Willman Frontier Laboratory
August 4th, 2163

Silence cut like a razor, spilling blood by the gallon and filling the air with the pungent smell of iron. It was a massacre, taking place in an empty hall which told no secrets. It was a protest against human ingenuity – a strike against the great pioneers.

It has now been one hour since contact ceased with the Willman Laboratory in Ursa Major following what was described by technicians as a “violent crash and static” on the other end. Government officials have not ruled out the possibility of some sort of disaster, but continue to insist that the cause is likely some sort of technical issue with the station’s transmitters –

At the end of the hallway stood a nondescript door leading to a standard biological laboratory, where a balding white man in his early forties lay decomposing on the harsh concrete floor, his eye sockets black and hollow, his skin broken by small holes all across his body as if his innards had planned a vast exodus en masse. His lab coat was stained a sinister grey color, and that same liquid spread from his body to create a puddle around him on the floor. It had the consistency of blood, as well the smell.

– laboratory was founded by Dr. Hector Russell, a giant in the fields of astrobiology and microbiology, for the purpose of studying the effects on known organisms in unknown environments, and for the discovery of unknown organisms –

On a usual day, the Willman Frontier Laboratory was not a quiet place. It was a place where eight hundred individuals – scientists, largely, along with their families – lived and worked in relatively close proximity, and where everyone seemed to be in quite a hurry to run from metal box to metal box, to share some step toward discovery.

But the silence had spread beyond the laboratory, through the hallway and out into the small colony. The living quarters were silent, no children played, no colleagues chatted in the dining hall. Instead, the dead populated the Willman colony. By the hundreds they lay, their eyes devoured, their skin perforated from the inside. They were many, they were all. There was no room for the living.

– a spokesperson for Russell Innovations will be addressing the public shortly regarding this situation, likely in an attempt to quell speculation. The government has already stated that, should the Willman Laboratory not contact Earth within the next four hours, a team will be dispatched to investigate what has unfolded at the most distant human settlement in all of the universe.

Alone, rocking back and forth almost involuntarily on the floor of a maintenance closet, Doctor Hector Russell tried in vain not to hyperventilate. The door was shut firmly in front of his face, shrouding him in utter blackness save for the dim light emanating from the gap at the bottom. Hector expected to hear footsteps outside, a rescue party or, perhaps, a colleague: come to tell him that none of it was real. But there were no footsteps. Only silence, and the man’s own ragged breathing. He kept rocking back and forth on the cold floor. He kept moving, he needed to, else the sensation inside him drive him to utter madness. If he stopped, he could feel them pull, outward. If he stopped, he could feel them crawl beneath his skin.

---

Lavit Launch Facility, near Toulouse, France
August 7th, 2163

It was a beautiful summer morning, and the sun was just peeking over the hills and small towns of southern France, bringing a gentle warmth to those early risers already awake to see it. The country had developed in bounds in the hundred plus years since the start of mankind’s spacefaring age, but it had certainly retained its’ natural beauty. The wonders of Earth comingled with the wonders of man: it was no longer a battle, but a gentle armistice. The dawn broke from behind the Lavit International Launch Facility, giving the massive chrome building a yellow highlight, and cast shadows on the parking lot beneath.

The lot was almost vacant, save for the vehicles of a few insomniacs and some interns hard-pressed by an imposing deadline. On the far edge of the lot near the highway, a man sat upright in his nondescript rental car taking generous swigs from a bottle of Irish whiskey. He wore on his hardened face a look of total detachment, as if forced to watch an execution that he had a hand in orchestrating. His face was recently shaved, and his hair trimmed back down to regulation length. He had on a ceremonial military uniform with his rank – Operations Sergeant – emblazoned on the sleeve and two medals adorning his breast. With bloodshot eyes, he adjusted the rear view mirror to take a look at himself in uniform: a sharp looking man devoid of all hope met him in the glass. The medals glimmered in the sunlight, and a name, J. Howard, sat matter-of-factly beside them.

With a sigh, John Howard put away the bottle and stepped out of the vehicle, retrieving his luggage from the trunk. He didn’t bring much – primarily civilian clothes, and a small selection of pictures and mementos – but expected to find his “equipment” waiting for him on the inside. He had volunteered to lead an international fireteam of soldiers on board the expedition to investigate the silence at the Willman Laboratory, but unlike the majority of his fellow passengers, he felt very little. He knew nothing of the dangers, but wasn’t worried. This was just another mission, like all the rest, and he knew that he may not return: just like the rest. Walking slowly toward the building, he saw the monolithic launch pad next to the facility, atop which sat the Sentinel, the state-of-the-art freighter vessel that the Global Coalition had received from the American Alliance. Boarding that ship would be a smattering of specialists from all backgrounds and from planets and colonies all across the solar system. They would be hurled into an unknown space at light speed, to confront an unknown danger. To John, this was his life now, and he would do his duty as best he could. It was all he could do, now. His love had been dead for years, and so had he. He was just running on autopilot.

*Marie smiles cheerfully as she skips around her workshop, tools clicking together on her tool belt as she gathers spare parts and pieces and puts them in a tool bag, she is very excited for this new mission of hers and she is ready to leave Saturn for once in her life and go to this place people keep talking about* {I think it is called William Laboratory or was it, Willson... Did I remember to pack Willison before I left home?? I swear if I forgot him...} *She sighs and shrugs* {Whatever I know I packed Juliet for sure} *Marie chuckles then picked up the bag in one hand and the other to carry the bag with her clothes, her stuffed animals, in this class she packed Juliet and Willson they are both tabby cat stuffed animals that she made from random pieces of cloth she found while working home from work. She didn't really have a care in the world about if everyone else at her work thought about her, or what anyone thought about, she was just happy to leave this stupid planet. She through her stuff into the trunk and hopped into the car that came to pick her up*

*Marie arrived at the shuttle area and she quickly darted out of the vehicle and grabbed her stuff before waving goodbye to it as it went away* {Here comes a new chapter in my life! Oh this is going to be so much fun!} *She run up onto the vehicle that she thought is going to take her to the lab where she is supposed to do something important but she couldn't care less because of she will probably get it done and over with like everything else. She sat down in a random seat and sets down her stuff with this big goofy smile on her face*

Jethart wakes up like any morning and climbs out of his bed and streches. He opens his blinds and then walks over to his closet, he grabs out his usual wear. Old Air Force uniform and a grey shirt and his boots and gets ready for the day. He walks out of his room and heads towards the kitchen, he brews a cup of tea and has a bowl of cereal. It shoots to his mind he has to go to whatever that place was today, he completely forgot the name and to pack for it. He quickly finishes his tea and breakfest and grabs his buffle bag, then continues to his room to pack. The closet was raided, his shirts and pants and an extra pair of boots were tossed into the bag. The jackets were left on the hangers but laid out on his bed. "Oh I should probably bring some tea". After finishing packing he heads to the kitchen and grabs some tea and sugar and puts them in the bag as well. By the time he brings his bag and jackets down the car arrived. The car is loaded with his belongings and he goes in the house to find his cousin standing there. "What, no hug for me before you go?" "I didn't forget about you, I was coming to say goodbye. I wouldn't leave without giving you a hug". They hug and say their goodbyes before Jethart leaves.

On the way to the lab he was thinking about the mission, and what the outcome might be. He worries he will die and leave Ignace all alone. He remembers all the fun times they had and the past week, her telling him her concerns and having him promise he will come back. The rest of the trip he naps. Once he arrives he takes his stuff with him and thanks the driver and leaves a tip. He enters the building and sits a few seats away from Marie.

Daniel’s mind filtered away the low drone of the aircraft’s engines, the occasional rattling of secured tanks and the chatter of over thirty French soldiers he hitched a ride with, leaving him to his thoughts. He still couldn’t believe it. In an age where humanity created practically usable artificial gravity and established a colony outside the Milky way, it took him 29 years to leave earth. His excitement was coated in a layer of bitterness, however. The laboratory went silent and remained that way for three days now. The fact that the documents regarding this mission he was told he will get never found his way to him didn’t help the situation at all. A voice in his head told him that operating solely on information he read in a science magazine wasn’t safe. He rummaged through his bag and the file containing his documents, earning a few puzzled looks from the French crewmen, but found nothing.

“Lavit Launch Facility is directly on our Starboard side. We’re landing in five minutes, so stay buckled up.” He looked out the window and observed the anthill that was the launch pad, dominated by the Sentinel in the middle. As soon as the plane landed, he let the French deal with the jammed cargo ramp and headed towards the building through which he assumed they were supposed to board the ship. After looking around in vain to find an officer in charge of the operation, he found the room mentioned in his transfer order. Two people were already inside, one civilian and one military by their looks. He shot a quick salute to the soldier and sat down, his mind trying to find a reason why someone would wear a uniform with the camo pattern nearly two centuries old, and failing to come up with any.

It wasn’t every day that you got chosen for a mission as singularly important as the one Gera was chosen for. I mean, sure, he volunteered for the mission, but he didn’t just volunteer. No, Gera was contacted. Maybe he was contacted after the first three candidates declined the job, but fourth out of hundreds of thousands wasn’t exactly shabby either! Pa called him a fool, and Ion? Well, he used some more… choice language. Neither of them thought going was a good idea.

Like hell he wasn’t though! Who in their right mind would decline getting paid to ferry people across fucking galaxies? There was, of course, the slightly unsettling nature of his briefing. Gera wondered if the lead pilot had received similar instructions. He resolved to discuss it with them once he figured out who the hell they were. "I'm yer pilot, Miora. Donna go callin' me nothin' else, less ye want me to rearrange yer face, a'ight? Now, what are ye stations, ladies?"

Well that answered that question.

Gera approached Miora, and tapped her on the back. “Co-Pilot Gera Zsoldos reporting for duty,” He said with a smile, giving a mock salute. “I hope you’re as capable as you are old fashioned!” And by old fashioned, he meant hundreds of years old type of old fashioned. Who the hell was this person? She intrigued him, to an extent. At least this trip wasn't making out to be a boring one.



Anton strode towards the crew’s rendezvous point, his thick, human hand clutching a heavy duffle bag. The left hand's metallic counterpart was holding on to a similar bag, and was thankfully free of pain. Peering out from beneath his flat cap, Anton spotted a small gathering of individuals. Two soldiers for certain. Who are the others? Too early to tell. Most likely part of the crew. He advanced on the group, standing a respectful distance away. He could afford to wait.

*Marie calmly plays with the straps on her overalls, smiling and kicking her feet causing them to hit the seat infront of her.*{What shall I gather or fix while I'm there? Oh I hope to find a new plushie to bring home! I wonder who else is on here probably no one I know... What if someone on here also as a bunch of tattoos! Oh how much fun it would be talking about our tattoos together!} *She giggles at this thought as a huge goofy grin grows across her face and she teaches for her bag and pulls out her two plushies and hugs them both tightly* {Big Bro is probably so proud of me right now!}

Jethart sat there quietly. "Who are these people, what was up with that guy saluting me before. This whole place is messed up. I just hope I can return to her. I'd hate to leave her all alone in this world." He thought to himself. He decided to get up and walk about, stopping at certain things and thinking to himself. "I wonder what type of threat we're going to face out there. Hopefully one not to tough as I'd certainly love to make it back alive." He returned to his seat, legs out infront of him and closed his eyes. "Wake me when we get orders to move out."

Erin Middaugh - Astrobiologist

The clicking of her own nails was driving her mad. Every hangnail and chip was now a sharpened edge on which she stood, poised over a cliff of nervousness and excitement. The mystery of the unknown. The calling of a letter filled with such intrigue that she could barely contain herself. Yet, the daunting prospect of an entire group of people she didn't know...that was enough for such anxiety. She stood before the meeting room, a ticking time-bomb of awkward stuttering that would no doubt develop into a flood of barely relevant phrases graced with nervous laughter.

She gulped hard and stuck a finger between her neck and the collar of a slightly wrinkled button up dress shirt; her attempt at business wear. Her slightly-too-long jeans bundled up under the heels of her shoes enough to make her feet ache. Enough to get her moving into the room as well, where she cautiously glanced about the individuals that had already passed her by without notice. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she chuckled nervously and stood near a wall to observe the pow-wow from a distance. All the while, she reassured herself that this would be worth it. This would be a discovery worth fighting for. Tis okay, Erin, ya've got this. You always do.

At the door stood a lone guard, armed with a military-grade assault rifle and supported by a veritable army of surveillance cameras on the nooks and walls overlooking the entrance. Inside and around the perimeter were undoubtedly countless more armed guards, patrolling one of the most valuable structures in all of Europe. The Lavit Launch Facility was not an anomaly in their security measures: indeed, all launch facilities had similar defenses. In the spacefaring age, each bloc’s launch facility was their only way to set sail into the New World. Any kind of damage or destruction would set them back decades.

John had never been inside the Lavit Facility, and had indeed never launched from Earth anywhere else than at Lincoln Station, the American launch pad thirty miles north of Washington, D.C.. With a nod of affirmation from the entrance guard, he was allowed access into the building and noted with mild approval that the layout was rather familiar, just with changes in décor. The Lavit, as well as the Lincoln, were both years after the creation of the Global Coalition; as a result, they and all other more modern facilities tend to share the same design and characteristics, as they were overseen by GC architects and officials. John made his way through the building, past reception and some administrative offices before reaching the elevator which took him to the same level as the launch pad, on the fifth floor. After that, he walked over the enclosed bridge separation the facility from the launch structure (a crude utilitarian structure far different in design from that of the sleek administrative building) and watched as the walls around him turned from smooth white to rough concrete; everything became bleak and wrought iron. He opened a door to the outside and was buffeted by a chill wind, intensified by the height. Sitting just inside the launch facility, and looking out of place on the pad itself, was a stylish vessel of dark gray steel and seamless curves, that put many of the old, clunky military transports John had rode on to shame. It was the Sentinel, the new American freighter that had been completed not two years prior, and which was loaned to the GC for the Willman Expedition.

John greeted the Lavit prep crew on the bridge and was ushered into the vessel’s airlock, where the door was closed behind him, and after a few seconds the one in front of his face opened into a kind of lobby, with seats already occupied by a handful of people. Of them, he recognized only the German, Jethart Igneal, along with the Dane, Daniel Østergaard, two of the soldiers who were serving under John, whom he had just met the day prior. However, the brief time that they were in the room the day before was almost exclusively dedicated to training: what was different about fighting in the colonies, and how best to adapt to the new conditions. As a result, John knew their names and ranks, and not much else. Beyond Jethart and Daniel, the rest were civilians: a young, optimistic woman sitting near Jethart, and another lady – a scientist, John was sure – observing at a distance, along with a scholarly man standing apart from the rest, and the two pilots: one a wiry man with a witty smirk, and the other a woman lost in time. She gave off the distinct look and feel of the 20th century, with a cigar between her lips and her hair done up neat. Her style threw John off, but he didn’t really show it. On the contrary, he kept his military composure, nodding at Jethart and Daniel before taking a seat apart from the others and running a hand through his hair with an almost inaudible sigh.

Jethart nodded at John and took his sleep-like position again. "Nice to see someone I know here, wasn't expecting you John." He looked around before letting his hair down and shaking it about. "It's always nice to not have to leave it up when in a prep room" he muttered. He grew tired of sitting and started to walk about the room, pausing at a few locations like he did before. He kept his military composure while he was up and about. Drill was stuck to his brain like a magnet is to metal, he would use it for anything and everything. After a while he sat down at his original location and tied his hair back up and let his head fall over as if he was trying to take a nap.

Something, or rather someone, tore Daniel away from his thoughts for the second time today, and it was also a pilot to boot. What was it with these people? Given her glare, attitude and the way she spoke, working with her was going to be a treat. “Our stations? If there is one, I’d be happy to know where mine is. As far as I know, my station is a bunk until we reach the laboratory, but since nobody delivered the promised briefing, What do I know?” he thought.

In the time he spent sitting there, wondering about the colony and what awaited them, the lobby was filling up. “We lose contact with a colony and they send a large group of questionable individuals instead of four guys to fix their busted communications array or something. This is going to be a bloody circus.” he thought chuckling at the thought of this group reaching the laboratory, only to be faced with a trivial problem. The arrival of the team’s ranking officer improved his mood a bit, as it meant someone who most likely knew more than him about the situation was at hand at last.

Gera’s lips twinged into an even wider smirk, his eyes blazing with both impish mirth and a sort of haughty pride. “They picked me for this job for a reason. I’m going to be the best god damned co-pilot you’ll ever fly with, so I trust you’ll be the best you can for me and this crew too.” There was a brief pause, then, under his breath, “Such as it is.” Deigning then to survey the slowly growing hodgepodge of individuals, and it was, indeed, a hodgepodge, Gera began to frown. The vast majority of individuals seemed wildly antisocial. At the very least, he was the only one that chose not to ignore Miora, and he had only heard the last bit of her speech himself.

There was the short fellow that looked like someone slapped a uniform on a medieval viking, who hadn’t said a single word yet. Then there was the guy wearing a seriously outdated military uniform, which Gera decided must have been from some sort of costume store, no way people still made those things new. What was he doing anyways? Sleeping? There was the scary looking duffle bag guy with the prosthetic, he hadn’t said anything either. There was the scholarly looking girl standing apart from the others, just like duffle bag guy, and she hadn’t said anything. There was the freaking titan military officer dude with less emotions than a robot, and… what the fuck was wrong with that last woman? Gera couldn’t believe his eyes. Were those… plushies? And what was with that sociopath giggle? Seriously… the fuck?

Gera managed to avert his eyes away from the horrors before him, choosing instead to rest his gaze on Miora and the ship. “So… it’s pretty impressive, huh?”



Anton continued surveying the room, making a mental catalog of the names he knew and the apparent characteristics of each group member, name or no name. A few of the assorted individuals here worried him. There were the two pilots, thick as thieves with their knowing glances and arrogance, who Anton hoped would treat everyone fairly when giving orders. Besides them, however, the only other cause for alarm seemed to be the girl rocking around for seemingly no reason. Anton was comforted by the fact that there was no way the GC would have let someone with a history of mental illnesses onto this mission. But the plushies? They reminded Anton of Gabriel at a much younger age. Needless to say, he was baffled.

With that course of action completed, the next logical step was to find someone to talk to. He ended up approaching the clearly nervous individual, who looked like they could use some calming words to ease their nerves. It took only a few long strides to reach her. Putting down the duffle bag weighing down his left hand, he then extended it towards the girl. He had no way of telling if she had experience with prosthetic users, best to play it safe. “I’m Anton, the designated medical professional for the duration of the expedition. Who might you be?” His voice was low, though it resonated and carried depth.



So that was the ship. That was a nice ship. Royland was pleased that that the ship he was to be riding in was at least an impressive one. You had to count your blessings, especially when they came in limited supply. This was definitely a good omen for the success of this operation. The fact that his entire family might be at risk? Not really such a good omen, more of a bad one, all things considered. But this? Good omen. Besides, everyone knew that good omens could be more potent than bad omens, and boy did Royland know his omens. He hoped that the crew running the ship and the passengers being transported on the ship would be as great as the ship itself.

Yes, once Royland had hopes. Now that he was closer to the group, he wasn’t so sure. They mostly seemed… okay? Some of them had interesting choices of dress, that was fine. There was also the matter of the crazy looking girl with the stuffed animals. That was perfectly fine too, being a bit childish didn’t necessarily mean she couldn’t do her job. What worried Royland was the feeling of unity throughout the group, or rather, the complete lack of it. If push came to shove, would these people work together? And who really had whom’s back? Royland felt a single shiver go down his spine. Bad omen.

*Marie looked around her smile slowly fading then leaps out of her seat and stands on it for a bit before standing on the arm and jumping off and looked around becoming impatient tightly holding Wilson by his front left paw and Juliet by her front right paw tightly and closely to her body, the tools on her tool belt cranked together, her tattoos stood out more than anything except for her bright firey red hair* "How much longer until we leave? I'm getting bored. Is the shuttle broken? Do I need to fix it?" *Marie groans as she walks up to the area where the pilots are, Marie huffs impatient and super bored, she looks like a lost kid who got onto the wrong shuttle who should be tied to a harness so they won't run away or run off into the middle of traffic* {Please tell me it's broken, please tell me it's broken. I need something to do besides sitting around waiting for it to take off already} *She then taps her foot waiting for a response impatient and at this point, she is ready to find a random person and tackle hug them without choking them to death because of how bored she was. Juliet's and Wilson's bells on their handmade collar made a clinging sound has she taps her foot* {I Just want to do something, please tell me there is something I can do, I don't wanna sit around and wait. I just wanna work or keep m mind occupied with something... Wait did I bring that broken watch with me? Shoot Did I remember to bring spare gears for it?!}

John Howard

As more specialists and members of the crew filed in, John mentally prepped himself for a transition from the man he was to the Sergeant he was expected to be. He remembered a time when that was far easier – when he could smile and mean it, and even the horrors of war couldn’t bring him down. Now, it was a different story: the horrors of war no longer fazed him. Not since six years ago.

John stood, putting on an air of authority and the gaze of a hardened General. He watched as the last member of his squad, Royland, entered through the airlock into the lobby. Something seemed off with him. Not fear, no, not quite that – hesitation, perhaps? There was something in his eyes. John approached him, amidst the conversations and bustle of the others.
“Good to see you again, Royland,” he said, with a smile that held sincerity, which was the best John could muster nowadays. “It’s gonna be a long trip. Far longer than I’m used to, anyhow. Are you accustomed to space travel?”

---

Elizabeth Sinclair

I forgot how sweet Earth smells, Elizabeth Sinclair remarked as she stepped out of the taxi and took in the sights of the Lavit Launch Facility in the southern French countryside. Living in a big metal tube for years sure does take its’ toll. The thirty-one year old pushed her hair up into a messy bun, and brushed a lock of light brown hair away from her face as she marched toward the facility with her modest suitcase. She remained optimistic, all the while knowing that this voyage would be unlike the one she took five years ago to Mars. Mars was in rough shape at the time, but she knew exactly what she was getting into – the areas of Hampton, Mars that needed updated oxygen circulation, the suburbs that had minimum access to schools and hospitals, even the city’s centers for crime. This time, she was going in blind.

Well, not completely: she knew a tad more than the rest of the folks on board the Sentinel. First of all, she knew their names, and, courtesy of Director Francois Moreau, she was briefed on their stories: the pilot, Moira Sphere, had a flair for the absurd and the mouth of a true Scot, but was damned good with a ship; the co-pilot’s name was Gera Zsoldos, the son of Ion Zsoldos of B.A.S.S. political fame. Sergeant John Howard was tasked with directing the ground team, but Elizabeth knew that he never truly recovered after the death of his wife; she found him an odd choice on Moreau’s part. And on and on – each one brought a skill, each one had a story. She also was given an extended briefing by the Director on what to expect, though this was far less substantive. There were a lot of “possibilities” and very little “this is what we know”.

She made her way through the building and up across the bridge leading to the launch pad. At last she came upon the Sentinel: a beautiful silver eagle of a ship, as sturdy as she was aesthetically pleasing. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about the rig falling apart, as was the case with the hauler that brought her home from Mars. Stepping inside the ship, she found that she was one of the last ones: nearly every other member of the crew or the ground team was there, conversing or remaining solitary. She knew their faces, but only from files: Marie Vandersnappe, inquiring about the launch time to the pilots; Private Østergaard sitting by himself; Dr. Erin Middaugh, observing nervously at the edge of the lobby. With a deep breath, she took a step into the lobby, set down her luggage, and approached Erin, putting a hand on her shoulder and looking into her eyes with a smile.
“Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m sure none of us bite. I’m Liz.”

Watching the interactions before her didn't put her at ease in the slightest. The pilot woman seemed callous and rude as she worked her way to the top of the food chain by chomping the heads off of each person in the room, her eyes and mumblings alone enough to do the work her teeth possibly could. An internal groan of grief would have been a typical response for Erin, if not for a sudden interruption... a left hand extended before her, leading to the body of a tall and bearded man.
“I’m Anton, the designated medical professional for the duration of the expedition. Who might you be?”
Strange as it was, she welcomed the introduction with a smile, glad that she wouldn't be completely alienated after all. Without thinking much of it, Erin met her hand to his and gave it a confident shake. "Erin! Um, Erin Middaugh. Nice to meet ya, Anton. I'm s'posed to be the designated astrobiologist. I mean, I am the astrobiologist for this mission thing." She laughed nervously again, embarrassed to be tripping so easily over her words. "So, a do-"
“Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m sure none of us bite. I’m Liz.”
She jumped, a stifled grunt escaped her throat as the weight of a sudden hand fell upon her shoulder. "Whoa. Hey there." Erin pulled her shoulder back instinctively, but immediately felt rude for doing so. "I'm sorry." Brows furrowing with worry, she realized that she was blocked in by two strange figures, one with whom she was still holding the hand of.

*Marie growled staring up at the pilot, her eyes narrowing as she clenched onto the Juliet's and Wilson's arms tightly* "Look here Mrs. Pilot, I'm not some little kid. I'm the person who would fix this d*amn ship if you move the clutch to shift. This shuttle may be young but I have worked on it and the engine does like to sputter and by the time we get the stupid Lab. I'll probably have to check it to make sure We'll be able to get home. Now just because you're the f**king pilot, does not give you the right to me to go practice tieing my shoes. If anything you should be practicing on how to talk people correcting." *Marie huffs staring straight up at the pilot, her expression cold, and her voice stern and serious. Her eyes seem as if they have lost all color and shiny they had before* {What is up with this stupid pilot. Does she not know that I'm the mechanical engineer... Jeez just because I'm bored and I'm carrying around stuffed animals doesn't give anyone the right to treat me like a kid. I can do anything an anyone can and I can probably do it ten times better.}

Gera couldn’t contain himself any longer, and can you blame him? He burst into laughter, like that of a jackal. It was cruel and bemused and joyful all at once. After a few moments that seemed to drag on far longer than they should have, Gera drew himself together. “Miora, lovely captain, it appears you’ve managed to offend our eccentric friend here,” He began, his voiced laced with mocking condescension. “Should you apologize? However… refusing to tie her shoes, no matter how silly, declining to follow orders is paramount to insubordination! I say… twenty lashings.”

Here now, Gera leaned forward toward Marie, bending low so their eyes were level and only a few inches apart. “I’d just walk away from this, Plush. You know you can’t win here.” He glanced at Miora for a brief moment, making eye contact and smirking before looking back at Marie. “Our brave pilot is not someone to be trifled with, and I dare say together we shall form quite a dynamic duo. Really now, stay on our side or stay out of our way.” By the end of his spiel, all previous traces of amusement were gone from Gera’s voice, and he seemed quite serious. He leaned back. “This isn’t a threat, just a friendly warning.” Yet, despite saying this, danger did seem to glint in Gera’s eyes, if only for a split second.



Anton glanced down at the hand still clasped around his, his face contorting into worried amusement. He gently extricated his hand from Erin’s and looked at her curiously, thought not unkindly, before turning his attention to the newest arrival. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure neither of you meant any offense.” Anton then offered his hand to Elizabeth. “It’s a pleasure to make both of your acquaintances. Liz, I’d assume that you would be the representative sent by the Coalition?” She certainly looked the part, with her intelligent, analytical eyes and self assured smirk. Anton wondered what agenda she was pushing, cozying up to Erin, or if she even had one at all. All of these bureaucrats were an incredibly mixed bag.



Royland saw John approaching him and moved forward to meet the man halfway, relaxing his expression in the process. Upon receiving a smile and a few kind words that seemed to have some amount of weight to them, Royland returned the inviting countenance with a smile of his own. The two seemed to be getting along all right. Good omen. As long as Royland could count on John, John could count on him. “I’m rather well versed in space travel,” He said easily. “In fact, I’ve been frequenting the lab since it’s conception.” Royland frowned. “My entire family is aboard that station. We’ll get to the bottom of all this though, I’m sure.” At least, Royland hoped that they would. What was that he was feeling? Doubt? Irrational doubt... no doubt about it. Still a bad omen.