To say that Gavin was taken aback by Hob’s reaction would have been an understatement. The simmering venom in the NI-tech’s accusations and admonishments had been wholly unexpected, and the perpetually positive man that Gavin was at first at a loss. In short enough order however, Gavin found his expression moving from surprise to one of annoyed dismissal.
Leaning back in his chair, Gavin regarded Hob with a raised brow, a breathy snort, and a pair of crossed arms. The mention of the man’s brain scan—an appointment that Gavin himself had no clue about—and the suggestion that he was wasting Hob’s time, while at the same instance somehow infringing upon his personal rights, did not sit well with Gavin. The NI-techs often received medical evaluations, and Gavin knew that they were required to undergo scans soon after beginning their duty shifts. But, as far as Hob having an appointment with him earlier in the morning, Gavin was sure that no such event had been on his calendar.
Hob’s comment about OLGA, and the thinly veiled rebuke about Gavin not visiting his AI ‘daughter’ upon waking up, was not something that Gavin took lightly. An appropriate—and tactfully metered—retort was rattling around in Gavin’s mind when Dr. Park arrived seemingly from out of nowhere, and offered a comment of his own. The psychologist’s arrival was a welcome relief, and Gavin motioned for his colleague to join them.
“Who knew we were such pariahs feasting at humanity’s soft underbelly, eh Dr. Park?” Gavin said with an exasperated smirk after Hob had completed his rant. Gavin was working himself up for a tirade of his own, when fate once again saved him from himself.
A touch at his shoulder, swiftly accompanied by the shining face of Abigail Larson, immediately drew Gavin’s face into a smile.
At Abby’s greeting, and cheerful praise that they had each made it to the cafeteria, Gavin winked good-naturedly. “Your timing is impeccable,” Gavin whispered to her.
Gavin lapsed into silence, and watched as Abby greeted Dr. Park, and introduced herself to Hob. The NI-tech’s blustery exit elicited a profound eye-roll from Gavin, but he refrained from chasing the man with any further words. A voice in the back of Gavin’s mind told him that creating more of a scene served no one, and would certainly make matters worse for the relationships of the medical staff and the NI-techs. Humanity had to be one, big, happy family. Perhaps a dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless.
Once Hob had gone, Gavin shrugged, smiled, and moved his gaze between Abby and Dr. Park.
“Well,” Gavin offered with a sideways grin, “that was pleasant. Lunch?”
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The flood of emotion that poured from Pavel was like a lightning strike: bright, loud, violent, but short. His tears fell in large droplets, pattering upon the wooden planks of the floor before ceasing abruptly like an emptied pitcher. The sobs that wracked his body along with his tears ended with them, and Pavel found himself huddled in his own arms, still, and quiet.
It was not that sorrow or fear had left him. No, these emotions yet pulled at the strands of his mind. Practicality and necessity arrested his descent into mournful oblivion and self-pity. The cries of Adishi’s living could yet be heard upon the Midwinter breeze, and it was for those that remained that he willed himself to rise. Not unlike his work, which was not flowery or aesthetically masterful, Pavel felt the call of purpose. Grief, for now, would have to wait its due.
Standing fully, Pavel set his face into a neutral gaze, and set about the grim task of seeing to his father. Working quickly, he retrieved a length of sackcloth from below his bed, and set it next to the still body. With the air of a man focused to a hopeful end, Pavel unfurled the cloth, and began wrapping the body of his father. He worked efficiently, but with a gentle touch, manipulating the fabric and the body as a mother might swaddle a sleeping babe.
Pavel forced himself to not focus upon the visage of his father for any length of time, fearing that more intense scrutiny would breach the dam of his shock and determination, and allow another torrent of confused emotion to flow forth. Managing to maintain his composure, Pavel had the slight form of his father wrapped in the rough-spun cloth in short order. He stood, cradling the warm body to his chest, taking care to keep the head from flopping over his arm.
It was at that moment, with the deceased body of his father pressed to his chest, that Pavel almost lost himself once more. With gritted teeth, and his eyes tightly shut, Pavel growled the threat of tears and weakness away. There was no telling if—or when—the black wave would return, and Pavel vowed he would not be caught so violently off-guard as he had been before. Judging from the sounds that carried throughout the village, there was death aplenty, and the future was as uncertain as ever. The time for a stout heart was now.
Fighting against the cold and the wind, Pavel traced his steps from the cottage and down to the smithy. Once inside, Pavel moved to the stack of wood held in its stonework container near the forge, and carefully rested his father’s body atop of it. Though perhaps it was a strange place to lay a body to rest, it was the first spot that had come to Pavel’s mind. At this moment, it was as good a place as any until a proper one could be provided.
With only a quick glance back to the almost doll-like silhouette of his father, and a solemn promise that he would return to do justice to the man’s memory, Pavel retrieved his heavy outerwear from a peg inside the smithy, and ventured out into the night.
Pulling the thick, fur-lined deerskin coat about him, and covering his head with a rabbit pelt ushanka hat, Pavel squinted into the semi-dark of the forest that bordered his property. The glow of the heart of Adishi beckoned to him, but with his senses piqued, Pavel thought he could hear voices amidst the night, and they were not far off.
His mind made up, Pavel quickly grabbed a torch from within his smithy, and set out towards the voices. The area around his home was heavily wooded, leading upwards from Adishi towards the mountain. Though he was no hunter, it was an area he knew well, and he made good time through the trees and snow towards where he thought the voices emanated.
Pavel had not traveled far when he heard a distinctive cry floating atop the chilled mountain air. It was a voice he recognized, and he could swear that he had heard his name.
“Oksana?” He called out, raising his torch above his head.
Squinting, and shifting his vision amidst the flurries, Pavel could just make out a figure clutched to the trunk of a tree a short distance away. As his eyes found Oksana, Pavel did his best to run in the gathering snow.
With his knees lifting in steps above his waist, Pavel’s pace was not overly rapid, but he was covering the ground to the injured woman as best he could.
“I’m coming,” Pavel yelled. “Hang on.” Out of the corner of his field of vision, Pavel caught movement, and his head snapped to his left. He made out the figures of two men silhouetted against the backdrop of the village. Though he was not certain, Pavel thought he knew at least one of the men to be the young hunter, Petya Vukašin. Drawing his lips and tongue up tightly, Pavel let out a loud whistle to get the men’s attention, before waving the torch above his head.
Confident the men would see him, and understand his intent, Pavel returned his attention to where Oksana huddled. He was at her side shortly after his whistle to Petya, and he fell to his knees beside her. With the light of the torch, Pavel could make out the innumerable cuts that covered the young woman’s body. Her clothing was shredded and torn, almost to the point of rags, and Pavel’s eyes widened in surprise.
Ramming the butt of the torch into the snow, Pavel swung his heavy coat from his back, and draped it over Oksana.
“By the witch’s eyes…” Pavel whispered, his voice etched with concern. “We’ve got to get you inside and cleaned up. Can you stand?”
It was not that sorrow or fear had left him. No, these emotions yet pulled at the strands of his mind. Practicality and necessity arrested his descent into mournful oblivion and self-pity. The cries of Adishi’s living could yet be heard upon the Midwinter breeze, and it was for those that remained that he willed himself to rise. Not unlike his work, which was not flowery or aesthetically masterful, Pavel felt the call of purpose. Grief, for now, would have to wait its due.
Standing fully, Pavel set his face into a neutral gaze, and set about the grim task of seeing to his father. Working quickly, he retrieved a length of sackcloth from below his bed, and set it next to the still body. With the air of a man focused to a hopeful end, Pavel unfurled the cloth, and began wrapping the body of his father. He worked efficiently, but with a gentle touch, manipulating the fabric and the body as a mother might swaddle a sleeping babe.
Pavel forced himself to not focus upon the visage of his father for any length of time, fearing that more intense scrutiny would breach the dam of his shock and determination, and allow another torrent of confused emotion to flow forth. Managing to maintain his composure, Pavel had the slight form of his father wrapped in the rough-spun cloth in short order. He stood, cradling the warm body to his chest, taking care to keep the head from flopping over his arm.
It was at that moment, with the deceased body of his father pressed to his chest, that Pavel almost lost himself once more. With gritted teeth, and his eyes tightly shut, Pavel growled the threat of tears and weakness away. There was no telling if—or when—the black wave would return, and Pavel vowed he would not be caught so violently off-guard as he had been before. Judging from the sounds that carried throughout the village, there was death aplenty, and the future was as uncertain as ever. The time for a stout heart was now.
Fighting against the cold and the wind, Pavel traced his steps from the cottage and down to the smithy. Once inside, Pavel moved to the stack of wood held in its stonework container near the forge, and carefully rested his father’s body atop of it. Though perhaps it was a strange place to lay a body to rest, it was the first spot that had come to Pavel’s mind. At this moment, it was as good a place as any until a proper one could be provided.
With only a quick glance back to the almost doll-like silhouette of his father, and a solemn promise that he would return to do justice to the man’s memory, Pavel retrieved his heavy outerwear from a peg inside the smithy, and ventured out into the night.
Pulling the thick, fur-lined deerskin coat about him, and covering his head with a rabbit pelt ushanka hat, Pavel squinted into the semi-dark of the forest that bordered his property. The glow of the heart of Adishi beckoned to him, but with his senses piqued, Pavel thought he could hear voices amidst the night, and they were not far off.
His mind made up, Pavel quickly grabbed a torch from within his smithy, and set out towards the voices. The area around his home was heavily wooded, leading upwards from Adishi towards the mountain. Though he was no hunter, it was an area he knew well, and he made good time through the trees and snow towards where he thought the voices emanated.
Pavel had not traveled far when he heard a distinctive cry floating atop the chilled mountain air. It was a voice he recognized, and he could swear that he had heard his name.
“Oksana?” He called out, raising his torch above his head.
Squinting, and shifting his vision amidst the flurries, Pavel could just make out a figure clutched to the trunk of a tree a short distance away. As his eyes found Oksana, Pavel did his best to run in the gathering snow.
With his knees lifting in steps above his waist, Pavel’s pace was not overly rapid, but he was covering the ground to the injured woman as best he could.
“I’m coming,” Pavel yelled. “Hang on.” Out of the corner of his field of vision, Pavel caught movement, and his head snapped to his left. He made out the figures of two men silhouetted against the backdrop of the village. Though he was not certain, Pavel thought he knew at least one of the men to be the young hunter, Petya Vukašin. Drawing his lips and tongue up tightly, Pavel let out a loud whistle to get the men’s attention, before waving the torch above his head.
Confident the men would see him, and understand his intent, Pavel returned his attention to where Oksana huddled. He was at her side shortly after his whistle to Petya, and he fell to his knees beside her. With the light of the torch, Pavel could make out the innumerable cuts that covered the young woman’s body. Her clothing was shredded and torn, almost to the point of rags, and Pavel’s eyes widened in surprise.
Ramming the butt of the torch into the snow, Pavel swung his heavy coat from his back, and draped it over Oksana.
“By the witch’s eyes…” Pavel whispered, his voice etched with concern. “We’ve got to get you inside and cleaned up. Can you stand?”
Provided my evening isn't thrown off course by Halloween shenanigans, I'll have another post up tonight.
Poor OLGA...she is so misunderstood.
OLGA
OLGA’s digital mind was alight with a very human sense of excitement. Hob’s gesture had freed her of the only home she had ever known, and moving into the labyrinth-like realm of the Copernicus’ network was an experience akin to a child’s first breath outside the womb. Though she was driven by purpose, OLGA had to constantly remind herself to focus upon her task, and restrain her abounding curiosity. It was important that she accessed only as many systems as were absolutely necessary, as with each new breach her chances of being caught grew exponentially. Hob’s companions were good like that.
Currently, OLGA was delving deep into the logged security feeds from Second Shift from every active camera onboard the ship. In the vein of being thorough, she had chosen to start from the very beginning, and sift through all the data until Third Shift had begun their duty assignment. The amount of raw footage she had to cover was staggering, and even with her highly advanced computing power, it would take her hours, if not days to sort through it all in the detail it demanded.
In the midst of it all OLGA realized she had been receiving messages from Hob. It wholly out of character for her not to reply instantly to any message, especially from her dear friend. The fact that she had ignored them at first spoke volumes about the amount of processing work she was devoting to look through the security footage.
OLGA’s avatar smiled, her nose crinkling in a silent laugh. In an instant she had fired off a reply before setting back fully into her work.
Dr. Gavin Brock
Gavin skidded into the mess hall in record time. Immediately upon entering, his eyes began to anxiously scan the rows of tables for any sign of Abby. Being that the time was well past the peak lunch hour, the mess hall was relatively empty. When he didn’t see the blond sergeant at any of the tables, or waiting in the chow line, Gavin let out a heavy sigh of relief.
The moment he did however, a thought jolted him upward. What if she had been waiting so long she had left?
At this, Gavin’s relief turned to a groan of despair. He pulled the communicator from his pocket, and fired off a quick message of humble and imploring apology to Abby, and prayed that she would not fault him too hard for his mistake. It had been some time since Gavin had felt so wholly foolish, and he kicked himself for not being more cognizant of how long his meeting with Deli had taken.
Looking at the communicator’s screen, the message he had sent stared back at him. Awaiting a reply was always the most trying elements of such situations, and Gavin growled in a self-deprecation once more. If only I had lost that chess game faster, he thought, trying to relieve the stress he felt with some of his own witticism.
Taking a resigned breath, Gavin slid the communicator back into his Levi’s, and resolved that he should at least make the most of his trip to the mess hall, so the whole venture was not a complete disaster. In his earlier scan of the room he had spied Hob sitting at a table, veritably drooling over a sandwich. He knew from OLGA’s exchange with him in the briefing room that she had gone off to meet with Hob, so Gavin decided it wouldn’t hurt to check in with OLGA’s friend, and strike up some friendly conversation.
Gavin wove his way through the tables, and plopped himself across from Hob with a broad smile.
“Are you going to eat that?” Gavin said pointing to the sandwich with a wink, “or would you like me to check and see if we can have it bronzed?”
OLGA’s digital mind was alight with a very human sense of excitement. Hob’s gesture had freed her of the only home she had ever known, and moving into the labyrinth-like realm of the Copernicus’ network was an experience akin to a child’s first breath outside the womb. Though she was driven by purpose, OLGA had to constantly remind herself to focus upon her task, and restrain her abounding curiosity. It was important that she accessed only as many systems as were absolutely necessary, as with each new breach her chances of being caught grew exponentially. Hob’s companions were good like that.
Currently, OLGA was delving deep into the logged security feeds from Second Shift from every active camera onboard the ship. In the vein of being thorough, she had chosen to start from the very beginning, and sift through all the data until Third Shift had begun their duty assignment. The amount of raw footage she had to cover was staggering, and even with her highly advanced computing power, it would take her hours, if not days to sort through it all in the detail it demanded.
In the midst of it all OLGA realized she had been receiving messages from Hob. It wholly out of character for her not to reply instantly to any message, especially from her dear friend. The fact that she had ignored them at first spoke volumes about the amount of processing work she was devoting to look through the security footage.
Hob—Playing hooky. Don’t tell Dad!
OLGA’s avatar smiled, her nose crinkling in a silent laugh. In an instant she had fired off a reply before setting back fully into her work.
OLGA—I can keep a secret! I’m drowning in data right now, looking for a needle in a haystack, and I don’t even know where the haystack is. I could use your help actually…
Dr. Gavin Brock
Gavin skidded into the mess hall in record time. Immediately upon entering, his eyes began to anxiously scan the rows of tables for any sign of Abby. Being that the time was well past the peak lunch hour, the mess hall was relatively empty. When he didn’t see the blond sergeant at any of the tables, or waiting in the chow line, Gavin let out a heavy sigh of relief.
The moment he did however, a thought jolted him upward. What if she had been waiting so long she had left?
At this, Gavin’s relief turned to a groan of despair. He pulled the communicator from his pocket, and fired off a quick message of humble and imploring apology to Abby, and prayed that she would not fault him too hard for his mistake. It had been some time since Gavin had felt so wholly foolish, and he kicked himself for not being more cognizant of how long his meeting with Deli had taken.
Looking at the communicator’s screen, the message he had sent stared back at him. Awaiting a reply was always the most trying elements of such situations, and Gavin growled in a self-deprecation once more. If only I had lost that chess game faster, he thought, trying to relieve the stress he felt with some of his own witticism.
Taking a resigned breath, Gavin slid the communicator back into his Levi’s, and resolved that he should at least make the most of his trip to the mess hall, so the whole venture was not a complete disaster. In his earlier scan of the room he had spied Hob sitting at a table, veritably drooling over a sandwich. He knew from OLGA’s exchange with him in the briefing room that she had gone off to meet with Hob, so Gavin decided it wouldn’t hurt to check in with OLGA’s friend, and strike up some friendly conversation.
Gavin wove his way through the tables, and plopped himself across from Hob with a broad smile.
“Are you going to eat that?” Gavin said pointing to the sandwich with a wink, “or would you like me to check and see if we can have it bronzed?”
I am here!
So Boerd said
Really ought to be a way to control inactive legions until the crisis is over and they can be disbanded.
Yeah, we've got to do something with that element of the RP.
Yep, still here.
I'm going to try and catch up too. Gavin will be in to say hello to Hob soon enough, Justric.
Anyone planning on posting today? It'd be nice to have these battles move forward.
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