[IC] The Last Kings of Orion

[Justric]

Sylus was... unremarkable. Even reviewing the footage, there was nothing about the man that said to Hob that he was a killer. No glasses, short brown hair, brown eyes, scruff on his chin and cheeks - He was decent looking, average build if a bit stocky. The man's nose had been broken at some point, but that was hardly an indicator of criminal or violent behavior so far as Hob knew. The face wasn't even a bland one! No one could say that Sylus was nondescript or blended into the background, that he was one of God's extras in life. While his features were common enough in their parts, the sum was uniquely Sylus. All the same, it gave the impression of just a normal guy. Hob could easily picture him sitting besides him at a bar or listening to his music on a street corner.

What did stand out to Hob was what Sylus was dressed in: rust covered overalls.

Hob felt his jaw clench as the footage continued to play in reverse. That they should put a convicted killed in the same 'uniform' issues to the NI-techs was galling. Perhaps it was because they had an excess of such overalls? Stores on the ship were limited. Yet the NI-tech could not help but feel it sent a completely different sort of message. He let it slide for now, and filed it away to see if he could follow it up later; were the rust colored overalls (the only clothes most of the NI-techs owned) marking them out as more than just NI-techs? Were there other prisoners on board who wore them? Granted, they didn't stick out as brightly as prison-orange overalls might back on Earth, but...

OLGA was speaking, he realized guiltily, and he tilted his head to indicate that he was listened to her. "Already going to reverse anyway," he shrugged, "but if you just want from the time he was captured onwards, then I can slow it down. That'll make it a bit easier, actually."

A flick of his mind and a green felt board appeared on one wall of the barn, crew ID photos appeared with numbers besides each. The numbers began to incrementally increase. "There, I've linked up a separate database. It'll keep track of who visited him, when, and how often. We can see if anyone unusual stands out so we-"

Hob came to a dead stop. Even playing backwards, he recognized the face of one of Sylus' visitors, a face that had no reason to be there in any way that Hob could even think of. "What the fuck is he doing there?!"

The vehemence was not lost in his voice, and the expression upon his face was one of distinct hatred at the sight of the man in a blue military uniform sitting across from Sylus at an interrogation table. In the NI-tube, another universe compared to the agricultural setting he was in now, Hob's fists balled. The officer, a colonel, was well into his fifties with iron grey hair cut neatly short. His eyes were not merely intelligent but outright shrewd as the regarded the prisoner, a stack of paper between them. There was nothing sinister about the colonel. Quite the contrary, he looked like someone's elderly favorite uncle! The two of them were talking, clear and calm for the colonel's part and anxious for Sylus'. The scene had started with the officer shaking his head and leaving, Sylus bowing his head as though in defeat, but as it continued to play out in reverse Hob began to become aware that the scene was all too familiar.

"I don't believe it," Hob finally growled. "I don't fucking believe it. He's giving Sylus the test! He's giving him the fucking test! That asshole wanted to see of they could turn him into one of us before they spaced him! They were going to make a goddamn murder an NI-tech if he passed the fucking test!"

With the rising crescendo of his voice, Hob rose up to his full six foot height as though he were ready to assault the projection that played out in front of him and OLGA. The files on his lap fell and scattered upon the barn floor. "God damn, Grissom! You fucking asshole! You puking, shit-sucking, cock-blowing, mother-fucker!" It was clear that Sylus failed the tests. He didn't have whatever special spark was needed to make a potential NI-tech, that much was clear by the disappointment on both men's faces. It didn't matter. That didn't change the fact that Colonel Elijah Grissom had tried to circumvent justice and had been willing to use the NI-tech program as a means of someone serving out a criminal sentence.

Hob's was angry enough that within the virtual reality of the computer system parts of him seemed to peel off without his noticing. They were like faint shadows stepping away from the core of his computer generated identity and fading away into nothingness before OLGA's eyes. Each of them bore rage and sadness and hatred. They were the barest wisps of what Hob really was, and yet each contained terrible power and fury in their eyes. The tech was emotional enough that he was throwing off Ghosts and didn't even realize it. The whole of the barn shuddered and waved from the force of his ranting, the matrix unable to keep up with the sudden flow of powerful emotion that flooded Hob's brain.

"You dickhead! You pickle-dicked, Goering wanna-be! I hope you get strapped down to your own goddamn surgical table and vivisected, you festering-"

He bit his lip. Hard. With a great deal of willpower, Hob reigned himself in. The structure of reality about them stabilized after a cycle or two, though Hob himself stood rigid and vibrating with anger. It was only with a glance at the green felt board with its pictures that he confirmed what he wanted to know. The man in charge of the NI program, the head honcho who had headed the whole thing up, had only visited Sylus twice: once to administer the test and once to turn him down. As much as he wanted Grissom to be connected with the murders, it seemed unlikely. Besides, the bastard had other crimes to be laid at his feet.

Casting his eyes down, Hob mumbled an apology through clenched teeth. "Sorry, OLGA. I just... wasn't expecting..."

[Igraine]

Beale had been easy enough to cow with the threat of legal action held over his head - well, for the moment at least. Devika didn't even bother with wishful thinking about the score she'd have to settle in the future, one way or another. She'd been feeding him a line of bullshit from beginning to end, and he'd figure that out soon enough, and he didn't seem the kind to be swayed by arguments about the sanctity of human life. Yes, she had certainly made inroads and allies among the like-minded among the people working with the NI techs, good people like Evangeline and the other techs. But no matter how precious they might be, they were far too few and held far too little real authority.

Beale and Harris however, were a whole other story, and Devi cursed under her breath as she climbed up on a chair, kneeling on the built-in desk before rising shakily to her feet. She reached for the overhead panel the engineer had told her to pry open while he maneuvered into the crawl space beneath Sung Pak's tube. The panel just above her head opened easily enough when she pressed a metal corner, the array of color-coded lights and switches blinking patiently, almost cheerfully at her.

For no reason she could name, this irritated her to no end.

Devi scowled, her lips pressed into a thin line as she peered over her shoulder. The engineer's booted feet were all she could see, as if the wall had nearly swallowed him whole. She willed herself not to tap her booted foot impatiently as she waited for the word from Beale, to do her small part in all this.

"Now, Major!" came Beale's voice, muffled by the distance and the machinery, but loud enough. Devi's fingers flashed over the circuits in the order the engineer had given her, her nerves wound so tightly she nearly jumped out of her skin when the entire chamber fell dark, and the clicking hum of emergency lights burst into a golden glow about the edges of the high ceiling.

Within the cyber world traversed only by the NI techs, darkness descended in the space between the ship's vast videologs and the emergency computer back-up, an eclipse nearly as black and formless as the void of space itself, engulfing the damaged consciousness of a single man.

Sung Pak stirred, his dark eyes opening wide as the virtual world suddenly burned bright all around him, his world gone in an instant from cold blackness to an explosion of the senses. Time lost all meaning, and he winced and shut his eyes tight again against the blinding light, his nostrils filled with the acrid stench of ozone and burnt hair and the growling shriek of ancient metal gears grinding -

"Sung? Sung Pak, can you hear me?"

Devi had flown into action, leaping from the desk the minute the chamber came back to life, helping to yank Beale from the crawlspace and opening Sung's NI tube. At her shout the techs dashed in with a gurney while she swiftly disconnected the man from all the tubes and wires and catheter. The man's body was rolled to the side, then rolled back again as they slid a sheet beneath him, then hauled Sung to the waiting gurney.

Devi pulled open one eye, and then another, the scowl disappearing as she watched first one pupil dilate, then another - promising. This was promising at the least, as was the soft moan that escaped the man's lips. It wasn't words, but she dared to hope he was at least trying to respond to her.

"Get him to the surgical ward - the CT scanner is next door - Wait, what... ? No! No, not to the MRI - dear God, with all the metal in him? You'll rip out his brain!" she hissed impatiently at the nearest tech, and then shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you couldn't know - please, just take him to the surgical suite and I'll be right behind. "

Devi watched the techs pushing the gurney out of the chamber, stepping briskly to follow behind - and then stopped in her tracks. Her large dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she pulled the tablet from the deep pocket of her white medical coat, small, slender fingers dancing swiftly over its screen.

"Dr. Brock, you're needed as soon as possible to come take a look at one of our NI techs in the surgical ward. I know this is not your bailiwick, but your input would be invaluable - I'll explain when you get here."

Devi hesitated for a moment, and then typed just one more message.

"Hob, just wanted to let you know we've gotten Sung Pak from the interface. He's semi-conscious but alive, and at the very least, that's something. - Devi"

She slid the tablet back into her pocket and dashed from the chamber.

[KuroTenshi]

Connor crawled out of the engine block to pick up another tool when his tablet started ringing. "Damnit what now?" He muttered, wiping his hands off on a rag as best he could before grabbing the device next to his tool box.

He frowned at the unfamiliar face waiting for him to answer the video call. "Yeah?" He grunted after accepting the call, rubbing his hand over his forehead to mop up sweat and smearing grease over his skin in the process.

"Mr. Douglass? You're late for your check up." The man said distractedly as he was looking at another screen.

Fuck, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with this. He thought, rolling his shoulders to try and ease some of the tension that was building. His earlier thoughts swirled chaotically in his mind like air through a turbine engine and he felt his heart start to beat a little faster. "I wouldn't call an MRI scan a check up." He answered warily with a frown. "Look sir I don't mean to be rude but I've got a lot of work to do. Why have I been scheduled for an MRI? Are there any medical issues I'm not aware of?"

The man held up a finger to signal to give him a moment. Connor growled in his throat and drummed his fingers on his thigh as he watched the man type and click away on a computer that he couldn’t see.

"Huh, there doesn't seem to be a reason.” He answered after a minute, blinking in surprise. “No prior head injuries, no illnesses and you were marked low risk to suffer any serious complications from stasis."

Connor felt like throwing his tablet at the wall, he knew this was about that stupid experiment. "Okay then what the fuck man?” He snapped at the doctor, technician? Whatever! He was frustrated and a little freaked out and he needed to let it out somewhere. “My brain is fine and if you guys want to look at a scan of it, go look at the fifty billion you have on file from the time I was like five. Unless there's the start of a tumor on the latest scan then don't bug me about fucking head scans. Also tell the bastard that ordered those stupid scans, I’m never, ever, letting you guys alter my brain. Okay? Bye."

He ended the call with an angry swipe of his finger and took a moment to glare into space, taking deep breaths to calm down. Just when he was starting to think that he was being stupid, that he was overreacting over nothing, this happened to proved he was right. There was nothing wrong with him, there was no reason for that scan.

No they just wanted to make sure he could still be a possible subject after three years on ice. How many times did he have to tell them no until they got it? They couldn’t fool him, he knew the downsides to ‘increased’ intelligence. Stuff like that always came at a price or there was a high risk of failure or worse.
He needed to calm down or vent, but who did he do that to? The only person that came to mind was Abby and she had far better things to do than be pestered by him.

The NI-Tech Hob popped up next and he seemed like the type to appreciate the situation. But he was probably busy and besides they just met, it’d be weird to try contacting him out of no where.

His mind ran a blank trying to think of someone else to talk to and he stared down at the black screen of his tablet. He bit his lips for a moment before deciding to just send Hob a little quip. Hopefully the man wouldn’t think he was a weirdo or he didn’t disturb him.

Think I just ruined an MRI tech’s day by telling him off, am I cool now? He sent it off and turned off his tablet, once again staring down at the vague image of his own reflection.

“Well, that just leaves just you, Loretta.” He sighed out, setting down the tablet and picking up the tool he needed originally. “Got no one else to rant to, hope you don’t mind if I chew your ear off.” He said to the engine block with a small grin. “Maybe I should put on some happier music.” He stood up to move over to the radio and fiddled with his music player until he found a song to help put him in a better mode. “Dream Again, a little ironic but why not huh? You got a problem with Tim Mcmorris?” He tilted his head toward the engine and waited a beat. “Didn’t think so.” He huffed, turning on the song.

The sound of a very upbeat guitar filled the engine bay and Connor slid his way back inside of the engine.

[DotCom]

It was probably a good things Pauline was there -- and decidedly more grounded than Deli was, or ever had been, even before Army Astronaut Mike -- because Deli was almost positive her head might have just rolled off her shoulders like a bowling ball....a bowling ball filled with potential flammable and very buoyant gas, because its next stop was whatever remained of the billowy clouds she'd been so fond of wandering back on earth.

At Pauline's gentle insistance/polite introduction, Deli started and swallowed hard around a sticky gob of sugar and food coloring that somehow didn't choke her on its way down.

"I...um...yeah. Deli. I -- I'm Deli. I work down here. With Pauline. And Reece. And Curmy. And Blue. I...I do...explosions," she stammered, without bothering to cite her more professional title, whatever that was. Even Army Astronaut Mike could not beg that level of boring maturity from Deli.

Still. She felt somewhat inclined to stare at his face.

She tried very hard not to.

Sort of.

"You can...um...as many as you want. Just...not the green ones. Unless you like those ones, too."

[AmongHeroes]

OLGA’s cat eyes peered along with Hob’s, scanning and cataloguing the video as it wound in reverse. She knelt beside her friend with her chin resting upon a demure palm, her slight fingers curled upwards to rest gently upon her lower lip.

In the brief period that the two merely sat watching the footage, OLGA felt a distinct welling of happiness fill her. It was at first merely a warm, ethereal feeling, which seemed to effervesce from within her stomach. As the moments passed, that feeling spread to occupy her being, down to the very tips of her digital toes.

At first she merely reveled in the unknown source of the emotion, not caring at its cause. But, soon enough, her eyes drifted inexorably up to the man that sat next to her. OLGA’s mouth teased upward into a smile as she observed the keen, intent face of Hob. So focused was he upon his work, that he didn’t notice the somewhat vacuous look that occupied his eyes. It made OLGA smile all the more, as the look was so very natural, so very effortless, so very human.

With her eyes squinted with the happy smile, OLGA’s free hand began to slowly snake upward, intent upon the warmth and connection afforded from Hob’s own grasp. She had no inkling of what should occur next, once her hand reached his, but she didn’t care. That was the beauty of it all. Her logic was not that of a machine, not that of some organized series of 1’s and 0’s. No. Her desire was organic, unplanned, and illogical. It was bent upon a desire for connection, to further that happy feeling which had snuck upon her only moments before.

Her hand was scant inches from his when everything changed.

Hob’s curse cracked the fragile spell of OLGA’s moment, and she recoiled in surprise as he stood. She looked from him, to the screen, and then back. Like some baleful flower, Hob seemed to blossom with anger and ire before her. She could only watch in stricken shock as her dearest friend shed the petals of his rage, wilting these shades of emotion into physical manifestations that fled throughout the room like sparks upon the wind.

Amidst it all, despite her fear and worry, OLGA came to her feet. She stepped to Hob, and enveloped him in her arms. Shorter though she was, she stood upon the tips of her toes, and pulled her friend’s head to the well of her neck and shoulder. Her blond hair fell over Hob as she rested her cheek against the top of his head.

“Don’t apologize, Hob. I am so sorry. So sorry,” OLGA said, her voice quiet, but filled with compassionate conviction. “I’ll never understand what some humans are capable of.”

Standing there, with Hob held to her, OLGA’s bright green eyes opened. Her vision was met with the video footage of Sylus’ incarceration that continued to play out, irreverent to the emotional toll it had just sparked. The images were still playing in reverse, showing the makeshift brig used to hold the murderer and rapist before his execution.

As she had only been half-watching, with her attention given to Hob, OLGA almost missed the appearance of the man captured on the video screen. He had visited Sylus, and judging from the time stamp, he had spoken with the criminal for almost three hours. Raising her head slightly from Hob’s, she stared more intently at the screen.

“Why the hell would he be talking with Sylus Adams?” OLGA muttered.

---

Dr. Bieito Jasso sat at his small desk, his feet propped upon an empty crate. Tendrils of blue smoke rose in thick waves from the bowl of his Bulldog pipe as he reclined in the worn office chair. Taking a light puff from the pipe, Jasso blew out a perfect ring, denoting a man that had spent many an hour wiling away time amidst the company of his pouch tobacco.

The room was dimly lit, with only a single LED lamp set on low to illuminate the tiny living space. A bed, with storage beneath, the table, the crate, the chair, and the man, were all that occupied the room. It was a desultory accommodation for a man who had to be awake for so long while others passed their time in the clutches of dreams.

An alarm beeped on Jasso’s watch. Looking down to the watch-face, the man silenced the alarm. His pipe-hand turned the object over, dumping the smoldering contents into a tin ashtray upon the desk. With the heel of the pipe, Jasso smashed the tobacco until the glowing embers were snuffed, and the smoke ceased to drift to the heavens.

With an exasperated sigh, the man stood. From the back of his chair, the inventor of the Copernicus’ entire cryobed system took his jacket. Slinging it about his arms, Jasso stepped through the automated door of his room, and into the passageway. There was work to be done.

[AmongHeroes]

Gavin chuckled, happy to have Abby’s jest to distract from the blush upon his cheeks.

“Well I certainly hope my condition wouldn’t be severe enough as to require euthanasia!” Gavin shrugged. “But, I suppose that would be up to Ms. Albright’s professional opinion. One can’t argue you with a doctor, Abby. We always know best. Even DVM’s.”

The time passed quickly as Gavin followed beside Abby, and they continued their lighthearted conversation. For someone eavesdropping upon them, it would have been difficult to tell that they were on their way to discuss a murderer’s habits with another cryo-tech. Especially when Abby dropped the last bit about Gavin still owing her a “real date.”

The doctor looked to the sergeant, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Abby,” Gavin said, his voice matching the quiet volume of hers, “I would count it as the best debt I’ve ever accrued. I shall make sure it is paid in full, and as soon as possible.”

With the bubbling warmth of happiness filling his belly, Gavin lapsed into silence as they arrived at Antoine Eadore’s quarters. Abby announced their presence to the closed door, and they pair hadn’t to wait long for their call to be answered.

It was apparent to Gavin from the time that Antione opened the door that he and Abby had interrupted a nap. And a pleasant one at that, from the looks of it. Gavin cringed in empathy. Any man worth his salt understood the value of a good siesta, and to bring one up short was simply cruel.

Gavin reached forward to shake the man’s hand. “It’s good to meet you Mr. Eadore, and I’m dreadfully sorry for interrupting.”

“We,” Gavin said, indicating both Abby and himself with a waggle of his thumb, “had a question regarding the cryo-sleep system. Specifically in regard…”

A very insistent beep on his mobile device interrupted his explanation, and he immediately gave both Abby and Antoine an apologetic look. “Excuse me one moment.”

Stepping away, Gavin took out his device, and read the message. It was a request from one of the medical technicians Gavin knew vaguely named Devika.

"Dr. Brock, you're needed as soon as possible to come take a look at one of our NI techs in the surgical ward. I know this is not your bailiwick, but your input would be invaluable - I'll explain when you get here."

Frowning deeply, Gavin looked up to Abby and Antoine. “I’m terribly sorry, but there’s a slight emergency that needs my attention. I’ll have to catch up with you both later.”

With that, Gavin spun on his heels, and made his way quickly down the passageway towards the surgical ward.

* * * * *

In a few short minutes, Gavin found himself at his destination. Sliding inside the sterile interior of the surgical ward, he instinctively pulled a white lab coat from a hook on the wall, and slung it over his hoodie.

Stepping towards Devika, Gavin got straight to business. “What seems to be the issue, and how can I help?”

[Igraine]

'Is it me, or does there really seem to be a timing issue going on here? Or maybe the universe is just getting its jollies at our expense... ?'

Abby still managed a smile though, even as she watched Gavin's back retreat down the hallway they'd just come up, hurriedly enroute to some emergency or other. That it truly was an emergency, she never doubted for a minute, any more than she doubted Gavin's quiet promise to pay his 'debt in full.' Even so, there was more than a little incredulity in that little twist of a smile on her lips before her attentions returned to the rumpled, sleep-fuzzied Antoine Eadore.

The poor man stood there in the doorway, the very genial soul of patient long-suffering and, if she weren't mistaken, certainly attempting something very like a military bearing. Her brow furrowed curiously for a moment over that smile, wondering where exactly Antoine Eadore had served, but bit the question back. Maybe another time perhaps, when they hadn't just tossed the poor guy out of bed.

"At ease, Mr. Eadore," she said easily, waving the man back toward a more comfortable stance. He was, after all, right outside his own room! "And please, just call me Abby. As Gavin... Dr. Brock was already saying, so very sorry for waking you, but that might just be the consequences of forgetting the military truism, wherever it was you served: keep your head low, stay out of sight, and volunteer nothing!" Abby laughed softly. "Because then you wind up with people on your doorstep, messing with your naps... "

She folded her arms over her chest easily, moving toward the door. "And yes, we do - or I guess you're just stuck with 'just me?' So I have some questions about the cryobeds, but do you think we might speak in your room? I won't keep you long, and I'd really like to make sure this stays just between us, if at all possible. It's about the mechanisms of the cryobeds, and the possibility of countermanding "

**********

Devika peered up at Dr. Brock as he strode into the surgical suite, letting out a slow breath of relief the moment she saw him. She stood straight up, which didn't exactly make that much of a real difference in her height. Pen light in hand, she waved the geneticist to her, beside a seemingly still unconscious Sung Pak where he lay on the gurney.

"Dr. Brock - great! So good to see you, thank you for coming so quickly." And she truly was glad to see him. So much so in fact, she didn't even bother scolding him for coming into the surgical suite without booties over his vintage Converse sneakers - she'd just have the place re-sterilized later.

She lay her small, warm hand over the elderly Asian man's forearm where she stood, nodding her approval to the med tech beside her, monitoring the modified EEG hookups attached to a cap covering most of his head, strapped up neatly beneath his chin. The holographic screen above Sung's body pulsated with a faint white glow, black lines translating the electrical waves of Sung's brain to display an encouragingly vibrant surf of wavering ebony lines.

"This is Sung Pak," she began, falling easily back into the rhythm of giving years of nursing reports to physicians and oncoming nurses. "He's 58-years old, one of our precious few NI techs. During the last shift change, Sung didn't come out of the neural interface as he should have - he actually... Well, there isn't really a word for what happened to him. To my knowledge, it's never happened before, but in essence, Sung 'glitched.'"

Devi good-naturedly offered up her penlight to Gavin, so he could check Sung's pupils for himself if he wished - the man really didn't seem prepared for the doctoring role at the moment. "His consciousness was trapped, in essence, in a loop like... Well, like when a computer seizes up, I suppose. We literally shut down his NI chamber completely, and in essence, 'rebooted' him." Devi winced apologetically, feeling terrible about having to use such insensitive language to talk about a human being, but she honestly did not have any other words to use. And then winced all over again, when she realized what pronoun she'd used in that last sentence.

"No... No, not 'we.' I'm the one responsible for how we got Sung out of there, for better or worse. It was my call." The woman nodded her dark head briskly, firmly, and then continued on with her briefing. "He seems to be in a coma, though we have gotten him to obey commands intermittently, squeezing a hand occasionally - it's promising. And you got here just in time - we're taking him next door for a CT scan. His brain... I don't trust myself to read this, to see if there is any lobular damage. All the NI techs literally have wiring surgically implanted into their brains. Even adjusting for metal artifacts, this is... Well, all of this is unprecedented, I suppose."

[Derren Krenshaw]

"Pleasure," Antoine reached out to shake Dr. Brock's hand... then found himself watching the back of the man's head as he hastily excused himself. His arm remained partially outstretched, hand open, grasping only empty air.

Okay... then...?

The First Sergeant -Abby- took over quickly enough, Antoine's gaze snapping back to her as she spoke. His hand still wanted to reach out, to hold, to move, but he clenched his fist tight, shoving it behind his back and forcing a smile to his lips as he relaxed. What had that been all about? Greeting and leaving? Emergency? Even so, did that excuse just... well...

Muscle tensed all the way up his arm, pleading, demanding to be moved. His arm shivered behind his back, it was almost painful to hold it back. It needed, no, he needed to do something, quickly, now.

A sharp shake of Antoine's head helped, some, a chuckle in response to Abby's jest helping just a little bit more. His arm relaxed some, the tension draining, and he could focus on her request. Cryobeds? Right, Dr. Brock had mentioned them before running off to do whatever. Information on them, of course, after the announcement she made earlier, she'd want to know more, wouldn't she? About the system itself, in case anyone asked, and about- countermanding, exactly.

"Certainly, Abby." Smiling was easier now, thankfully. He stepped back to pull the door wider, standing aside so she could enter. Well, for all the reasons that he could have been interrupted from his nap, this wasn't so bad an option. Another sharp shake of his head helped him focus, adding a shrug as he waited for her to enter. "I'd offer a chair if I had one, though if Mowzer will share, feel free to sit on the bed?"

He leaned up against the counter himself, Mowzer glancing up only briefly from his curled-up spot on the bed, basking in the leftover warmth from where Antoine had been sleeping. He offered the two a biting comment of his own, before tucking his head back between body and tail. Antoine chuckled at the remark, shaking his head a bit more casually as he closed the door behind Abby.

"Cryobed mechanisms and countermanding, then..." He tapped his chin with a finger, where best to start? "How much do you know about the system, already? I don't want to take up your time with redundant details. And if your asking how easily someone could repeat what happened last shift... then..."

That was a bad place to go. Talking about what might have happened was a quiet test the cryo-techs had been giving each other, but always well away from anyone else. Such a thing was supposed to be impossible -at least on the scale that happened during the second shift. All the techs wanted to know how it might have happened, how they could prevent someone from doing it again... but no one wanted the suspicion that would come along with it. Camaraderie by mutual threat, if he hadn't just finished speaking with Ms. Weber, he'd have been right there with his fellow techs.

But after that surprising -and welcome- meeting, it was now just a little bit easier.

"I can stick to describing the safeguards, checks, and possible ways they might have been avoided, if that's what you're looking for?"

[RoadRash]

Laughing, Mike stepped forward to take a few of the gummy bears, studiously avoiding the green ones. After all, it would be rude to refuse an offered treat, and Mama Davis had certainly taught him manners.

“Well, 1st Sergeant said it was best if I refrained from carrying a boom-box while on duty, or I’d have Lopez carting one around wherever we went,” he said, throwing a wink at Pauline. “I think everyone should have mandatory musical accompaniment, because that way I’d know who to avoid by listening for the scary organs and brass.”

“So, explosions, eh?” he asked Devi, quirking an eyebrow at her. “I’ve done a few of those in my time. Ever see a Chinese Type-100 Battle Tank get hit by a rocket? Oh man, the bang is pretty extraordinary. Especially once the ammunition stores catch fire, and all of the secondaries start cooking off…”

Mike trailed off, grinning into the middle distance at the pleasant memory, then came back to reality at a squawk from his radio.

“Prophet, this is Hooligan. I’m at the Cryo-Bay. Gonna make a quick tour, let people know we’re around like you said. How copy? Over.”

“Hooligan, Prophet. Solid copy. Make some friends. Kiss some hands, shake some babies. Do your thing. Prophet out.”

The Marine released the shoulder-mic of his radio and returned his attention to the ladies before him, smiling to let them know they had his full attention again.

“Right, so where were we?”

[Justric]

Hob couldn't bring himself to look at her, ashamed of his rage and the uncontrolled emotions that were so blatantly on display in front of OLGA. Bad enough that he couldn't find answers to his own heart's dilemma when it came to her, but to expose her to such primal wrath?! Unthinkable! She was still very much on innocent in his eyes. Blowing his top in front of OLGA something he had never wanted to do, and he feared what she might think-

And then there she was, in his arms, hugging him. The girl pulled him into a gentle embrace and guided his head to lean against her shoulder in gesture of comfort and compassion that, by Hob's thinking, could not have been feigned or programmed. He wanted to cry. He wanted to, but he didn't. When had been the last time anyone had held him like this? Not since before it all began, certainly. The NI-techs shared to much of their minds in the system to make physical contact anything other than awkward, and there hadn't been anyone else to vent to or confess or listen... Now here was OLGA, holding him and soothing him. For a timeless moment, it was only them in the barn. Closing his eyes, Hob held her back and took a deep calming breath of the straw scented air, tinged with that teasing perfume she liked so much. The only sounds were the rattle of the old time projector nearby and the sound of the wind blowing the corn out in the fields... Gradually, he began to relax and let go of the hate and anger.

A brief flash of Devi's smiling face went through his inner mind, the core carefully not exposed to the virtual world where chaos had to be imposed upon order to make sense in the human mind. Guilt came with that image, and passed just as quickly. Hob was left wondering why he should feel guilty at all about a woman who had merely been decent to him...

OLGA's own sudden surprise caused the NI-tech to look up in alarm. Hob was both gratified and sad that their shared moment had passed. Sad for the lose of such human contact as had been denied him and the other NI-techs for some time, gratified because he still ashamed of his outburst and wanted it forgotten. He glanced up at the projector screen and squinted at the image of the man. Frowning, he glanced at the board to confirm that the matching ID photo was there. "Three hours, twenty-two minutes," he murmured, "almost as long as Grissom."

Disengaging with a slight reluctance from her youthful limbs, Hob knelt and scooped up the files. Their flip-book animations continued to skip ahead, given him quick previews of upcoming (or in this case, previous) scenes. "It's not the only time, either," he pointed out. "Projections show at least three other times they connected before and still counting. Without going into this step by step, it looks like this guy had lots of contact with Sylus earlier on. A lot of it is just corner shots, showing them walking or talking as they turn corners or go into private rooms out of camera view." Grimacing, he shook his head. "Not many of these have audio. You'd think with modern day technology, they'd have put in audio as well as video, or something. And silly me, I didn't take any courses in lip reading."

Hob glanced over at the board again to check the tally. "So far he's had the most contact with Sylus outside of the attorneys and guards, for whatever it's worth. At least since he was captured." Something else stood out to him then, something that caused him to scowl. "Hey, a lot of this footage is marked as being unread yet."

[Justric]

The Colonel finished reviewing the written complaint forms, each in their own time, before raising his head to look dispassionately at the three who stood before his desk. He did not lean back in his chair nor steeple his fingers in contemplation. Instead, he fixed an inquisitive eye on each one in turn as he sat ramrod straight with his hand upon the desk, almost as though examining three very different and unique insects that still managed to have one thing in common. Which, actually, was very much what they were! In fact, to say that the people who compromised his subordinates were a diverse bunch would have not only been an understatement but a gross misconception! He had made some great strides in getting them to work together, although there was simply far too many differences for them to ever become a truly cohesive team. You couldn't take a computer networking engineer and turn him into a medical engineer so easily, after all!

Which brought the eye of the command unto Mr. Beale first. A nervous little man with little backbone or spine, the sort who did far better with machines than with people. He wasn't so much in charge of the physical components of the Neuro-Interface program as he was the first among equals. Beale was also the only awake at the moment. The rest were still in cryo-stasis. "These are some very serious charges, Mr. Beale," the Colonel finally commented. "You entail that she willfully put the whole of the ship at risk by compromising its network for the sake of one man. That her orders to disengage the NI-tech from the system and... ah... 'reboot him'... endangered the entirety of the mission. You go on further to claim that the Major did not even allow you to explain that the tech's extraction was still undergoing careful study so as to best decide how to minimize the risks to both the ship and the tech himself, but instead immediately ordered you to obey under threat of military arrest and incarceration."

The sweating civilian engineer shifted nervously but still gave a sharp nod of affirmation. "I mean, she talked about how precious the techs are and that they're human and all of that. No problem there as far as I'm concerned. But she didn't get that without the chambers the techs are useless and visa versa! I wanted to explain to her how fragile the whole thing is, but she wasn't having none of it! It's a patchwork system, sir, it really is! The least little thing could-"

"Yes, Mr. Beale, so you have said before. I am well aware of how... kludged, I think is your word for it, the system is." Flicking his eye to Lt. Harris, he raised an eyebrow. "And to add to Mr. Beale's accusations, Lt. Harris, your own submissions cite that the Major altered several established procedures without any input from the other departments, that she blithely ignored regulations and standing orders regarding the NI-techs." Colonel Grissom did his best to not ask the woman if she had used a dictionary to look up the word 'blithely.' She seemed the sort to open a dictionary only when she wanted to complain about someone as thoroughly as possible. "That she accused you of human rights violations and torture?"

"Sir, that is correct, sir."

"At ease, Lt. Harris, at ease," he waved at her.

Looking over to the third of the trio, he lifted his chin as a sing of measured respect. Dr. Lattimore and he were of an age, for one thing, and while there was much that the two of them did not agree upon they felt united in their ultimate goal: survival of the human at whatever personal cost to themselves. Lattimore, now well into his sixties, stood calmly frowning as he listened to the other two. The Colonel could see the specialist was less than thrilled with the reports being tendered and would want action taken. Grissom agreed. "Dr. Lattimore, seeing as how the accused has military standing, I would like to handle this. I understand and acknowledge the co-authority of the Combined Intelligence Services in the Neuro-Tech Program, of course, and I shall see that things are brought back into line. I believe this to simply be a matter of ignorance on the Major's part, a misguided drive to right some wrongs, and not a willful threat. Give me a week to see how she continues, and then I will address matters with her myself."

The specialist gave a stiff nod of consent. The remains of several different intelligence agencies had formed into the CIS, an organization that became almost entirely devoted to the NI-tech program out of a lack of external or internal threats to guard against. It had been the backbone of the program's recruitment efforts. Those efforts had not been to Grissom's liking. Not in the least. But it had all taken place before he had come on board. When he had taken command of the program, he found himself very much trying to make an omelet big enough for thousands of survivors with only but a handful of eggs, eggs which the CIS had shattered to pieces. Grissom was left in charge of sieving out bits of shell with only his fingers. Still, the CIS, while small in number, had their uses. For one thing, without Lattimore and his coterie of surgeons and behavioral specialists, they wouldn't be able to create new NI-techs! Speaking of which...

"While you are here, Doctor, how goes the search for replacements?"

Lattimore's sour expression deepened. "We are still having some troubles," liver spotted man extemporized, "Those pre-qualified are showing a great deal of reluctance, although we are expanding our searches. Still, it is not looking promising. We may have to resort to-"

"No," Grissom said politely firmly. "Not unless there is no other course of action."

"Forgive me," the doctor contradicted primly, "but we may be at that point, Colonel. The surgeries take time, as does recovery and training. As Mr. Beale has pointed out, the system is fragile. No less so are the NI-techs themselves, both physically and mentally, and frankly it is surprising that we have done as well as we have, especially given the failures of the first iteration! We need at least seven more NI-techs, Colonel. At least. Eight, if Sung-Pak does not make a full recovery. As I understand it, the Major currently has whisked him away to Dr. Brock for evaluation." Lattimore cocked his neck to one side. "Again, in the face of established-"

Colonel Grisson waved his hand in a chopping motion. "Yes. Thank you. I am aware. You are all dismissed."

Lt. Harris saluted, a salute that he returned before she left. The two men followed her out, leaving Grissom to himself. He rubbed at his brow for a moment before reaching over to snag a form authorizing the revival of certain CIS agents. Certain paperwork remained exactly that, paper. Grissom did not wish to risk having any of it electronically filed, no matter how Mr. Beale and the others insisted it could be secured from prying eyes. All of it was saved, of course. There was a certain room where every order he ever signed with his fountain pen was carefully filed; Grissom regarded them as the chains of damnation he would wear after his soul was condemned to hell. As he worked, the Colonel grumbled his favorite curse.

"Fucking lowest bidder..."

[Igraine]

"What I'm looking for, Antoine," Abby said with a wide, easy smile, the one that crinkled the corners of her ice blue eyes, "Is exactly that."

Without the least self-consciousness about being alone with a strange man in his room, she settled easily onto the offered bed mattress, leaning back on her hands, one booted foot hiked over the other as she stretched her legs out. Her knees popped audibly, and Abby sighed just a little as she winced. That sparring session of a workout with Sczruba left her aching – a pleasant ache for the most part, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel the bruise beginning to spread across one shoulder blade.

“Let me put this to you as succinctly as possible: there is no doubt that Sylus Adams did exactly what he did to that young woman who survived. By extension, it’s no great stretch of the imagination to guess he killed all those people before her too, all the ones who seemed to have simply ‘died in their cryosleep.’”

Abby shrugged one shoulder, her gaze flicking to the sleeping cat beside her. ’Cat!? Guy’s got a damned ocelot on his bed!’ She didn’t mind cats. Not at all really, and she had a special fondness for the little puff balls with the stiff little tails and their funny gait and enormous fuzzy heads that were known as “kittens.” But she was really more of a dog person at heart, and the sheer unnatural size of what she supposed was meant to pass for some mutated house cat or whatever was daunting, to say the least. She still worked up the courage though, to at least pat its enormous, sleeping head, very, very lightly and praying under her breath it wouldn’t wake up and try to eviscerate her.

She’d hate to have to shoot this guy’s cat, right here in his own room.

Fortunately, the only thing that happened was the peeling open of one golden eye, as an irritated and toothy yawn was tossed her way, before the beast curled itself back into its warm, gargantuan ball of spotted fur.

“I know nothing about the systems, but I don’t really need to. What I want to know, is if you have any idea how he did it. You’re the first among equals Antoine, or at least the only one with the cajones to speak up at the briefing this morning. So yes, tell me the safeguards, the checks and the monitoring, but most importantly – tell me if you know how the hell he got to them, repeatedly, without anyone anywhere ever the wiser - until he was finally caught red-handed.”

**********

“We were somewhere between the virtues of gummy bears, musical accompaniment and things that go ‘boom!’” Pauline grinned. “Or at least, it was somewhere about there – an almost perfect triangulation of the utterly random, although… “

The young woman chuckled softly to herself, as close to an evil giggle as she was likely to ever get as she pulled the tablet from her pocket, lighting up the screen with a flick of her finger. She peered up at Mike from the corners of her eyes, a devilish gleam in her gaze. “So a rocket was it, into a Chinese… Tank, yes? You’re not particular about the type of rocket I’m guessing, just something with enough firepower to be… Anti-tank? I know we’ve got a few stored out there in the Hangar… For blasting errant asteroids out of the trajectory lane… “

Her agile fingers flew over the virtual keyboard, crunching in the designators for the modified VT-12 rocket – and then, its target. Her ‘library’ contained the shapes and chemical and physical composition of thousands upon thousands of different asteroids, and it wasn’t too far a stretch for Pauline to combine a few of the rocks just so… And then shave a few angles just so… Just like that! And rife with sulfurous compounds…

She set the tablet flat on Deli’s desk, taking a step back as she waved the Marine and the explosive’s expert a little closer. “And this is what I do,” she said softly as the holographic projection began to take shape. There, floating in the vast emptiness of a star-studded outer space, was a yellow gummy bear of epic proportions.

“Sulfur compounds,” Pauline whispered to Deli, “Couldn’t let it be a green one, you know… “

And from the corner of the projection, the unmistakable shape of the VT-12 rocket hurtled into the single most unique asteroid in all the known universe. There was no fiery explosions of course without any kind of atmosphere, but the brittle, super-cooled piece of once-jiggly candy goodness shattered like broken glass in all directions, a brilliant golden blast bright as fireworks against the endless night.

Pauline nodded her own approval at the little light show on Deli's desk, though her smile remained a touch tentative as she looked up to Mike, surprising even herself when she realized just how much she hoped he'd like her small piece of light mathematical silliness. "Deli's the one with the real pyrotechnics, the expert who makes things explode exactly as they should. I just write the training programs that hopefully give us an idea how that's going to happen, what with different payloads and different asteroid compositions."

"And in my downtime, I blow up candy." She shrugged, her grin just a touch sheepish as she looked from Deli to Mike. "Don't judge. Everyone's got to have a hobby... "

[DotCom]

Deli gaped at Mike for a painfully long moment, instinct alone keeping her from dropping her smuggled stash of gummy bears as a flush comparable to sunburn crept from her neck and up into her hairline.

"I...uh...no, I -- "

And then Pauline, her new and very best friend Pauline, rescued her with about the only other thing that could have pulled Deli's attention at the moment. She perked at the mention of the rockets in the hangar -- she'd planned on taking all day tomorrow (with her mother's old MP3 player and six hours worth of Celine Dion) to catalog what they had aboard, her own knowledge of, ahem, assembly excluded. All at once, the dumbstruck civilian was gone, replaced by a demolitionist only a few would recognize, for better or for worse...albeit a more...passionate demolitionist than most.

"Guay!" Deli explained, leaning over Pauline's tablet so suddenly, it was a wonder she didn't break the poor girl's nose. "Sorry!" she added quickly, meeting blue eyes with her green for the briefest second before returning all her attention to the screen the other had procured. "Is that a -- " she started again, then stepped back as a technicolor projection turned her hair, face, and shoulders into a slow-spinning cosmos.

"Guay," she whispered again, too reverent to even realize she was speaking. She watched in quiet, earnest fascination, apparently speechless for the first time all day, as the candy splintered like stain glass, tumbling away into the darkness. When it was done, Deli was still gaping, all wide-eyed and stunned in silence that went well-beyond appreciative, straight into worship...but the newfound glee had nothing (or almost nothing) to do with Army Astronaut Mike.

She resisted the very, very strong urge to throw her arms around Pauline.

"You made that?" she demanded, incredulous. "Just now? With the VT? And the candy? Can you do more? Like the old GBU beta models and...and...and that tank thing Astronaut Mike was talking about? Can you change the atmospheric conditions, too? Or use unstable explosives? Not on purpose, of course, just...y'know, worse case scenario. My dad told me once they started developing those plastic casings at the turn of the century because old low explosive devices were all based on charcoal and potassium nitrate, if you can believe that. I dunno why anyone would use anything so basically nonreactive, I mean people use to eat that stuff -- "

She realized she was rambling and straightened abruptly in what would have been a decidedly self-conscious movement in anyone else. Mildly embarrassed, but still too excited to care, she offered a sheepish smile to both Pauline and Mike, before tilting her head inquisitively at the latter.

"So...Mike," she began tentatively, though much less so than pre-gummy-bear-explosion, "what do you do here? And how do you guys already know each other?"

[Derren Krenshaw]

Antoine let out a low whistle, leaning back against a wall of cabinets as he pondered Abby's words.

"So it was that bad... Alright then." Serious face. As easygoing a person as Abby seemed, she was military with a job to do. Easygoing could vanish in a heartbeat if given a reason, he had no doubt of that. Indeed, he'd probably volunteer to shout down himself if he came across as making light of the issue -intentional or not- and then step back in line for her turn. She needed explanation, answers, knowledge, and he could help with that. He could, so he would. That's how it was, he didn't even have to think it over.

"The cryo-bed systems aren't perfect, only as close to perfect as possible." Gesturing lightly with one hand in time with his words, the other began to drum a soft, steady beat upon his chest. That helped, both helped, his mind focusing easily on the information he thought she'd need. "Much of the work is done by computer, it's simply to delicate to accomplish otherwise. You still need people on hand, however, who can do the small tasks computers are unsuited for, keep the whole system running, and be on hand should something go wrong: Cryo-techs."

Not to mention let people know that they were watched by more than just unfeeling machinery. People trusted people, not computers. That was one of the main reasons that got Antoine fast-tracked through experimental surgery, that got scientists and doctors alike so excited when he said he wanted to work with the cryo-beds. You needed people there when others went to sleep, and when they woke up. It made things easier, made things more comfortable, made it all possible.

And, if anything went wrong, there was at least a chance of saving those in Cryo. Projected mortality rate in a catastrophic-failure scenario, where the techs had to wake everyone themselves, stood somewhere between fifty and seventy percent... but it was less than one hundred.

Of course, despite all of that...

"Of course... people can't always be trusted." That was the heart of the matter, wasn't it. Antoine offered Abby a deliberate nod, letting her know he was at the heart of her questions here. "So while the Techs watch over the system, the system watches over us. We have to log in to any terminal we wish to use, be it a bed terminal, a general terminal set in the wing, etc. We have to choose a reason for logging in, which determines what permissions we have for that session, and must remain active or be automatically logged out after fiv- three minutes."

Right, they had changed that from when he was in the Mountain. No one had said as much when the third shift's Techs were woken up, but it was clear that change had been very, very recent. Add that to what was logged, the response of their superiors to questions or even minor transgressions? He and the other Techs had nervously laughed it off at first, but when poor Laura had been brought to tears after she tried to thaw someone slated for the shift, only to find out she had gone to the bed of someone with an almost identical name? It was clear what the higher-ups were scared of. Very, very clear.

"Everything we do while logged in is recorded, time stamped, and kept on file to be reviewed. Any action taken outside of set guidelines, from trying to use files you don't have permissions for to an automatic log-out, is reported to the heads of Medical. Waking someone up requires that they be cleared by someone with Admin permissions for that shift, the only exception being if an 'emergency thaw' is activated, which sets off an alarm throughout the cryo-wings. In theory ,someone 'might' have been able to do what Adams did, once. The sad truth is that it's possible, but anyone, anyone looking into the death should have been able to see that something was amiss from the logs, and be pointed to Adams as the Tech who was there when it happened... Which brings us to how he could have done it so many times."

Antoine took a deep breath, shaking his head as the finger-drumming picked up it's pace. They were here, now, at the same question his peers had been whispering amongst each other for over a week. On the bright side, they had come up with a couple ideas that might be able to help Abby. On the other hand... They had a couple ideas that, if verified, could put many, many sleepers at risk.

"In order for Adams to have gotten away with what he did again and again, the most likely reason is an exploit in the system. Some programming bug that was never caught, overlooked, or only occurs in a scenario no one considered, that would allow Adams to bypass the log-in requirement and/or the filing system and alarms. The Cryo-techs... we've put some thought into this, in all honesty. And there are two theories that I believe might be what happened."

"One: Adams managed to gain access to an Administrator or Master account. The Heads of Medical, Ship captain... and I believe the General all have Admin access, and then there's the original account that's existed since the system itself. There could be a bug with the log-in system that allows one to 'trick' the computer into logging you on with an Admin account, and from there... you are pretty much free. Administrator accounts are still recorded, but it's focused on their personal terminals, since they don't need to log in anywhere else. It's very possible an Admin account logged into a bed terminal wouldn't be recorded... which would have given Adams the freedom he needed.

Second, he found a way to trick the terminal into 'test-mode'. Before it was ever connected to the beds themselves, the system went through multiple virtual scenarios. The system thought it was connected to a bed inhabited by a person, and acted accordingly, allowing the developers to judge how accurate the system was and uncover what bugs they could before moving on. It's too useful a tool to have been removed, and if Adams managed to somehow 'trick' a terminal into believing it was in test-mode, he could then initiate a 'mock' emergency-thaw with no alarm, followed by a 'mock' re-freeze. It probably wouldn't be recorded, as no one should be able to access that on any terminal connected to an inhabited bed..."

Antoine was shivering, now. Thinking about it to this extent, talking about just how someone could manage to kill person after person without being caught. He forced his hands down, clasping each other before his waist, lest his gesturing grow wild and panicked. He was a cryo-tech, a medical-technician, and a combat medic before that. Protect life, preserve life, that was what he did.

To consider... to talk about this...

"One of... those two. They're probably... your best options to look at." He shook his head, trying to focus, trying to get away from the pit his thoughts were sinking into. Locking onto Abby's gaze once more, he offered her a pale grin. "Sorry, I think I ended up giving you a lecture. I hope it was useful to you, at least?"

[Igraine]

As Antoine spoke, Abby's relaxed posture changed in response to the cryotech's obvious and growing agitation and nervousness. She sat up easily on the edge of the bed now, the ocelot sleeping beside her ignored almost entirely as she pulled her legs closer, ankles crossed as she leaned over. Almost nonchalantly, her hand slipped into the cargo pants pocket, removing the stylus and making swift notes on the surface pad of all she would double check later.

Terminal log-ins and rationales, a change in the log out timing, time stamps and file review backups... Where had it all gone? Abby flat out refused to believe her predecessor could have possibly done such a shoddy job, to have simply "overlooked" all these possibilities. So why wasn't this in the report Lee left for her? Why wasn't any of this information mentioned anywhere, not even in Lee's briefing to her?

Questions without answers... Abby sighed softly, imperceptibly. She was actually getting rather used to the presence of those annoying buggers by now. Truth be told, she almost expected them really, like old and irritating acquaintances whose presence must be tolerated, but would never be enjoyed.

And when Antoine started talking about hacking into administrative accounts, tricking terminals into "test-modes" and "mock" re-freezes, she truly regretted that Gavin had to leave for his emergency. Few could see straight through a person to their essence like Abby - almost nothing about the infuriating and endearing fickleness of human nature, for good or ill, got by her anymore. But there was something about the nature of the technical and the electronic that simply escaped her completely, and she took these notes down just as much to discuss with Gavin later, as she did for herself.

"No, no Antoine, that wasn't a lecture at all." Abby laughed gently, unconsciously doing what she had done most all her life: reading the subtle cues of body language and tone, and adjusting her reactions accordingly. Antoine wasn't under interrogation - not in the least - but it was obvious her presence and her questions agitated him. The man was shaking for heaven's sake with some unnamed emotion, though whether it be fear of scrutiny or outrage at what happened, or even the misplaced shame of belonging to the very class of people that a murderer/rapist came from, she could not have said.

But whatever that emotion might be though, it wasn't guilt. She sensed intuitively that Antoine had tried to give her as full an explanation as he possibly could, and that was enough. Abby stood to her feet, not offering Antoine a hand to shake, but simply resting one easily on his shoulder, a warm smile for him.

"And I do thank you for 'dumbing it down' for me on the explanation side. Yes, those notes I was taking were as much for Dr. Brock as myself." She chuckled softly, letting her arm fall back to her side as she chewed over the information in her own mind, a dog at her bone. The analogy of a cat rolling in catnip - particularly given the company - tried to worm its way into her thoughts but honestly, it really just didn't work.

Abby moved easily the yard or two necessary to release the door latch, waiting for it to slide effortlessly back with that familiar hydraulic hiss. "As Dr. Brock's already said - so sorry about the nap there, but I'll let you right back to it. And if there's anything else you can think of?" Her smile turned wide and friendly, as at ease as ever. "You know how to find me."

[Justric]

Some few days after the majority of Third Shift had come out of stasis and Second Shift gone into it, Jack found himself easily settling into his job’s routine. It didn’t have any of the challenges he was used to, of course. There was a great difference between the kludging of gadgets back together and restoring restoring antiques, and the cleaning of a spaceship. One thing both jobs had in common, at least in regards to Jack Pumphrey, was that he took pride in his work. And in taking pride in his work, he found happiness. Be it mopping the floor (and trying to figure out exactly how people could track mud in a space ship) or taking out the garbage (all of which was recycled anyway), he performed his duties without complaint or hesitation. The result was that the Newfie often sang or whistled.

Jack was unaware of it, but most folks vastly preferred the latter to the former. Not only could he not carry a tune in a bucket, there wasn’t an ocean or sea large enough to contain his lack of musical talent.

He was whistling as he swept up in one of the larger office type rooms in a medical area. Penny had been much on his mind, making him all the happier and his whistle all the louder of late. The debris went into a special can on his custodian’s cart. A meeting of some sort was taking place within an inside conference room of some sort, a meeting where voices were raised in heated debate of some kind; on the other side of the frosted glass window between the two rooms, figures in white lab coats seemed to be gesturing passionately. Jack glanced up once or twice and shook his head sadly. He had no idea what they might be arguing about, but they certainly seemed to be taking their own sweet time about it! The ruckus had been going on before he had arrived to clean and was still continuing even as he was about to finish. Why they didn’t just fight it out or drink it out (or both) was beyond him. It was the surest way to end an argument that he knew of! That he couldn’t check the wastepaper cans in the smaller room irked him, but the custodians were under strict orders not to disturb anyone in cases like this unless it was an absolute emergency.

As he settled his broom and dustpan into the special slots on his cart, he heard the door hiss open behind him. “…find them in any of the ranks, not just the essential personnel? Well, let’s just find out then!” a male voice stated firmly.

Looking up, Jack found an older man in a white lab coat coming towards him. The balding man had all the look of someone trying to let go of his anger towards one person while wanting to get the good will of another.

“Excuse me, young man,” the authority type figure said by way of greeting, “I was wondering if you might have a moment to spare? There’s some experiments we’d like to try, and we rather need your help.”

Jack pursed his lips as he thought about it. Glancing over the man’s shoulder, he could see four or five other such people all standing in the doorway watching them. Whatever it was about had to be serious. Jack was sure of that because he didn’t smell lemons or anything else that would put such a sour look on their faces.

“Well, some work to do, b’y,” the Newfie protested honestly. “Mind out now, boss’ll be some angry he thinks I’m off playing patience!”

The doctor type figure paused and blinked at the Newfie, trying to make sense of what was being said. Taking a guess, he gestured to a nearby chair. “Not to worry. This is ship’s business, so should your supervisor take issue I’ll see to it that you are not taken to task, young man. My name is Dr. Lattimore, by the way.”

“Oh. Oh! Well, ship’s business, is it? Can’t say no to dat, s’pose, b’y.” Jack thought on it for a moment longer before shrugging and taking the proffered seat. “Jack, it is. Jack Pumphrey.”

“A… a pleasure, Mr. Pumphrey. Please, make yourself comfortable.” Dr. Lattimore took chair and placed it on the same side of the desk as Jack, sitting across from him casually. “Just a few questions, mind you, it shouldn’t take too long, I think.”

Reaching across the desk, he pulled a stack of large cards towards them and pulled one up to show Jack. “Mr. Pumphrey, would you be so kind as to take a look at the image on this card and tell me what you make of it?”

Jack couldn’t see the harm in such a simple thing and graciously took the card in hand to better examine it. He squinted at it. He turned it one way, then another. He even held it out at arm’s length and then slowly brought it closer until his eyes nearly crossed. In fact, he took his sweet time in taking the measure of the black blotches that marked the white background that he completely missed Dr. Lattimore looking up at the other personnel as though to bid them be patience while expressing that he was just as frustrated with the time the custodian was taking.

“Oh, I sees, I sees,” Jack chuckled finally as he handled the card back to Lattimore, “That there is an ink stain!”

The smile on the doctor’s face slipped a bit even as his cohorts hid their mouths behind their hands. “Technically, it is an ink blot, but-“

“Well, den, here’s yer problem!” Jack leaned in as though to take the man into his confidence. “Just so ya knows, don’t use paper to clean up an ink spill next time. Just makes more of a mess. Best use a damp rag ’n’ follows up wit some solvents.” Before he could be stopped, Jack reached over and looked at the rest of the cards. “Lord love ya far trying, though! Went t’rough a lot of dem tryin’ to clean a mess up, eh? It happens again, you gives me a call, sir.”

Lattimore was sure he heard someone by the door actually stifle a giggle. Determined, however, he pressed on. “Yes, well. Let us perhaps try something else.” The doctor regarded the good natured young man in front of him as he decided his next course of action. He slipped a slim notebook and pencil from his coat pocket. “Let’s try something a little… different. Mr. Pumphrey. I am going to say a few word and after each, I’d like you to say the very first thing that comes to mind.”

“Trouble.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pardon.”

“No-“

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

“Sure, b’y!”

“Mr. Pumphrey, we haven’t started yet!” Lattimore was almost sure he was being put on. He had to be! The whole episode was turning into something right out of a cliched movie or book! While he by no means expected the cleaning man to be of any great intelligence, his responses were simply too farcical to be honest. The fact that he could quite clearly hear one of the other doctors laughing herself silly in the other room did not improve his mood.

“Let’s… let’s start again, Mr. Pumphrey. What comes to mind when I say the word ‘cat’?”

“Boat.”

Lattimore blinked again. “Boat. Really?”

“Oh, yes, by!” came the sincere response.

Silence. Unsure if he should even bother continuing, he scrutinized Jack for any sign of deviltry or mischief. Jack continued to look back innocently. Relenting to finishing what he had started, the doctor found himself in favor of continuing against the odds. “Very well. Mend.”

“Scun up.”

“Boots?”

“Scroop.”

“Rain?”

“Mauzy.”

“Long?”

“Oh, rubbers.”

“Honesty?”

“Jonnick!”

Lattimore sighed and closed his notebook, unsure of either the spelling or the meaning of most of the words the man had just uttered so casually from his mouth. Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he dared not look up at his fellows as they stood about trying very hard not to interrupt the proceedings. With a deep breath, the doctor straightened in the chair and looked the impromptu subject straight in the eyes. “Mr. Pumphrey, how about we try some basic problem solving and intelligence questions instead? For example, if I were to ask you why manhole covers are round, what would you say?”

Jack laughed out load at the question, shaking his head. “Oh, dat der is easy! Manhole covers is round so dat dey fit inside de round manholes! Can’t put a square cover in a round hole, now cans ya?”

That was obviously too much for someone in his retinue. By the whooping sounds of laughter, he suspected he knew which of his colleagues it was but it was a matter to be dealt with later. “I think that covers it, Mr. Pumphrey.,” he concluded in resignation. “Thank you for your service.”

Jack rose and immediately took the doctor’s hand in firm, strong grip to shake it. The look of shock on the doctor’s face was lost on him as he replied, “Any time. Any time. Best kind!” He wasn’t sure exactly how he might have helped, but that was often the way of the world. They had a problem and they were smart enough to ask a Newfoundlander to help! Jack looked over at the milling group with a wide smile, glad to see there were other folks on the ship who didn’t take life so seriously and knew how to enjoy themselves! He would have loved to know what jokes had been told so raise such laughter, but work was waiting and he wasn’t a man to linger long.

As he moved to push his cart out of the chamber and back into the hallway, he did catch something of what they were saying. “How did he do?” an amused woman asked. “Do you think he’d pass any of the more rigorous tests?”

Lattimore shook his head to express a mix of awe and disappointment, waiting until Jack had exited completely before commenting. “I do not believe the tests were designed with anything like him in mind. Perhaps we should contain our searches to the selected parameters.”

Jack continued to whistle as he pushed his cart on to the next room, a simple lounge for folks to relax in, much like the one near Penny’s room. The thought brought Penny’s smiling face to mind once more, making him whistle all the louder again. He regretted not asking to keep the first card that the doctor had shown him then. Jack was sure the serious man of medicine was unaware of the simple beauties of the world and had been oblivious to how pretty the butterfly-like image had been.

[AmongHeroes]

With his hands placed deeply within the wells of his coat pockets, Jasso meandered the corridors of the Copernicus. He had come from yet another check of the cryobed loop systems, and once more, they were performing at its required efficacy. This was no small miracle, despite the advanced technology that was the backbone of the system. Or perhaps, it should be said that this was accomplished in spite of the advanced technology of the cryobed system.

Dr. Bieto Jasso had completed his engineering of the means to sustain humanity across the vast ocean of the galaxy in record time after the beginning of The Change. It had been a laudable, and valiant act of genius borne of necessity. But, the swiftness by which this technological feat had been accomplished had come at the high price of reliability and efficiency. In truth, the beds that held humanity’s remaining progeny were woefully flawed. A scant few were privileged, or more aptly burdened, with this truth. The cryotechs, a few engineers, perhaps the NI-techs, and Jasso himself, were the extent of those in the know about the cryobed system's true nature.

Even so, no one had yet died while in the cryobeds. At least, not as a result of the system itself failing.

It was this fact that set Jasso wandering aimlessly amidst the now mostly quiet starship. The itch. The brilliant, psychopathic man had lost his outlet. His means of release. The one and only tool by which he could scratch at the growing desire in the back of his dark soul. Sylus Adams had been that tool. A tool honed precisely and carefully with Jasso’s own hands, and intoxicating cult of personality.

No more.

Jasso found himself within the cramped confines of his bunkroom. As the door hissed shut behind him, the man slammed his hands down upon the small desk that stood beside his bed. His eyes were dark, wide, and wild in the dim light of the room, and he resembled every bit the animal caught in an ever-tightening snare.