Hob watched the short couple wander out of the cafeteria arm in arm, and a bemused smile crossed his lips. He knew human nature well enough to have suspected this sort of thing. Humanity nearly extinct, the species would begin to look towards replenishing the countless lives lost on earth, and so it was of no surprise to him that people who barely knew each other were already going out on dates and the like. Heck, his boss's new assistant was already pregnant! That certainly hadn't taken long, at least not in the grand scheme of things. There was also the more personal matter of companionship. Who did you turn to when your whole world was just wiped out? Everyone had their sorrows, their stories, their losses; it was highly doubtful that there was a single person aboard, awake or asleep, who did not have a tragic tale to tell. All they had was each other now. One need probably arose as a factor out of the other, Hob pondered as he saw them slip away, although which resulted of which was difficult to tell.

Shaking his head, he turned back towards the full plate of delectable food that Penny had delivered unto him. The saliva formed just looking at it, and his stomach growled a bit in anticipation despite having an appetizer of cookies and milk. Preparing himself for an experience of celestial gastronomic delight, Hob reached for it-

When his communicator went off. Hob closed his eyes in frustration but reached for it all the same. Seeing that the message was from OLGA took away some of the irksomeness at being interrupted, and the message was eagerly read. HIs long fingers quickly tapped back a reply:



Pocketing his handheld back in his breast pocket, he congratulated himself on remembering that fact. The story around Dr. Cartwright and how he discovered how to safely bring someone out of cry-storage was gruesomely macabre and had stuck in his mind. He didn't fully understand the processes behind it, but the cryo-beds and the NI-tubes shared enough similar technology that Hob had paid closer attention than he otherwise would have.

OLGA taken care of for the moment, he began to reach out again to slide a pickle from the side as though he was removing a block from a game of Jenga-

When Doctor Brock slid into the chair across from him. Sighing, Hob leaned back in his chair and glowered at the man. So much for my good humor. "Touching my food may not be good for your health, Doc," he replied sourly. "A very nice young lady took the time to make this for me before she went on a date with a rather bizarre individual, a man who spoke a language that was almost entirely, but not quite wholly, unlike English. I would rather not see her time and effort wasted, so I feel it is my moral imperative to see that her sacrifice not go to waste."

Crossing his arms, Hob regarded Gavin for a split second before speaking again. "I don't suppose you're here because you're hungry, and not because I missed my routine, redundant, and completely un-necessary scan of my brain and nervous system? A scan, I will add, that you forgot to send me a reminder for. So if that is the reason that you're here, it's your fault, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it. If in fact you did forget about the appointment, then I said nothing just now and I recommend the cookies and milk. I will tell you in strictest confidence that I'm also avoiding Park, if that helps. Nothing personal, I just don't feel like dealing with doctors, today. Or security. Just had another level of authority placed over my head, too."

He reached for the mound of meat piled high between the two slices of bread and this time managed to actually pick it up without being interrupted. Hob smirked at Brock as he prepared to eat the sandwich. "Have you talked to OLGA, yet? She gets pretty prickly when you ignore her for too long, you know." Wait, wait... She's crunching data right now that she's not supposed to be.... "Don't be surprised if she doesn't answer right away, I think she was a little miffed."

Well she was certainly recovering well from her unexpected tumble, it seemed concern at her physical well-being had been unnecessary. Though it seemed she hadn't quite gotten over the embarrassment of the whole thing. A sudden widening of her eyes brought curiosity crossing Antoine's own features, though he certainly didn't attempt to pry. Perhaps she was simply one who thought and felt as much with gesture and look as with mind- it certainly wasn't a rare occurrence. 'Hands-on' learners did that the most, didn't they?

Antoine pondered the thought absently, his own grin remaining wide as ever as he quietly noted the series of motions, looks and facial changes that marked her as finally having collected herself. And indeed, her next words were spoken stronger and more surely than before, as she introduced herself...

Oh...

Antoine's own eyes widened at her name, his wide smile falling to a gape of surprised recognition for a moment, before he wrested control of himself once more. Of all the people who could possibly come tumbling through his doorway, Pauline Weber?

It explained why he didn't recognizer her from the shift meeting -though he certainly didn't remember every last person who was there... just the ones with bouncing curly hair or ranking authority. And despite all of the cryo-techs knowing full well how her name was connected to the now-verified rumors of the last shift, she hadn't exactly been one they'd sought out to meet in-person.

Guilt-by-association, or something similar. None of the third-shift techs had any reason to feel ashamed around her. Yet, between the rumors, second-hand-tales and noticeably-tighter security, even Antoine felt a moment of hesitation at her name.

But he couldn't let that control him, what kind of tech, what kind of medic would he be, then? No, his smile returned as sure as ever, though he didn't laugh despite her invitation, opting to shake his head and raise a hand in polite denial. That felt oddly liberating, actually, as if pleading innocent to some preposterous charge. He lowered his hand only to raise it again, feeling better and more control by the moment.

"He fit an english folktale more than a trickster god when I named him, guess he deceived me there." Antoine knelt where he had been standing, dropping down to eye level with Ms. Weber as he followed her gaze to his... Charge fit with 'designated and privileged keeper', right? "And no, he doesn't like being picked up in the least. Coyote might actually fit, cat or canine, I hear he was quite the capricious god, himself. In fact..."

Raising his hand once more, before realizing it wouldn't quite fit with his next words, Antoine leaned forwards, hoping to catch Mowzer's attention as he spoke again.

"Yá'át'ééh!" The words rolled off his tongue and around his teeth with barely a trip or stutter. "Shí 'éí Syi Antoine yinishyé. 'Ádóne'é nishłínígíí 'éí Bellamy Dine'é nishłį Eadoré ’éí bá shíshcíín. Bilagáana ’éí dinééh nishłí. Áłtsé hashké yinishly?"

Antoine paused after he spoke, eyeing Mowzer expectantly... to no avail. The bengal continued to sit and groom, finally looking up only to pass his gaze from Antoine to Ms. Weber, offer them a loud, disapproving meow, then return to his bathing ritual.

"Well then," He did chuckle then, looking back to Ms. Weber before him. "I guess he's not Coyote after all."

(( Translation (roughly) = 'Greetings! My name is Antoine, I am Bellamy born for Eadoré, and in this way I am a white man. Is your name Coyote?' ))

Deli's trip her quarters (or else to find out the measurements of the ship - she'd forgotten which she'd intended to do first) had been forestalled, first by an urgent and frustrating need to remember all of the words from 'One Night In Bangkok', then by the subsequent distraction, in the form of wondering aloud whether she had seen a hot air balloon constellation, which itself was interrupted by a brief stint tracing patterns in the stars, all of which led to reading the Spanish version of 'If You Give a Mouse a Cookie' to her youngest brother, her forehead pressed to the cold rim of his sleeping pod.

She had every intention of making her way up to the bridge (where else could she hope to find all the most useful cozy-making information?), a tattered version of Se Le Das Una Galletita a un Ratón tucked under her arm in place of her father's chess set, when the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies had her making a bee line for the kitchen. The galley. The cantina. Whatever it was called aboard a spaceship-turned-Noah's-Ark.

She saw Dr. Brock duck in just a few moments ahead, and her smile brightened. She hadn't yet gotten to report she would be able to work down with the mining crews, but it was never too early to thank a hero for his good works!

Park beat her to the punch, in a manner of speaking.

He'd taken a quiet tour of the Copernicus in his time since abandoning his office - with a note on the door to page him, should any need, urgent or otherwise - arise. A scholar by trade and necessity, the former pastor had always been keen on exploring new surroundings, particularly when those surroundings were hurtling through otherwise unseen space. That, and it probably wouldn't hurt, or not in the long run, to get his fellow passengers used to his presences. People were never very happy to see him at first, but he found some familiarity often helped to ease that transition. And in any case, he was hungry. To witness the day's briefing, he could assume his waking had been relatively easy, but even so, he'd left off on any sustenance offered earlier, wanting to settle in as soon as possible. It was often people sought him out, but to abandon the few that did could be easily disastrous. Even before the Copernicus, Park had taken to keeping his phone on an accessible to patients, even through many of his Sunday sermons.

Then again, those days were long past.

It was the scent of butter and sugar that ultimately drew him down to the cafeteria, and judging by the muted by echoing voices ringing from the open space, he was not the only one to have visited, even so late after lunch. A good thing, too. He'd been worried he'd missed all the grub.

He was just down the hall when a dark and curly head swung around the corner, ebony ringlets seeming to vibrate with an energy all their own. He recognized the young woman first as she who had been caught unawares by the late after effects of the waking from the pods - or so he quietly chose to believe.

More than that, he recognized young Delilah Beltran from her file. She was the second of the two mandatory visits on his list, and one he had purposely chosen not to reach out to just yet. He'd met her very briefly just before launching. His colleague, Deli's court-ordered psychologist, and the woman who had held his position about the Copernicus until just a few days ago, had introduced him.

His would-be patient had precisely one lime-green tennis shoe in the door when he caught up with her.

"Hello, Deli."

To her credit, her expression didn't change at all, or at least, not in any way he'd have noticed -- if he hadn't been looking for it. Deli turned, beaming, and very intentionally removed herself from the doorway of the galley.

"Oh! Dr. Park. Hi." A pause. A beat.

A challenge.

"What are you doing here?"

Park smiled as graciously as he could manage, thinking to gently usher Deli back toward the cafeteria, though her stance now clearly said she had no intention of going. "Much the same as you, I'd imagine. Grabbing something to eat. I take it this means you're feeling better?"

"I'm feeling fine." She was still smiling, but the words had an edge now. Her curls were no longer bouncing. "I was just leaving."

"Of course," Park said, knowing full well they both knew she was lying. "I hope you've left some of those cookies I'm smelling for me?"

"Sure," Deli said errantly, seeming to loose her self from the temporary paralysis as she squeezed past him and started back down the hallway, only to stop again when she realized he was still watching. "Um. Bye."

Park nodded. "Goodbye, Deli. I look forward to seeing you again."

Deli didn't reply to that, and as Park let himself into the cafeteria, she didn't turn away, either.

Park, for his part, found his way to what seemed to be the only occupied table in the cafeteria -- strangely enough occupied by Gavin Brock, another (albeit much younger) colleague of his; and the 'Robert' to whom he'd just sent a yet-unanswered message. And who was just now speculating on his avoidance of doctors in general.

Park smiled as he neared the two men in question.

"I hope that's not a lasting sentiment," he said brightly, smiling first at Hob, and then Gavin. "Is this seat taken?"

Outside, Deli listened with her back pressed up against the wall, the chill of it raising goosebumps down her bare arms.

She had, for once, no interest in eating or sugar or in new friends, or old ones. In fact, the whole cafeteria suddenly seemed too crowded. The latent throb of a drug-induced migraine was beginning behind her eyes, and anyway, her fingers itched.

A faint grin -- grimace? -- passed briefly over her lips as Deli made her way, still half bouncing, half skipping, back down to the pod hangars. She didn't want to eat (though she would probably dig into that staff of gummy bears in her desk anyway).

She wanted to work.

She wanted to play.

It was wonderful, it was humbling and it rendered her speechless. Her eyes widened in her soft, round face and she was certain her mouth had fallen open at some point but she couldn’t seem to make the effort to close it.

She’d let Jack lead her through the ship with a grin on her face, her eyes dancing with curiosity and merriment as he’d spoken and so gentlemanly helped her over thresholds. She had to admit his admiration was nice, if a little overwhelming. She still felt off kilter by the attention, unused to regard of this sort. But she was fairly certain it was genuine, Jack was just to sweet and genuine himself to be anything but. But she kept feeling like she should look behind her to see who it was he was gazing at with such warmth in his eyes. But there was no one there.

It never once occurred to her that slipping into the mostly deserted belly of a complex and maze-like ship on the arm of a virtual stranger was possibly not a good idea. It never occurred to her that there would be many hours before she was expected anywhere. Was it a matter of naïveté or a good judge of character on her part? She didn’t stop to consider even a moment, she just held the arm of the man who led her deep into the bowels of the ship and looked at everything she saw with an open excitement and delight that was written clear on her round face.

Then they reached their destination. The place that was the culmination of his wonderfully rambling tale and their “stepping out.” She was going to tease him about Gobs and a few other words he’d run by her that she hadn’t been able to puzzle out, but didn’t. She couldn’t. She was too busy being speechless and wowed. Her grip tightened on his arm for a second as if she needed to ground herself in something earthly. And then she let go and stepped further onto the catwalk, looking all around at the blue and the life that moved within it. His few words of science found their way to her ears but lingered there, not penetrating the fog of wonder that held her.

The seal with the prosthetic caught her eye and she watched it as it glided past, its mismatched eyes seeming to know more than they should. It seemed to her that the seal fit this new world more than she, a blend of science and nature. Swimming in the world that kept them all grounded.

She felt so small, in a good way.

A soft little noise slipped from her mouth, a hitch or breath, something that might be a sob. Her open mouth closed and her eyes blinked a few times in rapid succession. If when she spoke her voice trembled, it would be hard to say as she whispered her words with all the reverence one would give to a church.

“Oh, Jack.” She breathed. “It is so beautiful.”

She pressed soft fingers to her lips and stepped back close to him, having a very hard time pulling her eyes from all the blue, all the life.

“Thank you.”

Abigail "Abby" Larson

Abby felt the silent vibration of her tablet tucked into one of the cargo pockets of her ACU pants, and slowed to a semi-trot down the hallway as she finagled it out, and then stopping dead in her booted tracks as she squinted at the screen. She pulled it closer, then back, then closer again, blinking quickly and cursing under her breath for the thousandth time this day, the fact she'd forgotten her reading glasses in her room.

When she realized the message she'd gotten wasn't from the CO of the Copernicus, from one of her squad leaders or from the SRT with an emergency, demand or command of some kind or other, Abby let out a big sigh of relief. She leaned against the hallway wall where she stopped to catch her breath - and then chuckled to herself softly, a sheepish grin widening slowly as her fingers flew over the screen's digital keyboard.

Abby bit her lip softly, still smiling as she worked her lower lip carefully between her teeth. Gavin's apology was just as sincere and classic as he, and she did not think twice about sending back one of her own. She might have made some semi-true "medical emergency" excuse, but of course she did not, replying to Gavin with genuine reassurance she'd gotten yanked as off course this morning as he, but would be there in a few moments.

It never once occurred to Abby, she should take some womanly, wily advantage of the situation, and use the leverage in Gavin's apology to toy with him as a more canny woman might, pouting so prettily to elicit more fawning apologies and flattery, or feigning a put-upon pique to instantly manipulate a man's favor. "That woman" was exactly the type who caught her ex-husband Ned's eye, again and again and again; the contriving, sultry and enigmatic femme fatale who could twist a man ten different ways all at once - and then make him thank her for the privilege.

"That woman" though, was certainly not Abby Larson, and never had been.

Message sent, she simply slid the tablet back into her cargo pocket and broke into a quick walk. A thoughtful, slightly playful smile on her face as she made her way to the dining facility. Abby slowed just a little as she sauntered through the propped open double doors, into the great room with the magnificently blue sky simulation arching overhead. The dining room was mainly empty, which made finding Gavin all the easier.

Well, easier yes, but... Abby sighed through her nose, the smile dimming only by miniscule degrees as she willed it to remain exactly where it was. Swiftly she maneuvered her way through the great room, around chairs and tables to this unexpected gathering of company, barely noting the most luscious scent of something very yummy and lovingly baked. The aroma was absolutely wonderful of course, but suddenly Abby was not feeling near so ravenous as she had been.

No matter - by the time she made it to the oddly mismatched threesome gathered about one table, no one would have ever guessed there was so much as a twinge of disappointment, that the unexpected, flippantly-labeled 'date' with Gavin was, by all appearances, really not.

She approached the table from behind her friend, laying a hand on his shoulder before leaning around to catch Gavin's eye. "Hey there," she quipped with a wink, "we made it! Yeah us!" Abby let her hand remain just where it lay before turning her attentions to the other two gentleman seated at the small table.

"Dr. Park," Abby said with a polite nod to the elder man. She recognized the psychiatrist and pastor from his identification photograph, and from the moment of introduction at the morning Third Shift Briefing. She could only assume he might remember her as well, being that such a talent for faces and names should certainly be located somewhere in the man's vast skill set. "It's good to finally meet you face-to-face."

"Aaaand... Mr... Bach, yes?" Abby said, her brow furrowed for a moment as she recalled the name of the NI-tech before her with a smile. Seeing the man up here in the dining facility was surprising, to be sure, and in such company as he found himself? Even more so. But there were only seventeen still functional members of his priceless "kind" left, as General Lahan had taken it upon himself to personally remind her, and only three awake for this shift as matters stood. Learning the face and name of Robert "Hob" Bach and his compatriots, had been among her very first duties on awakening . But she did not have to startle the obviously discomfited man any further by letting him believe official scrutiny was far more intense than even he might imagine.

"I'd shake your hand of course," she bantered, one eyebrow lifted playfully before she glanced down to his plate. "But I bet you wouldn't thank me much, for keeping you from that pulled pork even a second longer."

Hob's smirk faded as he heard the sound of an older man's voice. Glancing up without moving his head, the NI-tech suppressed a groan. By the description he had of the man and by the man's reference to doctors, Hob quickly deduced exactly who it was that was sitting down with them. His eyes flickered back and forth between the two doctors as though debating the validity of the whole flight or fight response thing and which option might be called for in this situation. Grimacing, he set the sandwich down and gestured disgustedly towards the one of the two remaining chairs at the table, bitingly replying with, "A 'lasting' sentiment? No, not at all! After all, I have to die someday, so hardly lasting. Unless, of course, doctors find a way to keep me alive and conscious indefinitely against my will to power experimental technology. An infinite existence of migraines, nightmares, and sleep paralysis might make that sentiment 'lasting', I think."

Pausing to rub at his face and eyes, Hob clenched his jaw as he debated the likelihood that both the doctors he had been avoiding should just happen to show up in the cafeteria as he was sitting down to lunch. His brain gave him an answer that he didn't care for: not bloody likely. True, it was around lunch time and there was only one cafeteria. Only for both Brock and Park to come in less than a minute apart? And decide to sit down with the NI-tech who had been dodging his appointments with them? It was too much.

"Look," he sighed as he dropped his hands away from his face, "I'm sure you're a great guy, Doctor... Reverend... Park. You probably feed stray kittens and knit mittens for orphans in your spare time and everything. And, Doc, you're OLGA's father, so I'll give you some grace even if you've ignored her since waking up. But right now? I'm not in the mood to have my head scanned, my nervous system mapped, my thoughts analyzed, or my feelings explored! Bad enough my urine is sampled, my stool is scrutinized, my blood filtered, my flesh stuck about with sugar gel for monitoring leads, my schedule fucked with, my humanity ignored, and my personal wishes disregarded in the favor of making everyone else happy and justified in their jobs. I know my job is necessary, thank you, I know that my contribution and those of my fellow NI-techs are critical to the survival of the human race and that it is only because of our unique talents and, dare I say, God given gifts that we can do the things we do. That doesn't change the fact that-"

Motion behind Gavin Brock's back suddenly caught his attention, causing Hob to instantly stop and clamp his mouth shut with lips pressed firmly closed. Abigail Larson, chief of security for this Shift and with giant balls of brass. She was no bully like Harris, he felt, but nor did he for one moment believe that Larson would hesitate to do what she regarded as her duty. Despite her pleasant greetings, Hob sensed there was some tension behind her words, as though there was some minor unpleasant consideration that had escaped her notice and that she now had to deal with. Brock and Park choosing to sit with him out of nowhere might be chalked up to coincidence. Might Now that she was there, it was all too credulous a thing to assume they had purposely come for him all at once.

"Hob," he replied flatly. "My name is Hob. No one calls me 'Mr. Bach' or... 'Robert'." The distaste of the names nearly dripped off of the tongue.

"I'm sorry, I seem to have lost my appetite." And he had. As much as Hob had been looking forward to devouring the masterpiece that Penny had conjured up for him, the idea of remaining in the cafeteria any longer simply did not appeal to him. His stomach felt queasy, and he swore that he could feel each and every one of the thousands of near microscopic wires that had been threaded through his skull and brain. Sliding the sandwich with all of its trimmings towards Park, the NI-tech rose frostily. "You'll forgive me, I'm sure. I have to be on duty shortly."

With that, he rose and slowly left with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed. Running was out. Not because it wasn't dignified or because it could be seen as submissive, but because running attracted attention. If he ran, they might follow. Or send someone after him. Or worse. Hob knew it was rude to not really let either Brock or Park have their say to him, only he found that he really didn't care! He needed to be away from authority figures as quickly as possible. Hob wanted to be alone for a while, or at least in the company of people like Penny or that Jack fellow she went off with or Deli; they were folks who were normal, for a given value of normal anyways, and not people who had control over his life and body.

He paused in the hallway to examine his handheld, seeing he still had a little less than an hour before he had to report for duty. Feeling that it was pointless to try and get a nap, Hob trudged slowly towards his assigned NI-chamber by the most meandering route he could find.

Devika Wilkes-Lane

"Was there some other language but English, Lieutenant Harris, that passed my lips? Because if not, I honestly have no idea why you are still standing here with your mouth hanging open... Unless it's a matter of sudden deafness?"

All five feet nothing of Major Devika Wilkes-Lane smiled placidly up into the reddening face of the red-haired First Lieutenant Harris, one of the nominally promoted "senior technicians" for the NI teams. Somewhere in the back of Devika's thoughts, she did wonder if the pale skin of the woman's face was turning crimson for profound embarrassment, or towering rage - or maybe just the effort to keep her hands still at her sides and not deck the little woman in front of her?

The major smiled widely at the thought, genuinely hoping it was the latter.

"If it's deafness, well I suppose you might also. Try. To. Read. My. Lips?" Devika enunciated loudly and slowly, enjoying this way too much. She did not doubt, not even for a second, that the time would come - likely soon - she would regret indulging her outrage like she did right now.

But this moment had been coming from the instant she woke to this little house of horrors known as the NI Unit, an affront to every medical and nursing ethic she held dear. That quick visit with the magnificently blue-haired Connor Douglass, the realization of how deeply the devious fingers of these amoral, power-drunk so-called "researchers" had gone, shook her to her core. Devika was horrified, sickened - and pissed. Really, really pissed - at her own helplessness to end this abominable practice, to intervene to set a damn thing right. Everything had gone much too far, and it was far too late to un-ring the bell that kept the Copernicus from being sucked into an event horizon, or re-entering normal space in the middle of a red giant star.

But that did not mean she wouldn't be good and damned, if this status quo was going to stand. Devika. "Little Goddess" in Sanskrit, a gift of a name from her adoptive parents, something the woman who birthed the too small, club-footed girl child had never bothered to provide. It was a precious gift this slender slip of a woman had fought tooth and nail to honor, all her life.

Harris sputtered for a moment, her mouth open but without the ability to spit out a single, sensible syllable. She was acutely aware of the junior techs nearby, eyes wide with genuine surprise and maybe just a little satisfaction, seeing her forced to eat crow - feathers and all - shoved down her throat by a woman who barely cleared her shoulder. The Port Watch was still on duty in their tubes, and the new medical officer for Third Shift was not, it seemed, near so pliable as her predecessor, nor willing to simply turn a blind eye so long as he could be left alone to drink his contraband stash of Jim Beam and screw whatever woman would take his credits. Changes. This loud-mouthed pain-in-the-ass midget thought she was going to make changes in a system that wasn't broken - or at least, wasn't that broken!?

Finally, Harris managed to clear her throat and spat out, something. "Everything we do is... It's all signed and approved by the Copernicus commander - "

"Does he have a medical degree? Is General Lahan a licensed registered nurse? Has he so much as a basic CPR certification, to your knowledge?"

"Of course not - "

"I won't tell General Lahan how to drive the Copernicus from here to New Canaan, and he won't tell me how to keep the most valuable people aboard this ship alive and healthy." Whether that was true or not, Devika hadn't a clue, but it sure the hell sounded good - especially delivered with all the confidence she'd ever faked in her life.

"But the catheters - "

"Are a health hazard, and should have never been used on such a frequent basis - particularly by people who wouldn't know a sterile field from a soccer field, without the knowledge or training on maintenance, cleansing or insertion." Devika tilted her head just so, eyes widening just enough to emphasize the fact that Lieutenant Harris and her ilk were exactly the people to whom she referred.

"Catheters are a direct route to the body for infections of all types, bacterial, viral, fungal - and the practice will end. Now. The moment the Port Watch wakes, and the Starboard Watch resumes their duty. We've already lost two of these NI technicians - and did you know, that an infection, even a UTI, can have a direct impact on brain function Lieutenant Harris?" Devika lifted an eyebrow, stared at the woman for just a moment, and then continued on.

"No, of course you didn't. But I will say this again - these people are more valuable than you, or me, or any single person standing in this room right now. Without them and the work they do, performing feats you and I cannot so much as dream of, we'd all be dead. Precious, Lieutenant Harris - worth their weight in platinum, each and every one. There will be no more catheters."

"Engineering is going to - "

"Engineering is going to do their damned jobs, and clean, tune up, fix and fiddle with anything I tell them to," Devika said softly, coolly, matching every rise of Lieutenant Harris' voice with a corresponding drop in her own.

"And after that? After that, you and I are going to go have a small chat with the Psych department as well. The NI technicians cannot be expected to perform optimally without at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep a day. You want to talk to me about these ghosts in the machines, these echoes of echoes, of dreams even? What the hell else do you expect, when these people are routinely, daily, deprived of a proper rest, of REM sleep? Did you know, that was once a method of torture Lieutenant Harris? Sleep deprivation?"

Devika sighed softly, almost indulgently, her head tilted just so as she looked up into that red, stunned and speechless face, smiling so sweetly, as if she had all the patience of a bloody saint.

"No, of course you didn't."

Pauline Weber

He knew and, it seemed, that knowledge momentarily struck him dumb. Pauline swallowed back the sudden squirming bile that wanted to rise up in the back of her throat before she let out a long, slow breath, deliberately releasing the tension she could do nothing about and had not a single remedy for anyway, as her gaze returned to Hands- ... No, Mowzer.

And no matter. When Antoine knelt beside her, eye-to-eye, Pauline could read it in his face, written as clearly as if he'd scrawled the promise across his forehead in India ink: he meant her no harm, this strangely intent, intense and undeniably good-looking young man. But when he finally addressed his wayward cat, Pauline's jaw dropped in undiluted amazement.

"What in the... " Pauline's head tilted just so, her mouth falling open as he spoke - and then she began to laugh. Obviously, the young woman had not the least idea what Antoine had said, beyond recognizing mention of his name somewhere, but there was no doubt in her mind that whatever he had said, was certainly a language of some type or other... No! Now wait just a moment here! Coyote? What Frenchman in this world, just casually let the language of a Native American tribe trip so lightly off his tongue? Had he... Had he really just... ?

"Antoine," she asked incredulously, still smiling though her brow was furrowed with naked curiosity, "What language is... Was that some Native American tongue? Honestly?" Pauline was confused - pleasantly confused at that, but confused nonetheless. "What do you do aboard the Copernicus during Third Shift? I have really got to know!"

Pauline laughed softly once more, shaking her head slowly as she took a deep breath, glancing toward Mowzer-who-was-not-Coyote apparently, utterly unimpressed with his human keeper's shockingly good linguistic display. She looked back to Antoine once more, the expression on her face becoming far more thoughtful. Considerate. The gaze she gave the young man beside her now had lost some of its lightness, the pale blue slowly replaced with something far more like a steely grey. She was, of course, the very same woman who had just played tagged with a cat, who tossed all dignity to the winds as she toppled into a young man's room and babble near incoherently at the unexpected sight of his handsome face.

She was also the very same woman who fought for her life with the ferocity of a tigress, whose furious screams had reverberated through the cryobay until the MPs came running, her would-be murderer bruised and bleeding at the hands of a half-conscious woman maddened by pain and terror and fury. Pauline was many things, some of them not near so good as her parents believed, but God Himself knew that a coward was not one of them.

Pauline leaned forward just a little, catching Antoine's gaze with her own and holding it there as she spoke. "And I would really like to hear Antoine, how it is you know my name."

To say that Gavin was taken aback by Hob’s reaction would have been an understatement. The simmering venom in the NI-tech’s accusations and admonishments had been wholly unexpected, and the perpetually positive man that Gavin was at first at a loss. In short enough order however, Gavin found his expression moving from surprise to one of annoyed dismissal.

Leaning back in his chair, Gavin regarded Hob with a raised brow, a breathy snort, and a pair of crossed arms. The mention of the man’s brain scan—an appointment that Gavin himself had no clue about—and the suggestion that he was wasting Hob’s time, while at the same instance somehow infringing upon his personal rights, did not sit well with Gavin. The NI-techs often received medical evaluations, and Gavin knew that they were required to undergo scans soon after beginning their duty shifts. But, as far as Hob having an appointment with him earlier in the morning, Gavin was sure that no such event had been on his calendar.

Hob’s comment about OLGA, and the thinly veiled rebuke about Gavin not visiting his AI ‘daughter’ upon waking up, was not something that Gavin took lightly. An appropriate—and tactfully metered—retort was rattling around in Gavin’s mind when Dr. Park arrived seemingly from out of nowhere, and offered a comment of his own. The psychologist’s arrival was a welcome relief, and Gavin motioned for his colleague to join them.

“Who knew we were such pariahs feasting at humanity’s soft underbelly, eh Dr. Park?” Gavin said with an exasperated smirk after Hob had completed his rant. Gavin was working himself up for a tirade of his own, when fate once again saved him from himself.

A touch at his shoulder, swiftly accompanied by the shining face of Abigail Larson, immediately drew Gavin’s face into a smile.

At Abby’s greeting, and cheerful praise that they had each made it to the cafeteria, Gavin winked good-naturedly. “Your timing is impeccable,” Gavin whispered to her.

Gavin lapsed into silence, and watched as Abby greeted Dr. Park, and introduced herself to Hob. The NI-tech’s blustery exit elicited a profound eye-roll from Gavin, but he refrained from chasing the man with any further words. A voice in the back of Gavin’s mind told him that creating more of a scene served no one, and would certainly make matters worse for the relationships of the medical staff and the NI-techs. Humanity had to be one, big, happy family. Perhaps a dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless.

Once Hob had gone, Gavin shrugged, smiled, and moved his gaze between Abby and Dr. Park.

“Well,” Gavin offered with a sideways grin, “that was pleasant. Lunch?”

Jack's smile grew just a touch broader at her wonder and her thanks, his real reward being just to watch her face light up in delight. He'd had a bit of a sense that Penny might be the sort to appreciate nature. Even if nothing else happened from that point on, even if she said she was tired and wanted to have a lie down or even had another date to go on, Jack would could this date as being successful.

"Glad you like it," he admitted a little sheepishly. "I were in a bit of a hobble about it. Mind you, after dis don't know rightly how t' top it!"

That was actually a bit of a lie. There were plenty of other places that were just as amazing in his opinion, or at least near enough to it that it made no difference, it was just that this place was his favorite.

Jack had no idea what sort of sea life might exist in New Canaan nor how those creatures they carried with them now would fit in to the strange ecosystem if at all! There was one place though that he loved above all others, one place he had deeply missed after his family had moved to Wyoming - the sea. The ship's central water supply and aquatic wasn't perfect. Not by a long shot! The smell wasn't quite right, for one thing. The air, while moist and baited with the aroma of fish, felt too still and stifled, not at all like the roaring winds or gentle breezes that had pushed his catboat along the coast. No sea salt spray splashed in his face and made him grin madly as the boat skipped over the waves. There was no rocky shore or pier for him to stand upon, no place here where Jack could close his eyes and listen to the sounds of the waves, wind, gulls, and harbor buoys. It was, however, the closest thing he could get to that gave him anywhere near the same feeling of being home. And for that, he would treasure it always as they journeyed to their new home.

He watched a number of cod flash by. Jack grinned at them like they were old friends passing by before he glanced back over at Penny. "You know? Soon as I sees you in dat kitchen, I t'tinks to m'self, Jack? Jack, I says. Dis woman here, being you, is some gear, b'y. An' if you don't ask her out, den yar're stunned something fierce. An' if you don't ask her what it is she likes t' put a hand to, or w'er' or not she likes cloggin' or scuffin', or who knits her, or if likes de fall of de year better dan de frost 'n' snow? Den you might as well been born on a raft, Jack, m'lad."

Very gently, surprisingly gently for a man with such calloused fingers and palms, Jack reached out with one hand and touched the back of Penny's own. It was just a brush, the lightest of touches. There was no denying, however, that he was asking for permission to hold her hand. "So you tells me all 'bout you, Duck... an' I'll shame the devil an' tells you 'bout me... 'n' maybe 'tween de jigs 'n' de reels we learn sumptin' new. Fair gunshot still to New Canaan, after all. Worse ways t' spend it den wit' a pretty face like you, I s'pose, b'y. Best kind, really."

Oh, maybe that was a mistake.

Antoine had meant to entertain Ms. Weber with his little speech, and indeed it seemed he had succeeded. Her laughter was a set of chiming bells tolling the hour of merriment, and he was quite glad indeed to set them ringing. It certainly seemed she was over her initial embarrassment and nervousness, which was only a good thing. And he was rather enjoying their conversation so far as well.

Someone who tumbled back into your room without warning tended to leave an impression... And Ms. Weber was the kind of lady to leave an impression even without the help.

But. Leading the conversation towards his current position aboard the Copernicus was not something he had wanted to do. Maybe it was a bad thing to try and avoid topics you knew might cause problems. Maybe it was only making things worse to try and hide something like that from a woman who had gone through the things she had. But... well... his concern really wasn't based on right and wrong. What he should do, what he shouldn't do, what would make things better or make things worse. Knowing the answers to those didn't change the reluctance, the pause that kept him from grinning as wide as he should.

And it seemed she had caught on -or maybe noticed from before- her gaze growing harder and locking onto him with no hope of letting go. He next request worked to force a nervous chuckle from Antoine's lips, something he forced down with all the will he could muster.

A hand did raise itself, nevertheless, running a pair of fingers up to rub behind his ear. The motion was... soothing, actually, helping the trapped cryo-tech regain the composure he needed to respond. He continued the motion, holding on to the sensation as he spoke.

"Well I can knock down two birds with one stone, there." His smile didn't fade, it would take far more to do that. He wasn't guilty of anything, himself, nothing major, nothing connected to her. It was only the concern of how his profession was connected to her pain. "My knack at languages is one reason I was offered to serve as a medical technician in charge of managing the cryo-beds..."

He rubbed those fingers behind his ear again, eyes remaining fixed on hers, as he waited to see how she would react to his words.

"...And that's where I heard your name. The techs of the second shift were tight-lipped, but enough slipped out to spread rumors of what had happened... and to whom."

Hob wandered aimlessly for some time about the hallways of the Copernicus, pausing only long enough to defy regulations one more time by turning off his handheld. He was in deep enough of a funk that talking to anyone was a bad idea. There was a faint regret at going off on Dr. Brock, the man wasn't a bad guy by any means. Only there had been too many authority figures all at once for the NI-tech to cope with, too many people who had control over his body and life regardless of any protests he might have had. Less than a day out of stasis and all of the anger at his situation had come bubbling back. It was just as fresh as when Hob had been frozen, along with the added zest of six years worth of nightmares sprinkled on top like sprinkles on a cupcake. Back on earth, Hob had not been overly anti-authoritarian. Now? He grimly pondered how far he might go if they pushed too much. Open airlocks in select areas? Back the plumbing up? Nothing horrible or devastating but a definite show of force that would... that would...

... that would simply be more detrimental in the long run. Hob's heart felt heavy in his chest as his mind chewed over the inevitable outcome once more. It was hardly as if this had been the first time such thoughts had come to mind. An act of rebellion such as he was pondering would only make things worse for the remaining NI-techs, not to mention for himself if and when they finally yanked him out of the system! Command had to be certainly aware of what damage a rouge NI-tech could do and no doubt had back-ups plans and emergency procedures in place already, and it was probably why they spent a great deal of time keeping the dis-satisfied human interfaces repressed. The only way for them to keep control of the techs, Hob suspected, was either to keep them beaten down and suppressed or to pamper them. In a ship where luxuries were limited, the former option seemed to have been the one preferred. After all, there was a great shortage of carrots. The military, on the other hand, had a fair share of sticks and the knowledge and will to use them.

The only possible way Hob could see any protest succeeding would be if all the NI-techs took a stand at once, occupying all of the NI-tubes that they could with the others guarding them. Unified, Command would have to bend! What choice would they have?! And that, Hob felt, was the real reason that Harris and everyone in the chain above her kept the NI-techs separated. Bringing them out all at once would solve a great many manpower problems! They could put a forth person in on each shift or, better still, have rotating schedules and shifts that allowed for crossover! Then the NI-techs wouldn't have to be logged in for more than four hours at a time as Psyche was now requiring, and the they could get a decent amount of time for sleep! Hob could see it in his mind so clearly! Fours in, four hours out to deal with various medical exams and follow-ups and debriefings, four hours in again, and then twelve hours downtime! But thawing out all of the available techs would be too dangerous from the military's point of view. The threat of the abused (and basically enslaved) human processors rising up was too great.

Feeling defeated, Hob approached the door to his NI-chamber. No doubt his handlers were already inside, preparing everything for his arrival. After staring at the door for several moments, the disaffected artist moved to the side and slide down to sit with his back against the wall. He wasn't all that sure he could bring himself to report for duty. Closing his eyes, he rested his elbows on his knees and let out a long slow breath.

What no one seemed to understand, he mused, was that as humiliating as being stripped down and wired up to be inserted like a spark plug, it was being taken out of the system that truly hurt. Who would ever willingly want to be yanked out of Heaven and tossed back into Hell even once, not to mention over and over and over again? In the end, that was the hardest part to deal with.

Connor scratched at the dried blood on his arm to try and get it to flake off. He’d already been stopped five times by people he passed in the halls asking about the blood. It wasn’t really annoying so much as it was embarrassing.

He needed to wash it off and the only place he knew where to do that was the communial bathrooms in his bunk area. So he was taking a bit of a round about route to get there. At least it should have been a short cut.

As well as he had memorized the hallways of the ship he still managed to get himself turned around with how much everything looked alike. It was embarrassing and frustrating because he was wandering the hallways like a dumbass rather than working. Reece was bound to notice he was gone and just like that, he’d probably lose any good grace the man had given him.

Connor stopped scratching and sighed, letting his arms drop to the side for a moment before swallowing his pride and pulling out his tablet. He pulled up the map for the ship and a small red dot appeared to signify where he was in the ship. He stood for a few moments, taking note of the fastest route to get back to the hangar and what turns he needed to take.

Nodding in satisfaction he put his tablet away and resumed walking. He turned the corner to one hallway and blinked seeing someone in a jumpsuit sitting on the ground and looking like a kicked puppy.

Frowning in concern he abandoned his original course and trotted over to the man. As he got closer he recognized him as the Ni-Tech he’d had a less than stellar conversation with. He grimaced with the realization. He had been an ass to the guy, he probably didn’t want to see him if he was looking so down.

But his conscience wouldn’t let him just pass by the guy like he wasn’t there, that was just wrong. Besides he could apologize properly now for earlier.

“Um, hey,” He called out when he was close, stopping within arms length of the man. “Are you okay?” He asked with a worried crease of his eyebrows.

(Collab. between KuroTenshi and Justric)

The voice sounded sort of familiar, but Hob really wasn’t thinking on it much. He simply felt too washed out to bother even opening his eyes at all, instead waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the newcomer.

“No. No, not really. I’m trying to brace myself before they strip me bare, cover me in wires, and shove me into a wall for four hours.” Hob rubbed at his face before opening his eyes finally to look at the man. Frowning, he noted the blue hair. “Wait, you’re the guy with the Ghosts? Well, I don’t have any answers for you. If it’s in my work queue, I’ll get to it when I get to it. Although they shouldn’t be able to get into the mining ships, I didn’t think.”

Hob noted the blood stains but refrained from asking after the man’s health. If he had been in pain or serious need, he sure as hell wouldn’t be stopping to talk to some guy in the middle of the corridor! All he said of it was, “Nice fashion statement.”

Connor winced sympathetically at the statement about being placed in one of the NI tubes. He was glad he had been able to avoid being assigned to maintain those. They seemed...terrifying to him.

Snapping back to the conversation he looked down at himself, not really sure what about his appearance the man was talking about. “Thanks?” He offered as a response and after a moment he sat himself down on the floor so he wasn’t looking down at the other.

“And I didn’t stop to ask you any questions about the Ghosts,” Though he certainly had some still, but they could wait. “I stopped because...Well, quite frankly you looked like someone kicked your puppy...Out of an air lock. So…” He trailed off and scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know, thought I’d ask what was up? I feel bad about jumping down your throat earlier, it was really uncalled for.”

“S’all right,” Hob replied laconically, “That’s not even the worst kind of calls I usually get. At least it’s interesting. I mean, come on! We’re in what century? Do I really have to explain to people that if they didn’t save their files, then they’re probably gone? Or that the keyboard has to be synched to the desktop units for them to work? I’m surprised no one has complained to me yet that their handheld runs too slow for them to watch their porn.”

Running both hands through his dark hair, Hob chuckled. “Don’t say anything too loud about puppies, though. The way things are going they’ll give me one just for the sole purpose of taking it away from me… to kick it… and then throw it out of an airlock.” He glanced up at the tech and smirked. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that someone can’t force you to do something you don’t want, kid. Half the time? You’ll be lucky if they even tell you upfront.”

Hob rose slowly. His limbs felt stiff from sitting but no worse than coming out of the interface. Reaching up to his breast pocket, he pulled his handheld and turned it back on. Ten minutes to go. “Man, I really do not want to go in there,” he muttered.

Connor started to give a weak smile but it vanished at the warning. A chill went up his spine and a lump started to form in his stomach. He slowly stood up as well and he rubbed at his bandaged arm for a moment, thinking back to Abby and Devika’s assurance’s that no one could force him to alter himself.

Well...there was someone standing right in front of him that was proof that consent doesn’t mean a lot to those in charge.

“Are, uh, are you sure about that?” Connor asked nervously. “I mean about being forced into doing stuff you don’t want, like say, totally random here, a major brain operation?”

The look that was returned could only be described as dark. Hob actually lowered his head a little and raised his eyebrows as though in disbelief that he was even being asked the question. Slowly, he raised one hand to lightly tap the small silver circle implanted into his one temple. “You think I signed up for this, kid? Most of us were kidnapped or tricked, we weren’t even asked. Even the four or five of us who did volunteer didn’t really know what they were in for. And I’m pretty sure there were a lot more ‘candidates’ who simply didn’t make it. I’ve got several thousands of wires going through my skull and you ain’t gonna find my signature on a single piece of paper saying I wanted this, trust me. Migraines? Six years of nightmares while my body was a popsicle? Chances of a drastically shortened life span? Increased risk of strokes and aneurysms? Not to mention the oh-so-pleasant treatment by my handlers!”

Hob shook his head sadly. “Someone comes at you asking to fuck with your body in any way? Run. Just run, kid. That’s my advice. I have yet to trust a single thing any doctor, engineer, or scientist has had to say to me after my little ‘operation’. And don’t even talk to me about anyone in uniform!”

Connor took a step back, staring at the NI-Tech with wide eyes as he went off into his rant. “But,” He was about to bring up Abby and what she told him and he trusted her completely, but he snapped his mouth shut. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry.” He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. “I’ll...get out of your hair.” He said before turning and starting to walk away, his mind starting to swirl with dark thoughts about what could happen to him if Hob really was right.

Still scowling, Hob glanced at his handheld again. Eight minutes. Eight minutes until he could go back in, and then four hours and eight minutes before he would be pulled out again. Which to dread more? Looking up, he watched the blue haired engineer walk away. Guy seemed decent. He felt slightly uneasy about ending the conversation on such a grim note, and before he thought any further about it he called back after him. “Hey, kid! Connor!” Pause. “Don’t pay too much attention to me, right? Just watch your back. S’all I’m saying. And… thanks for stopping. Really. Come look me up later, and we’ll grab a bite to eat or something, huh?”

Connor stopped in surprise and looked back at the man. He didn’t really know if he felt any better about the grim warning, but at least he didn’t seem to hate him for earlier. “Okay, that sounds like fun.” He said with a small smile. “You can tell me more spooky Ghost stories.” He joked, trying to shake off the nervousness he was feeling. “See you later.” He offered up a small wave before he turned to continue walking, still trying to ignore the sense of dread forming a rock in his stomach.

Collab between Igraine and Road Rash

1034 am, First Day Third Shift

"You do know, Sergeant Davis, that some good old-fashioned push-ups are better for upper body strength than pull-ups, right?" Abby crossed her arms as she leaned against the gym wall, one booted foot crooked over her foot, grinning as her fingers thrummed a slow rhythm against her bicep. She had been watching the members of her SRT team beat the hell out of each other, in the most disciplined way imaginable of course. The First Sergeant in her was duly impressed, and the scrappy fighter in her desperately wished she could jump into some of that training herself at some point. But Abby was realistic enough to know her position as titular commander required she maintain a certain professional distance. Besides, there was no guarantee any one of these men would throw a real punch at a woman not trying to kill them, much less their First Sergeant, and she'd probably be more hindrance than help to their training.

"As a matter of fact you could drop and give me twenty right now if you like," she teased with a laugh, "But I'd rather have a few minutes of your time, if it won't wreck your workout of course."

Finishing his set, Mike lowered himself from the bar and dropped to the ground, knees bending slightly to absorb the impact, his prosthesis hissing softly as he straightened and stretched.

"Rah, First Sergeant," he grinned, giving her a nod as he slipped free of the weight belt and removed the plate, stowing the gear in its proper place out of habit. Mindful of Specialist Sczruba pounding away at the heavy bag a few yards from him, he sauntered up to Abby, assuming an easy Parade Rest, his hands hands clasped loosely behind his back. In one-on-one talks, they tended to be less rigid, but it always paid to observe the formalities when the troops were around. He had a great deal of respect for his NCOIC, and despite the professionalism of his men, showing that respect in front of them went a long way towards maintaining discipline in the ranks. It was a simple thing, but even the little details counted.

"I've always got time for The Boss. What can I do for ya?" he asked, beaming at her as he worked to regulate his breathing. Panting in front of The Boss was also to be avoided.

Abby pushed off the wall as her SRT squad leader approached, arms unfolded when he stood before her. "At ease, Sergeant," she said with a warm smile, appreciative of the man's professional discipline, even interrupted in the middle of PT. Though no one would ever realize it on a battlefield, a skirmish or a bar brawl, this discipline was half the reason men like Sergeant Davis were so damned terrifying, and deadly effective.

"Walk with me, Mike," she added under her breath, turning from the gym proper and the other soldiers still sweating there. Abby did not look to see if actually he did, because there was never question whether he would. She moved slowly toward an alcove against a far wall filled with training mats neatly stacked, and completely empty of eavesdropping ears. A weary smile sat on her face as she turned to SRT leader, one hand laying against that tall stack of mats.

"First, I'm not about telling you how to do your job, or what you schedule when," Abby began as she turned to Mike, holding his gaze with her own. That small smile was still on her lips, but the feeling behind it never made it to her ice blue eyes. "What I'm asking is... Well it's more along the lines of a favor, really. It's about your quarterly training briefings. I assume you have them penciled in already - you know, the PowerPoint slides reminding you not to sexually harass Corporal Lopez, where to plunge the atropine injector if you actually survive the first lungful of sarin gas; that getting hooked on crack is bad for your military career - all that, right?"

A small bark of a mirthless laugh escaped her lips as she shrugged. No matter the service, mandatory quarterly training - aka Death by PowerPoint - was the bane of the poor bastard designated as the Training NCO, and a complete waste of an entire day for soldiers, sailors, seamen and Marines alike. "Move up that training, Mike, to say... Tomorrow? And I'd be most appreciative, if you would spend a special long time on the Geneva conventions, the Law of War training - hit those four categories hard, especially forbidden targets, tactics and and techniques."

Abby's eyebrow cocked meaningfully as she continued, her smile not much more now than a tight, thin line of her lips. "Emphasize the definition of 'unlawful orders.' We don't have any JAG officers I can send you, but I trust you Mike. Drive it home, that fine line."

Mike nodded as Abby ran through the standard quarterly training schedule, furrowing his brow towards the end of the list.

"Unlawful orders, Geneva Conventions, and Law of War, eh?" he asked, moving to one side to lean against the same stack of mats now that they were away from the eyes of the troops. Mike was no stranger to combat operations, and every mission he'd been on in the Sino-Korean War had been opened with the same briefing.

"Not gonna lie First Sergeant, you've piqued my interest," he said, his face serious. "Can you tell me what's goin' down? I can keep a secret if it needs to be kept, but I don't want to lead my boys into anything blindfolded."

"And that's why I'm talking to you, Mike. Blindfolded, blindsided - I have no intention of letting you step in anything." Abby sighed, hands clenched at her sides, as if she might somehow keep the words back, even now. Even when she finally chose someone in whom she truly could confide these unspeakably heavy, ponderous suspicions; suspicions she could not even lay on Gavin's broad shoulders.

But she was committed now, and Abby let her fingers fall open at her sides. "I only have suspicions at the moment. Hunches. Useless gut instincts without any proof to hang my hat on yet. But you and your team are the best armed, most elite fighters awake on the Copernicusright now. And I have to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if anyone in the chain of command, anyone with rank: me, Staff Sergeant Liu, the commander of the Copernicus himself," she added, laying obvious emphasis on the last of that short list.

"That you and your men will follow your conscience, not orders. Our home may not exist anymore, the United States. But I'll be good and damned if I'm going to see the very best of all we were, and all we did, doesn't survive to New Canaan. We are who we always were, professional soldiers - not mindless fucking robots, or some cud-chewing sheep with guns. And you need to know Mike that God forbid, and I'm right? There is a chance you and your team will be ordered to do things honorable American fighting men would never do."

"And if and when that day comes? You'll know, and you'll remember what I've said today - and if there's breath in my body I'll be standing there with you too."

" 'Rah," Mike nodded firmly, his eyes flat and hard, dangerous, the sparkling mirth that usually graced them nowhere to be seen. These were Operator's eyes; the eyes of a professional killer, cold, calculating, and pragmatic. They were the eyes of a man who could not only determine the swiftest and most efficient way to kill a room full of people, but could then give the order that started converting humans to corpses. They were predator's eyes.

Then, in a flash, those eyes were gone, the emerald orbs springing to life and dancing with the same barely-contained laughter that they always did.

"Don't worry yourself, First Sergeant. Come Hell, high water, or little green men, my boys and I will be right there with you."

“That’s all I needed to hear.” And it really was. Abby grinned, letting the heaviness of the mood go, trusting Sergeant Davis was as good as his word without a second thought. She nodded as she pushed off the mats, glancing at Mike as she moved to leave the gym, and let the Marine back to his workout - but she did have one last thing she just had to ask.

“How likely is it, do you think, that you and your team might let your old First Sergeant in on some of that hand-to-hand training? “ she asked with a wicked little grin.

Mike grinned, then turned to head back into the gym, motioning for Abby to follow.

“Szcruba!” he bellowed, halting the Specialist mid-workout. “Change of plans! Throw on some pads, First Sergeant here wants to whoop your ass. I’m reffin’.”

Turning back to Abby, the Marine gestured towards the waiting mats. “All yours, First Sergeant. Try not to break him; I need him for patrol in a few hours.”

“Hoo-boy.” She said and bit her lip as she stood of the last vestiges of an ocean from a world that was lost to them.

Penny looked down to where Jack’s rough, honest hand had brushed against the soft back of her hand, a hand made strong from kneading and work. Honest work that while it wasn’t intellectual or artistic or important. But it was good and needed. Just like Jack’s.

She turned her hand and slid her palm against his rough fingers, feeling a prickle of sensation dance across her palm and up her arm straight to somewhere central. She closed her eyes as she tangled her fingers gently with his and then opened them up, expecting things to look different somehow. They didn’t, but that was all right. She was just a silly, moon-faced girl but that was just fine. She was there with Jack and his words were still dancing in her ears. She leaned towards him, as if ready to receive more even as she puzzled out what he’d already said.

“I don’t know where to start.” She confessed and what exactly she was confessing was unclear.

She didn’t know what he meant by gear but could guess it was something good by how he’d used it and the way his eyes lit up as he looked at her. Being around intellectuals had rubbed off on her a little, after all for all that this interest was something new entirely. She wasn’t sure what cloggin’ or scruffin’ was but if Jack wanted to show her, she wanted to learn. She was certain he wanted to know more about her and while she was happy to share, her life was an open book after all. She just didn’t know where to begin, no one had ever really asked her. No one but Jack.

“I’m one of three… Or rather I was one of three.” A flicker of sadness crossed her face but she didn’t let it linger. The past was the past and she tried so hard not to dwell on the guilt she felt for taking someone more worthy’s place.

“We were each named after women in Greek Plays, mostly tragedies. I’m named for a loyal woman who waited for years for her husband to return home.”
She ducked her head, her dimple flashing and gently squeezed his fingers.

“Let’s walk and you can tell me something about yourself. We can take turns and make a game of it.”
She paused mid step.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” And then she was pulling out a small package of cookies, the best of the batch, and handed them over to Jack.

Park stood quietly as Robert -- Hob -- went off on a rant that clearly had much more fueling it than simply being 'cornered' by a few members of the medical field, his smile fading only out of polite respect for a would-be client. He had long since learned to indulge, at least to a point, in angry tirades, lest the person assume you weren't taking them seriously. Of course, too much indulgence could be counterproductive, but 'opening up' didn't seem to be the problem here.

That said, he could hardly except the sandwich made for someone else.

When Hob had finished and stalked off -- Park simply moved aside, making a mental note to introduce Hob to Deli at some point, if either ever agreed to speak amicably to him -- Park turned to his other companions and sat down, nodding first at Abby.

"The pleasure is all mine, First Sergeant Larson," he said brightly, before holding up a hand. "And because I can feel the 'just call me blank' is coming, I'll ask you to do the same. Park is just fine, thank you."

Laughing, he grinned at Gavin. "If he'd stayed any longer, I'd have told him I'm allergic to cats, and a horrible knitter. But I don't think it would have helped the situation much."

Looking down at the plate (somewhat) proffered him, he shrugged. "In any case, it seems a shame to let such a beautiful creation go to waste. I don't suppose either of you two would be interested in a sandwich?" he offered, then looking between both Gavin and Abby, smiled a bit more sincerely.

"Or maybe you've lunch plans of your own?"

Abby Larson

Abby stood stunned for a moment behind Gavin, though only the slightly tighter grip where her fingers wrapped about her friend's shoulder gave away some small measure of her genuine dismay. Against all reason, sparring with Specialist Scrzuba had helped dissolve the last remnants of her cryo-induced headache (despite the mutual ass-kicking involved as, to her eternal delight, he held back nothing) but she could feel the edges of it creeping back into her skull in the invisible but turbulent wake of Hob's departure.

It wasn't so much the content of his words but the bitter betrayal behind them, that spoke volumes to the veiled truths she'd confided in Mike, and gave lie to the reassurances she had given Connor. Abby's stomach churned, and at first the idea of eating Hob's sandwich made her nauseous.

But it was Gavin's easy smile and the genuine, good-natured decency in those deep blue eyes that once more wrapped her troubled heart in an effortless peace. How he managed to do this, time and time again, Abby had not the least idea - but oh, she was so very grateful! And if Gavin, having borne the brunt of Hob's wrath, could still manage such aplomb? Surely she could manage, at the very least, to simply be good company.

"Yes Park," she said with some emphasis on his name, her smile wide and bright, and very genuine, "It's just Abby, and what was in the plans was 'just lunch.'" Which was not entirely true of course, but she just did not have it in her to be rude to the man. Even beyond the matter of a titular lunch date, was the matter she and Gavin had touched on during their brief coffee klatch earlier in the morning, after the briefing, their mutual skepticism over the apparent thoroughness of the murder investigations during Second Shift and the questions still not laid to rest there either...

The resolute squeeze she gave Gavin's shoulder before she let her hand fall away was as much for her own reassurance, as it was for his. She determined in those few swift seconds, to tell him everything the moment they were alone. Humanity had become a precious rarity in this vast universe, and good men like Gavin even more so. If she could not trust him with the burden of all she knew and suspected? If he had no insight, no counsel or strength to lend? Then Abby was as truly alone as she had ever been in her life, and these last ragged remnants of their species were doomed long before they ever blew the Mountain and let the Copernicus fly.

Abby glanced down to Gavin, giving him an impish wink and an equally devilish grin. Suddenly, she did not feel the least bit alone.

"But I think we're a little on the late side for lunch, so if you gentlemen would like? I'll gladly go do my 'womanly duties'" Abby chuckled softly at the words, reassuring the two men that it was all right for them to laugh too, "And wrangle us up some sandwiches from the kitchen. I have to admit, I'd sooner face the wrath of former-linebacker-Josie-the-Head-Chef, than try to choke down that poor man's sandwich." She nodded toward Hob's abandoned plate with a helpless shrug.

"So, any requests? I've been in the Army long enough that if I can make a passable peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some Ranger pudding from an MRE, I'm pretty sure I can find something in the fridge that will vaguely resemble whatever you're hungry for - just don't ask for an omelette. There isn't enough Tabasco sauce in all of Creation, to make an MRE omelette of any variety edible. Trust me." Abby shuddered at the very thought.

Devika Wilkes-Lane

'You're going to pay for this, Devi.'

For the better part of the past hour, the small, slender woman had watched the NI techs hustle about the large, sterile and once-inhuman room, removing the boxes containing the Foley catheter kits to the wheeled carts she'd ordered, replacing their stations with chucks pads and, if so desired, various sizes of adult diapers. She had a few of them haul up the privacy screens from the medical stores, along with extra pillows, more substantial scrubs, and even the large, oven-like warmer for the packages of waterless bath cloths. Devika knew all-too-well there was precious little she could do to make life any better for these men and women. Still she held the tiniest hope some degree of dignity and care - likely far too little and far too late - might still improve their moment-to-moment by even the slightest of degrees.

Unsurprisingly, there had been varying degrees of resentment etched on not a few of the faces, though one or two went about their work with a certain contentment. Devika made note of them, the ones who had chosen to remember the humanity of the people they cared for.

But it was Lieutenant Harris who troubled her most of all. The humiliated woman's expression remained dark and surly, with not a few dire glances in her direction whenever she thought that bitch of a new medical officer wasn't looking her way. No, Devika should not have lost her head like she had, chewing the woman a new bright red and bleeding orifice in front of this entire shift of NI technicians. Devika had tried reasoning to herself that even if Devika was not in her Army ACU's, respect for rank alone should have shut Harris up in the first place, and stopped her from contradicting every last word out of her mouth with an ill-timed and unspeakably irritating "But that's not what Doctor Lyle had us do... But that's not what General Lahan signed off on... "

That still didn't excuse losing her temper like she had. Not really. Not even if it had been the one thing she'd done since she woke that had made her really, really happy. She could envision her father's face in her mind's eye, his pale grey eyes shaded with disappointment at her complete lack of control as he asked her with that still-prominent West Country accent, "Devika, was that truly necessary?"

No, not at all. Of course not. And she had a sneaking suspicions Harris was certainly the type to hold a grudge.

'Shit...'

She needed air. Devika turned to the door, opening the panel to a hallway where, she could only hope, the atmosphere wasn't near so thick with resentment and barely-contained bitterness -

- And very nearly leapt straight out of her small brown Doc Marten boots, wheeling back to flatten herself against the opposite wall rather dramatically when a hunched form appeared out of nowhere on the ground next to her. But when her wide, dark eyes finally took in the simple form of a man, a man in the suit of one of the actual NI techs, she lay one hand over the heart beneath her sweater and lab coat, and willed it to stop beating like a hummingbird against her chest wall.

"Oh! Oh my God you scared me, I'm sorry. I just didn't expect to... Well obviously I didn't expect... " Devika began to chuckle warmly, shaking her head as she approached him. She recognized him of course, instantly. Robert Bach, but for the love of all that's holy, do not call him Robert or Rob or Robby or heaven forbid, Bobby.

She squatted beside him with a small smile, her hands folded over her knees. "You're Hob, yes?" The man looked tired, so unspeakably tired and sad, and the small crease by his mouth said more than a little angry as well - and God knew, she could not blame him in the least.

"I'm Devika. Devika Wilkes-Lane, and I'm a nurse practitioner, just woken for Third Shift. I'm glad to have the chance to meet you, more than just in passing," she said, sincerity in every last word.

"I see."

Her pale blue eyes never left Antoine's face as she let the words hang in the air between them for a moment. The gentle smile remained on her lips as she studied the frank, uncomplicated lines of his mouth, and the undeviating honesty in his gaze. For one brief, split-second in time, a thrill of fear had shot through her chest when he said those words, that he was a cryobed technician, like Sylas.

But that swift terror had passed, and it was simply Antoine before her, and he was absolutely nothing like Sylas at all - not even a little. He was an honest man, and true. Pauline even wondered for a moment whether a man with such an open manner, was actually capable of a bold-faced lie - or if he ever did try? A soft breath of a laugh escaped her as she realized Antoine would have one whopper of a "tell," rubbing behind his ear absently, mimicking the magnificent Mowzer at his toilette whether he knew it or not.

But no matter. Pauline was amazed to discover she really did not mind his revelation, or his knowledge.

'So this is what it's like then? For people to know and just... Not really mind? No judgments, no pity or cloying sympathetic looks? No questioning my judgment for deciding to keep my little Eva?' A protective hand wrapped lovingly over her still flat belly at the mere thought of her growing baby, and she smiled. For the life of her, Pauline could not decide if all her worries to this moment about how the Copernicans might see her, or treat her, had been just-so-much overblown nonsense; or if Antoine was simply a very singular type of man.

She decided she could get used to this, nonetheless.

"So you have... A knack for languages, yes?" Pauline asked, artlessly changing the subject. "I've heard of a lot of people having a second language - sometimes even a third. But honestly, you're the very first person I've ever met whose 'second language' was a Native American dialect!" She laughed incredulously, nodding her head though to let Antoine know that she was, of course, duly impressed by this accomplishment.

"How many languages do you speak then, and which ones if I can be so nosy? And how in the world did you come to know them?" Still kneeling beside the Bengal cat, she softly and slowly scratched behind one of his ears with two fingers, mimicking - though she did not realize it - the same soothing motion that Antoine himself had used only moments before.

Jack softly squeezed her hand when she mentioned that she had sisters, sisters now lost with the rest of the humanity. Nothing more needed to be said. Who among the crew and the sleepers hadn't lost friends and family? Even his own extended family had suffered, a number of aunt and uncles and cousins and extended relations all lost with Newfoundland; perhaps there might still be some remanent of humanity clinging to life behind them, although Jack didn't truly believe so. More over, he didn't want to believe so. Not that new life on an alien world would be easy by any means, but it would be far easier than a bunch of disorganized hold-outs clinging to hope that would probably never come. And if there were survivors? Survivors who knew that a space ark had carried off most everyone else and left them behind? That was a sort of betrayal he'd rather not think on. Far better to concentrate on the living and wonderful face of Penny as they walked along the catwalks to watch the dolphins play.

When presented with the cookies, Jack actually blushed. "That for me, b'y?! I... I don't right know what to say! God bless yar cotton socks, Penny, this is some nice piece a' stuff!" Finishing one of the cookies out, he sampled it and instantly grinned again. Jack was the sort of man who, while still not yet thirty, was already developing laugh lines about his mouth from smiling so often. He held the package out towards Penny, nudging it towards her to indicate he wished to share the cookies as well as her company and conversation. "Best kind!"

"A loyal woman who waited for her man," he repeated, obviously impressed. "Don't sound like that much of a tragedy to meself. Must have been some man to be worth waiting all dem years, mind you! Ain't seen too many plays, really. Der was dis one... bunch a' folks run off inta da woods an' der's dis Queen in love wit' some fool wit' a donkey head... Can't mind much of it, but I died at it! Funny part were this fella at da end, a Mr. Puck, he came out an' apologized what if we didn't likes what we saw he were real sorry for it, which I t'tought were real polite of him!"

"I'm the only one me parents knit, named for St. John's harbor which in turn were named for that saint fella what went an' lost his head over some duck. We're supposed to be Catholic, but I ain't seen Mass since we left The Rock. Ten years in Wyoming wit' a cousin, fixing t'ings an' the like. You can take the b'y out a' the Bay, but..." Jack left that hanging. Again, another thing that didn't need saying, and he carried his home with him in his own way. "Them what owns me is frozen up solid over in D Section long wit' me uncle's family."

"We're handymen, by trade, I guess you'd say. Need it fixed, call Pumphrey, dey used to say. Didn't matter which one of us, we'd come an' it fix it." Jack went one, telling of how before the crisis Newfoundland had been making something of a economic recovery finally. Only as technology became more intricate and society simply cast off broken goods instead of repairing them, things had gotten worse until they fled for a distant relation's home in the States. "Not the same, Newfoundland to Wyoming. No water, no shores, no seas, everyone talking' like they gots a straw up there nose. Work were fun though. Nuttin' better than getting' year hands dirty an' makin' sumptin' better dan new!"

He glanced her again, having a hard time keeping his eyes off of her face. "Well... almost nuttin' better, b'y."

Watching the blue-haired engineer walk off, Hob leaned back against the wall and slid back to a sitting position. Seven minutes. Seven minutes to go, and he'd be damned if he'd be any earlier than he had to be. Better to sit and chat with random strangers than go in early, even if he felt slightly guilty for terrifying the kid. All the same, Connor might as well have been quoting every single bad movie, sitcom, and book when he had mentioned his 'totally random major brain operation.' Something like that was hardly random! Hob wondered what it was they wanted the kid to agree to. Nothing pleasant, no doubt. He knew they were down NI-techs at the moment, one in a fugue and the other gone back into stasis with multiple personality disorder to sleep out the rest of the journey with nearly a decade's worth of nightmares to keep him company. Hob scratched the scruff of his chin as he looked once more in the direction that Connor had gone. Maybe it was worth a look into the files, see what it was they wanted the kid for, if anything?

Hob was readily admit he might just have been paranoid, but the encounter had left him a tad concerned for Connor. If someone was insane enough to volunteer for this shit after they had been warned of the side effects and treatment they could expect, well, to hell with them! But if someone smart ass was planning on 'recruiting' more people for the NI program... or anything even vaguely similar to it for that matter...

His thoughts were interrupted by a flurry of movement and the sound of a sharp gasp. Cooly looking back up from his handheld, he spied a petite and attractive young lady about his own age press herself against the wall as if something had scared her. The notion of her being attractive quickly vanished from his opinions when Hob's brain finally registered the lab coat she wore. It was the enemy. His one nostril flared as his face fought between grimacing in distaste and snarling in dislike. If there was anything worse than a medico, it was a friendly medico who smiled too warmly, too nicely. It usually led up to being told they wanted something and then them taking it whether he wanted to provide it or not.

Yet... she had called him Hob. If she had called him by any of the other possible variations of his given name, then his distrust of her would have been instantly cemented in place for all eternity. Perversely, that made the NI-tech all the more uncertain as how to deal with her.

Four minutes.

"Yeah, I'm Hob. Let me guess, you're in charge now. Or partially in charge. Or in charge of one part of me but not another. Or you're in charge of one the departments that's in charge of me and mine but not any of the others" He rubbed at his scruffy face and staggered back to his feet. "Well, Ms. Wilkes-Lane, please take a number and get in line. I'd ask what level authority you have over the NI-techs, but I'm pretty sure by now that it would be stupid question since I'm come to the conclusion that everyone has authority over us."

Waving a hand towards the hatchway as though in invitation, he raised an eyebrow. "Come to watch the fun? It's popular entertainment, I've been told. I'm surprised they haven't sold tickets yet. No doubt some enterprising engineer or tech will think to record the whole thing for the sake of both posterity and profit." Hob paused, and an evil laugh burst out suddenly from thin lips. "They could make great bogeymen out of us in a few generations! Just think, all the mothers warning their children to be good least they be stolen away to become NI-techs! Who needs monsters under the bed when they'll have us!"

His handheld chirped an alarm. Two minute warning.

Hob looked towards the hatchway forlornly, dropping his hand dejectedly by his side. "Truth be told? I hope they don't remember us at all."