Bright and early the morning after a battle, the ship was always a bustle of commotion as soldiers traded stories of heroism, stupidity, death, and survival. Comradery and mischief abounded. Those who survived filled in those who’d been reborn sans any memories of their unfortunate demise. The survivors traded looks at their new scars and battle wounds. Officers tended to stay out of it all. The grunts needed their time to unwind. War was a dirty business after all.

Tria’s survival mornings always started with the blaring of old rock music. Something about it always made her feel ten feet tall. The music brought her from the deepest sleeps straight into the black consciousness that was her natural lack of vision. See Tria was born completely blind. Others told her that her natural eyes were a pleasant, uniquely light green in color, but she’d never really seen color anyways. Her hand reached out and patted along the surface of the table next to her bed until they found her visor. It wasn’t the best model… a little big and bulky, more like goggles than glasses, but they worked. She slid it in to place over her eyes and clicked the fasteners on the sides in to place. Without her goggles, she would have never become a sniper really. What these goggles lacked in style and flare, they made up for in functionality… long range scanning, the ability to scan through most typical barriers, analysis of the thickness and composition of barriers… everything was the same color… light versus darkness, but she couldn’t really miss something she’d never had right?

She sat up, her back a bit stiff and sore from all that… sitting still that she does in battles. Tria had one of the best survival records on the ship. Her visor was to thank for that mostly… it allowed her to stay far away from any actual fighting, picking off enemies from such a distance that the biggest threat to her was that she might miss extraction. She swung her legs off the bed and massaged her knees gingerly for a moment. Tria was, by most standards… tiny. She only stood 4’10” … 11” if she really tried to stretch. She didn’t weigh more than 95lbs soaking wet and well fed. While some might see this as a disadvantage, Tria had developed quite a comfortable position as the battalion’s “little sister” of sorts. Standing up from her cot, she stretched with a yawn before setting to it.

Within an hour of wake up, the mess hall was a roar of chatter. Tria waltzed in fashionably late, clad in her trousers and a simple black t-shirt with her chestnut brown hair hanging free to her shoulders. A couple of days of lax rules about appearance were always helpful for morale. The men and women around the room were broken up into their usual clicks, recounting and entertaining themselves. Tria hardly glanced around the room on her way straight to the serving station. She snatched a tray off the pile and slapped it on down on the chute before she began plucking options off the line… some yellowish mush they named “egg substitute”. Strips of meat labeled “bacon” that everyone was pretty sure had never met a pig’s ass in history… fake fruit… maybe real bread. Tria was always gifted with the ability to eat much more than seemed reasonable for her size. When she’d filled her tray with the limits of what she was allowed to take, she scooped it up along with a mug of black tar “coffee” and turned to survey the tables for an empty seat.

Skye didn’t want to get up.

The newest shuttle bringing in the latest additions to the battalion had just arrived at the base last night. Apparently a battle had just happened the same day they’d made it to the ship—not the most convenient coincidence of all time—so all the new troops were given was a brief overview of where their bunks were and instructions to wait for further orders to find out which squads they would be divided up into. After that, everyone had pretty much conked out, exhausted from the hellishly long flight they’d been forced to endure on their way to join the fleet. It wasn’t the warmest welcome, but hey, that was military life.

Now, it was the next morning. Or at least, Skye was pretty sure it was the morning. It was hard to tell when all he had to gauge the passage of time was a boxy digital alarm clock and his own circadian rhythm, which was, by now, a complete train wreck. Living in a manmade ship with no changes in light level really did a number on one’s sanity. He’d tried to keep track of how many days had gone by on that godforsaken shuttle for a while, but after a few months, the activity was just depressing. It was easier for him to join the other soldiers and slowly lose touch with his sense of time. Why bother paying attention to day and night when nothing ever changed anyway?

Skye threw his pillow over his face with an irritable groan, wishing silent curses upon the other guys in the room who thought that now was a great time to have a burping contest. Maybe he could get rid of his stupid alarm clock. No need for that when he had this troupe of refined geniuses to wake him up bright and early every morning. He wondered if they even cared that he and the rest of the new soldiers had only gotten a max of four hours of sleep. Probably not. This was military life, after all.

A few minutes passed before the aforementioned clock joined the barrage of noise, and he begrudgingly accepted his fate.

Rolling over on his mat of a mattress, Skye slapped the snooze button and sat up with a broad yawn. Sinewy muscles flexed as he stretched his arms and torso, the result of years of intensive physical training on Earth and in the carrier that had brought him to the base. He wasn’t the biggest, baddest soldier in the battalion, but he still had a physique to be proud of. And he was. For better or for worse, he had an ego the size of a small house, and he wasn’t afraid to make it known. In fact, everyone at his old base in Fort Lewis used to warn him that he needed to be careful in battle because “it would be easy for an enemy to shoot someone with such a big head.”

He didn’t care what they thought though. He knew he was the shit, and that’s all that mattered.

Sliding down from his bunk, Skye ambled past the belching idiots to the adjoining communal bathroom. He took a quick, cold shower and completed the rest of his ritual morning hygiene before he got dressed in a pair of khaki cargo pants and a wrinkled, dark red t-shirt he’d grabbed from the top of his still-packed bag. He hadn’t had time to put any of his belongings away since he’d gotten in so late last night. It was on his to-do list for later that day… whenever he had a chance to get around to it.

Still half asleep and praying there was some sort of caffeine source in this flying hunk of metal, he followed a group of soldiers to what he could only hope was the mess hall.

His gamble paid off when he rounded the edge of a steel doorway and found a big cafeteria-looking room full of the classic, uncomfortable tables and slow-moving buffet line. It was just like high school all over again. He could even see cliques and the loners, loud and quiet, in-crowd and outcasts. Involuntarily, he let out a tired exhale. Every time he was transferred to a new base, it meant he had to reestablish himself all over again. It was eat or be eaten, and he wasn’t about to be anyone’s bitch.

His green eyes wandered to the buffet line.

But first, food.

Weaving through the sea of tables, chairs and people, Skye took his place in the row of guys and gals waiting to get their portion of gourmet astronaut slop. He was always astounded when he saw the crap they were supposed to call food. So much for being respected for serving the country—scratch that. The world, now. He kept having to remind himself that these alien bastards weren’t just a threat to the United States. Now that he was part of this particular battalion, it was his duty to protect the billions of people on his entire home planet.

No pressure or anything.

With a tray full of the best, barely edible shit a man could eat, he turned back around to scan the mess hall a little more thoroughly as he searched for a place to sit. Even though it was early, plenty of the tables were already full. He clicked his tongue, running his right hand over his still-damp, blonde hair. The comfortable option would have been to join a couple of the guys he’d spotted who had been on the shuttle with him before he’d arrived, but he didn’t want to miss out on an opportunity to start assimilating into the rest of the fleet. If he was going to be here for a while, he needed to get to know some of the other faces he was going to be working with.

Having come to a decision, he dove back into the crowd and made his way over to a table where two other soldiers he’d never met were sitting. There were still a couple chairs open. It looked like the perfect spot to meet some new people over breakfast.

He just hoped they could tell him where to find a hot cup of coffee.

Tria didn't take long... being most likely the smallest person on the ship, and definitely the BEST sniper... she had plenty of people she was comfortable hanging out with. Kind of a "little sister to everyone" type. She jaunted over to an open spot at a table full of big guys and dropped her tray down with a satisfying "SMACK" to get their attention. The nearest man, a big honking scarred up gorilla turned with a scowl only to catch Tria's wide, amused grin.

"Hey there Beasty!"

The man half growled, but his scowl couldn't hold out to against the smile that pulled the corner of his lips. "Tria! God damn you... you're lucky I didn't snap your damn neck!"

"Awww... big bad scary man! Please don't hurt me!"

She laughed and stuck her tongue out at him childishly, climbing in to a seat and playfully jamming her elbow in his side to remind him that he takes up too much space. "How the fuck are ya? Did you respawn? I can't tell... you're always so fucking ugly." She sneered at him, stuffing a strip of "bacon" in her mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

"Oh shut up, ya runt." He gave her a playful shove back before picking up his mug and taking a swig. "No... I survived! I get to keep my trophies." He held up his arm to display an angry looking cut that wrapped his bicep. It had already been treated and sealed, but the skin was a little puffy and red still.

"That aint shit. What'd ya do? Trip and land on your scope?"

Tria's chuckles were joined with others from around the table and the man sneered at her again before giving his own light-hearted choff. "What about you little lady? Anybody step on you this time?"

"You know I don't fuckin respawn. I don't need that shit... I'll hold out til they figure out how to give me new eyes with that shiny new body." She tapped her visor just as another, rough looking tall and lanky woman shoved in to the spot next to her, forcing her to be pressed up against the man's side. "Ey fucktards! Bastards yap your mouths enough, the whole fuckin galaxy knows which one of you's is pretty pink pussies!" She laughed at herself, dreadlocks tapping at her shoulder as she leaned in to peck Tria on the cheek. "Toots... beautiful as ever. Shining fucking angel in this place. How many times have I told you to cover up when you go out in public?"

Tria smirked and shoved back, adjusting in the seat comfortably between her two larger companions and taking to her food. "Yes, MOM... I'll try and remember next time. Not used to being stared down by lessies and dicks every day... you'll have to forgive me."

The group at the table continued their banter, just as most tables were. The day or two after a battle were usually slow and comfortable... lots of food, cleaning weapons and gear, playful banter, and general dumbassery. It helped with morale. The higher ups tended to stay out of it.

Even though it was early, the mess hall was already alive with loud voices and laughter of the other men and women who’d come out to eat their breakfast together. It definitely wasn’t the kind of scene Skye had expected to face the day after a battle against bloodthirsty aliens, but he wasn’t about to complain. This was way better than dealing with dozens of mourning soldiers who’d just lost their buddies and brothers to the enemy’s gunfire. He had a suspicion that he knew why they were all in such a good mood though.

On the flight to join the battalion, he’d heard rumors that the space fleet had some sort of new technology that kept the troops from dying in battle. Something about clones and “downloading” consciousness to a computer. He wasn’t the most tech savvy guy—at best, he knew to turn electronics off and on again if they stopped working—so he wasn’t really sure how the process worked. It was something he was curious about though. The idea of being semi-immortal was kind of badass in his opinion. He wanted to find out if the whispers were true.

“Check it out. Looks like the Serge sent us some fresh meat,” one of the soldiers, a burly man who looked more like a talking brick than a person, gibed as Skye approached their table. Not even a minute in, and it seemed he was already going to have to hold his ground. So much for having a cup of coffee first.

“That’s right,” he shrugged, settling down across from the other two and popping a bite of shitty eggs into his mouth. “Heard you dickheads haven’t been able to finish the job, so here I am.”

The first soldier broke into a toothy grin. “Think you’re a tough guy, huh? Just wait ‘til you see the fuckers we’re supposed to kill. You’re going to wish you’d never been shipped into this hellhole.”

“I think I’ll be just fine,” Skye sneered. “After all, I’m already putting up with your ugly mug. How much worse could they be?”

The second soldier, a younger guy with a gruesome scar on the side of his face and neck, snorted into his tray. “Shit,” he shook his head, eyeing the new arrival with interest. “What’s your name, rookie?”

“Skye Dayholt,” he answered through another mouthful of mediocre food. The more he ate of this mystery meat, the more he was starting to think the best part about returning home would be getting to taste real bacon again.

“Dayholt, huh?” the scarred solder mused. “Which squad are you in?”

“Dunno. None of us have been assigned to anything as far as I’ve been told.”

“Well, if you’re lucky, you’ll get Sergeant Valk,” scar-face asserted. “He’s our squad leader.” The brick made a face, and his friend elbowed him in the ribs. “Valk’s the best strategist on this whole damn ship and the god of flying by the seat of his pants. If you go into battle with his voice in your ear, you know you’re about to have one hell of a time.”

“You’ll probably get your fuckin’ innards ripped out by aliens too,” the first guy added optimistically. “Our squad’s got the most creative maneuvers, but we’re always blowing ourselves up with that hellspawn.”

That got Skye’s attention.

“Speaking of blowing yourselves up,” he led. “I heard you guys have some sort of cloning tech around here. What’s that about?”

“Shit, they didn’t brief you rookies about anything, did they?” scar-face scoffed. “Yeah, the science geeks make clones of everyone before the battles and have your consciousness saved to their fancy system, so if you do get your innards ripped out, we’ve got another one of you ready and waiting to do it all over again in the next fight.”

“So… it’s like respawning in a video game,” Skye connected.

“That’s exactly what it is,” brick jabbed his fork at him.

“Fucking fantastic,” he laughed. Even though he’d already heard talk about the cloning program before he’d arrived at the base, it was exciting to hear two guys confirm its existence in their own words. Part of him was even morbidly curious to find out what it was like to die in battle and wake up in a laboratory like nothing happened. Knowing he could never be killed as long as he served in the fleet made him feel powerful.

But not quite as powerful as the caffeine he had yet to find.

“By the way, where can a guy get a cup of coffee around here?” he asked, shoveling another forkful of fake eggs into his mouth.

“Table in the back, dumbass,” brick answered, pointing at something past his shoulder. “How do you expect to shoot an alien if you can’t even find a fuckin’ coffee bar?”

“Easy,” Skye said as he stood up. “When I aim to shoot those bastards, I’ll have already had my coffee.” He made a finger gun with his hand and mimed shooting brick between the eyes before he stepped back from the table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with java.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and made his way across the mess hall to get his much-needed caffeine fix, hoping the drinks were at least a little better than the food on this ship.

[color=92278f][/color]As another surge of men and women entered the mess hall, Namai glanced over her shoulder, then broke into a grin, elbowing Tria harshly in the side. "Look... warm bodies." Tria twisted in her seat and stood up slightly, too short to see over all the big dumb heads filling the room. "Ohhhh... fancy... they don't even have scars yet!" The big guy sitting next to her frowned down at her tone of voice and looked back at the new recruits making their way to the buffet... "Yeah, well I bet ten bucks that twat right there screams like a girl and pisses his pants when he dies..."

Tria laughed and backhanded his bicep. "Shut up... you love it when girls scream... besides... who says you don't scream like a girl and piss yourself every time YOU die... not like you'd remember." Tria laughed and slid back down in her seat for a second. "I don't scream like a girl... and I don't piss myself!" His pride was wounded, but Tria just kept that sly smile on her face. "Sure ya don't Beasty... of course not... your scream is very manly! ........ and you shit yourself." A roar of laughter erupted from the table and Tria pushed off, standing up with her mostly empty tray. "It's been fun assholes! But not too fun... I'm going to get some fucking tar and getting out of this place. The zombies'll start piling in soon and I fucking hate catching people up. Toodles motherfuckers!" She turned to head away and Namai gave her a playful swat on the ass as she passed. She dropped her tray in the clean up pile before heading for the coffee station. What they called coffee in this place was more like a thick caffeinated syrup. Took some getting used to, but definitely gave you the pick-me-up you were looking for if it didn't knock you on your ass first. She weaved her way through the bodies - generally easier than most but she had to watch out for people who didn't even notice her because she was so short. When she got to the table, there was some newbie there, looking confused.

"Here... it's not as hard as it looks... you just grab a cup... stick it here... then up here's your options. First one's black... second one is french vanilla... third one is whatever mystery flavor of the month... Just push..." A thick stream of liquid began pouring from the machine into the cup that she'd placed on the landing. "Then the real trick is... until you've got your sea legs... I suggest you stop it like... halfway and either fill up the rest with milk or water... your preference. But otherwise, it might make you sick the way it clings while it goes down." She took her full cup, not cut with anything like she'd suggested and shrugged at the newbie before taking a sip. "Up to you though... just don't complain later when you're exploding out both ends." The newbie's eyes widened with concern and disgust and apparently they decided they didn't want coffee as bad as they thought, because they turned and walked away without a cup. Tria smirked and took another sip, leaning against the wall next to the coffee station and letting her eyes wander the room for a second... there were still faces missing... but respawns could take a day or two depending on how many zombies they needed to make. Must have been a lot of casualties this time.

Halfway to the coffee bar, Skye could already see that he was going to have to wait in yet another line to get his caffeine fix. One of the guys from his shuttle was standing in front of the machine with a slack jaw and a blank expression on his face as if he was trying to figure out how to work a piece of alien technology. He smirked to himself, quickly recognizing this idiot to be the same soldier who had asked how much longer it would take them to reach the base every day on the journey in. The dumbass was definitely more brawn than brain. It was good thing they had that videogame respawner system or else he probably wouldn’t last more than one battle.

Not wanting to deal with the guy before he had a half-empty mug in his hand, Skye hung back to wait for him to figure the machine out on his own. Apparently he didn’t have to stand around for long though. He raised a brow as a short, brunette girl suddenly pushed past him and began offering the clueless rookie advice about the coffee maker. It seemed she didn’t have as much patience for morons as he did. Whatever. At least the table was clear now as the other guy hurried off like he expected the machine to explode.

Taking the opportunity to fill his own cup, Skye made a beeline for the coffee maker and set it up to pour himself a drink. Though he would never admit it out loud, he was a little relieved he’d overheard shorty’s explanation about how it worked. He wouldn’t have taken as long to figure it out as the last dumbass, but he would have had to look it over to know what each button did. He didn’t feel like making a fool of himself in front of a room full of people he didn’t know yet today.

As he waited for the suspicious sludge to empty into his waiting paper cup, he took a moment to side-eye the girl who’d scared off the other rookie. From her swagger, he could tell she had probably been here a while, but she definitely didn’t fit the persona he’d expected to find on a space battleship. If they had been standing right next to each other, he was sure he would have had a head-and-a-half over her, and she looked light enough to pick up with one arm.

The visor she was wearing was interesting too. He’d never seen anything like it before. It reminded him of a pair of bulky swimming goggles he’d worn at the public pool as a kid, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was for. Knowing where he was and hearing about the other mind-blowing technology on the base, he wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she was wearing some sort of high-tech weapon on her face that could kill a man if she winked.

“Mystery flavor, huh?” Skye mused as he swirled the thick, black coffee he’d filled his cup with. Still getting to know the rest of the soldiers on the ship, he decided he might as well try striking up a conversation with the visor girl. “Is that how the higher ups keep the population under control around here? Survival of the fittest. Pretty sneaky.” He lifted the drink to his lips and took a swig, trying not to gag on the viscosity of it. The liquid clung to his throat like motor oil, and he made a face. “Well shit, I was hoping the coffee in this place would be better than the ship we rode in on, but this is fucking worse.”

Tria's eyes flicked to the clean cut newbie as he addressed her. It was the slightest of head turns... her visor spared her from much of people's ability to read her face. It was for the best, as her eyebrow couldn't help but raise at the pretty boy. "Heh... yeah. Supposed to be a morale booster I think... ya know... pumpkin spice in the fall.... peppermint in the winter. Remind you there's an earth still out there somewhere that has seasons that you used to be able to celebrate." She took another swig and shifted to her side, reaching out to grab the man's arm and pull him slightly towards her and out of the way of the line that was trying to move around him.

"If you ask me... getting ripped apart by bugs is better than dying shitting yourself... but hey - to each their own." She crossed her arms over her chest and let the wall hold what little body weight she had. "So you're part of the new shipment yeah? Too pretty to be old news... plus I'm fairly certain I'd remember seeing your face around. I'm guessing this is your first tour?" Behind the visor, her eyes searched him for scars quickly. Even if you were respawned, you'd hold scars from training or the times that you lived... perhaps unless you'd never lived through a battle before. That would be a crappy soldier to ship to the front lines. She hoped they sent people like that back. Not that they'd remember if they'd died before anyways... for all they knew, they'd just basically be waking up from a deep sleep. "What's your spec?" He could be a mechanic or something... someone who never left the ship. He was a little clean for that... but maybe he hadn't started working yet.

“Nice that they care enough to try, I s’pose,” Skye shrugged at shorty’s explanation about the coffee. He sipped at his drink again, downing a little less than before as he got used to the feeling of gritty sludge sliding down the back of his throat. He had a hunch he would stick to black coffee most of the time, but it was good to know they had a peppermint flavor in the winter. He’d always been a sucker for the stuff. Plus, anything that offset coffee breath at least a little bit was good news in his book.

As the girl reached for his arm and gave him a tug toward her, he blinked, unsure what she was doing until he noticed the other soldiers gathering around the table. Must have been in their way. Absently, he noticed the roughness of her touch as she pulled him. It seemed out of place for a girl her size, but he wasn’t overly surprised. He’d never met a soldier with soft hands in his life.

“Got experience with both?” he asked with a smirk when she remarked about her death preference. It was mostly a sarcastic question, but there was a small part of him that was curious if she really did know what it felt like to die. He was morbidly interested in the subject. On earth, when you were gone, you were gone for good. He’d never met a group of people who had died and been raised again by white coats who grew bodies for a living.

As she went on to inquire about who he was, Skye nodded. “Just got in last night,” he confirmed. “It’s my first tour in space, but not my first tour ever. I spent a few years in Germany and Afghanistan before this.” Not that those tours really counted for much. Since the world was focused on fighting off the alien threat, no one was doing a whole lot of bickering with each other, which meant he spent most of his time training on the bases, playing games with the other guys and getting drunk off his ass on his days off. He hoped he’d see some more action on an actual warfront.

“Rifleman,” he said proudly in answer to her last question. “Master of the M4. What about you?” He looked her over again. “I’m guessing you don’t go anywhere near the front lines, right, short stuff?”

She half laughed, taking a swig of her drink and thinking about his question for a minute. "Wouldn't remember if I had... but I don't think I ever shit myself to death... I can't imagine anyone here would let me live that one down without reminding me every day." Despite the visor, her face was strangely emotive. Her smiles were warm and genuine and the apples of her cheeks shifted the visor on her eyes every time the corners of her lips raised.

"Last night?" The visor lifted slightly, probably the closest thing he'd see to her raising her eyebrows as she gave him an obvious glance over. "You're doing pretty good for yourself then. Haven't seen you fall over yet. That sleep can be killer sometimes." She finished her coffee and tossed the cup in the bin sitting next to the coffee station. "Germany sounds fun... Afghanistan is too fucking hot. You look like you did alright for yourself though." She scoffed mildly at his comment about her not going near the front lines. "Don't you worry about me hot shot... I jump out of the planes right alongside all you fucking nuts every battle. I'm a sniper though... I sit back and save your assess until one of your kind fucks up and lets something come up behind me... see... hardly any scars." She made a little show of holding out her arms and doing a quick spin around. "I don't get injured... I go out with the extraction... or I'm dead. Not much in between."

She smirked on just one side and leaned back against the wall, looking over his shoulder for a moment and surveying the faces again... there were still people missing and morning mess was almost over. Those fucking scientists couldn't do their jobs right if all they had to do was piss into the fucking wind. Dumb shits. "Anyways... guns to clean... gear to get ready. You'll probably have a couple days to settle in, but front lines happen almost daily around here... especially if you don't get respawned." She kicked off the wall and started towards the exit. "I'll see ya around hot shot.... and I'll try not shoot you when I do."

So, apparently if he died, he would lose his memories of the whole experience. Skye supposed he should have known that, since it sounded like everyone’s consciousness was downloaded before the fighting started. That must have meant they would only remember everything up ‘til the battle. He wasn’t sure if that was relieving or disappointing. On one hand, it was probably a good thing that he wouldn’t wake up knowing the pain of losing his life, so he wouldn’t be afraid to face death again. But on the other hand, he still had no answer as to what it would feel like to take a mortal wound—no expectations to prepare him to face something like that. He kind of wanted to have some way to brace himself if he was going to “have his innards ripped out” in the field, as the brick he’d been talking to earlier had so elegantly put it. Unfortunately, it looked like he would be going in blind.

Not that it’s any different than it would have been if I’d fought in a war on Earth, he reminded himself. Just because there was respawning tech in space didn’t mean he could let himself be spoiled. The only change was that if he died out here, he could come back to fight another day. He shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Focusing on the conversation, he couldn’t help but notice the way the little woman’s smile lit up her face. It was kind of cute and made him wonder what the rest of her looked like beneath the visor she was wearing. He also thought it made her look even more out of place among all the rough-and-tough soldiers in the mess hall. How the hell had a girl like her ended up in the military? She had to have been more than just talk if she was still alive and kicking after seeing a few battles against bloodthirsty aliens.

When she said she was a sniper, that explained it—involved in the fighting, but not close enough to need much brute strength. “Sounds like the place to be,” he downed the rest of his coffee and crumpled the empty paper cup into a wad before tossing it in the trash. “Sit back, watch the show, and shoot a few enemies between the eyes. Well, assuming they have eyes. I still haven’t seen what these fuckers look like for myself.”

When she announced that she had work to do, he took a step back to give her room to leave. “I just hope someone tells me soon who the hell I’m supposed to report to on this goddamn ship,” he shrugged. “Later, short stuff. Try not to get stepped on first.”

He watched her go before he headed out of the mess hall too, deciding he might as well do a little exploring while he had the chance. Who knew how long he would be stuck on this big piece of metal, after all? He liked to knowing his home field.