretch anyway.

Yeah, more at ease would simply have to do.

But it'd be nice if Connor was. She watched him pace about for a few moments, one hand clamped tightly over his arm, and... Heading into the mining pod itself?

It wasn't until she caught Connor's eye, that semi-guilty glint, that Abby dropped her arms to her sides and strode across the hangar to the young man. Without so much as a "do you mind if...?" Abby made to lift one of Connor's fingers, and then saw all the crimson saturating the cloth wrapped there.

"Seriously Connor? Seriously?" she asked him, eyes wide with disbelief and good-natured incredulity, disapproval radiating from her like the rays of the sun as she shook her head. "What, just a flesh wound? Going to put a band-aid on that?" Abby tapped against her tablet, and then the ear piece she wore an instant before Connor could protest.

"Major Lane? I'm bringing someone to the infirmary who... Yes, I'm thinking he's going to need stitches... " Abby held up the finger of a free hand, shaking it and shooshing him quickly if he so much as thought of opening his mouth to object.

"Bringing him? Is he that bad off, First Sergeant? Really, just tell me where you're at, I'll come to you - "

Abby laughed before tweaking at Connor's ear with her fingers, as if dragging him to the infirmary by that appendage was really an option. She settled for scowling playfully, and laying her hand heavily on Connor's shoulder with a little shove. "No ma'am, it's not that. He can walk just fine. There's just a small matter of... Reluctance, I suppose, and oh-so-gentle convincing about what does a body good and all."

A woman's soft, warm laughter came back to them over the com. "I'll have everything ready when you two get here, First Sergeant. Just bring him in - but without handcuffs, all right? If he's that bad, I'll come to you."

The First Sergeant shook her head, ice blue eyes narrowed as she looked to Connor, and jerked her toward the exit of Hangar Six with a smug little smile. "No ma'am. That won't be necessary..."

**********

The small, slender woman moved swiftly and efficiently about the infirmary office, washing her hands thoroughly before setting up the waist high, rolling metal tray for the pair enroute. MAJ Devika Lane did not look much like a military officer, her thick black hair pulled back into that fell to the middle of her back, wearing a pair of khakis with her tan Doc Marten boots, a grey sweater beneath her white lab coat. But the nurse practitioner wasn't simply in charge of the Mountain's troop medical clinic anymore, Devika's charges becoming more wide and varied than she could ever, in her wildest imaginings, have believed possible.

She shoved a few alcohol pads into the pocket of her coat, found dressings and antibiotic ointment, a glass bottle of lidocaine and syringes and, of course, sterile packages of single filament surgical thread and the small curved suturing needles.

MAJ Devika Lane had been one of those breathtakingly fortunate people who woke from cryosleep with absolutely no adverse symptoms whatsoever - not, of course, that the quiet, humble woman was the kind to crow about her good fortune.

And not, of course, that what she woke to resembled anything like 'good fortune' at any rate. At this moment, Devika was actually looking forward to treating something that was as normal as sewing in some sutures. Treatment that had not a thing to do, with violating everything she ever held dear and close, in her profession and her practice...