Among the Stars - Main thread

Adira was trying to think of something to preoccupy her mind with, so she could shove the darker thoughts away. If she didn't think about it, maybe it wouldn't hurt. That didn't seem to be helping, though. Saami's words had started her thinking, and the worst part was that he had a point. In their line of work, it wasn't easy to get close to people, since the next day either person could die. And of course, that had gotten her thinking about the bombing, which got her to thinking about the loss of life, which got her thinking about her friends, and it had all spiraled a bit. Much like the others among her crew, she hadn't fully mentally recovered from the bombing, and deep down she questioned if she ever would. Never in her life ad she felt this way for more than what? A week at most? And that had been her best friend. Right now, though, she was just tired... and thinking about anything she could other than what had happened and the results, which included Saami's behavior change. So, yes, her heart hurt, but she wasn't sobbing, or making any noise, in fact her expression was completely blank as she stared out the main window and tears traced down her cheeks. It was strange and heartbreaking, she didn't even look sad, just... tired. She was clearly finding ways to delay the pain from fully hitting her by not acknowledging what was honestly wrong, or even her own reaction, and instead was thinking over other things while she was internally torn up in the background.
 
Stepping ever closer to the blast doors that separated the bridge and corridor, his ears tuned to the subtle hints of human life, he flipped the switch and watched the heavy metal barricades separate and greet his field of vision. There, in the solitude of the ship's head, stood his old captain. Nostalgia twinged at his heart, bringing a grimace to his face when the memories struck him. Another bridge. Another context. A simpler time.


He saved her the silence, taking extremely careful steps that crept up to the head of the bridge, and when he approached her side, saved her the space for her silence, keeping two arms length from her person. Jericho spoke then, a small whisper into the dark, his eyes diverted to the dark that their ship traveled through. The more he watched the vast expanses of the cosmos unfold, the more he realized how desolate the bridge was. People are impossibly small. More belittling when you have to stand alone.


"Captain?"


The words, even whispered, seem too sharp to the tongue. He broke merely a fraction of the silence, yet even his tongue felt cut from the few moments he stole from the silence. The whir continues.


 
The blast doors weren't silent, but still Adira hadn't turned. She didn't know who was coming, and she didn't really care either. So what if she was crying? She still held an air of command about her, but not in any bad or formal way, more of a calm and controlled way. When Jericho spoke, she smiled a bit and breathed out in a silent half-chuckle. No matter what, she was still the Captain, as he had called her, but being a Captain at that time felt... lonely. Her job had been to lead the crew and she had. It almost seemed like the job of Captain was to get hurt. If that was true, then she had done it well. But she hadn't kept her crew from getting hurt.


She turned her head to look at Jericho for a few seconds. It was clear that he wasn't there to ask anything of her. He must have heard Saami yelling, then. Looking back, she could still remember her first real experience with Jericho. Saami had been dying, Woods had been horribly injured, and she had been alone with both of them, separated from their group. And then somehow, fate threw him into the mix, as it had seemingly done again. "Hello there, Jericho." What else was there to say? If there was something else, she didn't know it. Despite her small, almost sad smile, tears still ran from her eyes, but she pretended not to notice, much like she pretended many other things... like how she pretended that the silence and emptiness of the bridge wasn't eating her alive.
 
Hearing her voice, it seemed even sharper than his own when it broke the silence. While his voice, low and kin to gravel, almost complimented a silence, her voice was clearly broken and upset. He felt it in the air, as the company of silence was replaced with his presence. While the voice was once sharp and painful, when he spoke, he could only feel a faint afterglow of sharpness. To introduce himself would be pointless, but to pay attention to his own heaviness, though, is even more pointless. Humanity was getting to the best of him again. Instead, he focused on her tears; shimmering raindrops on the backdrop of space. The light in the dark.


"It is a good day for rain, isn't it?"


His message out of context seemed crazy, but when he lifted his hand, palm-up, he began to build on the idea. "The storm has come. It is sweeping, sweeping us right off of our feet. It has knocked us over." His eyes traced to his palm, and once on his palm, lifted to the roof of their tiny room, in a tiny ship, in a tiny galaxy, in a very, very big universe. "But the thing about being back-down, soaked in the rain..." He lingered only a bit on his statement. "Is that when you close your eyes, and wait for all the rain to do its thing, you get to open your eyes to a rainbow."


As he was nearing the end of his introduction, he took the final few steps needed to be beside her. His dress shoes made a satisfying squeak when he stopped, uniform and composed, to a halt. With the halt, his hand turned from face-up to on-face when he lead his open palm to her cheek. The metal tips of his hand touched her cheek softly, only to drag across its surface to wipe the drops scattered across it. His final gesture to the captain.


 
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Something about his words and that kind gesture broke Adira's false facade. She had managed to keep her bearing until the end, but then she just... broke. What he said made so much sense, and she wanted to believe it, but when would the rainbow show? If she knew when and what she was waiting for, she could do it. If she had control, if she just knew, that was all she needed... but of course, she wouldn't ever get that. And maybe she would never actually get there anyway, since she didn't want to admit that she'd fallen on her back, so how could she open her eyes to a rainbow? Many things were weighing heavily on her heart: Saami, the new crew, the old crew, but one thing more than anything else had broken her: Only one person had ever wiped away her tears like that, and he was dead.


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The silence was broken by a quiet <em>thump</em> as her head hit Jericho's chest and she let herself truly cry. She felt like such a child, crying and being weak when there wasn't even anything directly wrong. Maybe in that way, she was like Saami. She didn't want to show her weaknesses. While Saami lashed out and hid everything with anger and hate, she just kept a calm, collected act and ignored things. Was that a more bitter poison? She didn't know. That was why she didn't want Saami hurting himself like she did, or worse. But it raised the question, had she actually let herself mourn? In her own way, maybe she had, but she had also hidden herself away at the same time. Just now she was learning that that burning anger in her chest, that drive to get revenge, it hadn't made the pain leave... it had only masked it. The flame hid the cold as long as it was lit, but once dimmed, the cold crept in again. How could she have known? About the bomb, about how to grieve, about the pain of hiding everything, about Saami's change, anything? <span style="color:#006400;">"That doesn't make the fall hurt any less, though."</span> <em>and it doesn't teach you how to deal with the pain either.</em> If there had been peace in the room, it was gone as the entire universe outside of the viewing window got to see her weakness.


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After a few minutes of silence, Saami had stopped crying altogether, but still didn't acknowledge Kira. Instead he rested his head against the wall, just staring at a particular spot of nothing in front of him. Suddenly he decided to break his silence, seemingly out of nowhere, and still not looking at her.


"You should just leave... you won't understand anyway." If anything he didn't want her to understand what he felt. For a long while he'd thought about how to explain, but then just figured it wasn't worth the effort of going through. He didn't want to tell and he didn't want her to know, and even less did he want her to know why he wouldn't tell. It would be easier for the both of them if he'd just stay something unknown to her, and her curiosity and good intentions weren't a reason for him to suddenly decide that it'd be any less bad if he told. So instead he just continued staring off into that one spot and refused to interact any further.
 
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He had remained completely still as she fell forward into his chest. The thump was the final note to the silence, having it completely broken through the soft sounds of crying—and his ever present whir as the body he wore worked endlessly to operate. The mechanical hand, the mechanical arm, the mechanical shoulder... All serving a human heart. It was ironic almost, the man who sought to end his humanity, served his the most. Despite his more freakish features.


The moment on the bridge had created a small fire in him. The dead and decaying husk that rested in his chest had sparked, and burned only for the briefest moment, a moment long enough to force his aching bones and servos to provide the most minute refuge from the overbearing burden. The weight of a survivor.


"That doesn't make the fall hurt any less, though."


Jericho, humbled for a moment, searched his mind for the answer. It was an inevitable thing, pain, and even with that understanding, it does ease the times that the feeling engulfs you. However, to wallow in the feeling serves nobody. A wound is not healed from wishing it away, a wound needs to be addressed. A wound is healed by careful forethought, and afterthought. The prior, being the mere avoidance of the situation, and the latter being the dressing of the wound. If I dress this, when this is all over, it will not be infected.


Jericho mumbled a response. In such close proximity, nothing more was needed. "Pain is an inevitable thing, and being hung up on the immediate serves no purpose. There is nothing wrong with grieving, but when it stops you from recovering, that is when it becomes a problem. Wounds are not like people—they look better dressed, Captain." He took a deep breath then, bringing up the effort to offer a smile. The embers of his heart churned back and forth in their cage, the trail ends of their tails whirled wisps around the empty space of his chest. Jericho, and his captain, were these embers. For the time being, the focus was the dance between the two, not the recognition of how small, belittled or not, they were. And how small they were in comparison to the space Jericho held in his torso. "And I think it is about time we get this one wrapped up."


Jericho understood that professionally, he could not help his captain recover from the shock of everything. A lot has changed in a few months, and for someone her age, a few months is a significant portion of her life. To have, and to have lost, is a fresh concept, and she was bound to run into more of it in her line of work. So, instead of presenting his case and attempting to talk to his captain about her recent troubles, he decided to kick it down a notch.


It was at this point that Jericho broke all rules of etiquette, and any sense of professional was out of his mind. His mind, heartless in its natural way, cried for order, but his heart flickered brighter and became flame. Jericho took the straps of his captain's vest, and undid them. With mechanic's hands, he lifted the cloak from her shoulders, and revealed a simple long-sleeve shirt underneath the mess of ordinate and extra. He set the vest aside. Then, with stroke and soft motions, he undid the restrictive leather gauntlets and revealed her delicate looking hands. A stark contrast to her usually hard exterior, but ultimately unimportant. He eventually reached down and fetched the pistol from her side, letting the vest, holster, and gauntlets hold a reunion on the nearby captain's chair. The change was almost complete.


To finalize, Jericho, composed and upright, lifted both hands to the back of her head. The magic of his prosthetic shined truest then, as the metal fingertips delicately undid her ponytail. Holding the hair in his palms, he set the strands to their respective places, soaking in one final look at his captain before he finished.


She looked so different then, without the gear, which acted as nothing more than reminders to the responsibility his captain held for the ship and its crew. A look of weight, a look of burden. The epaulettes she bore were mere pallets to bear the load. But with the vest off, gauntlets set aside, and hair down, she wasn't his captain.


She was Adira. A friend. It was time she heard his call to the weak in dire circumstance.


"So, Adira..." His voice dragged on the last vowel. "What ails you?"


 
What is he doing? Adira had initially pulled away a bit when Jericho started undoing her jacket. Not only was that her clothing, it was her protection. It allowed her to walk outside of the safety of an atmosphere or ship, and had protected her in so many fights. Taking off her gloves made her pause, though. She hadn't worn them on the Lullaby unless they were entering a fight, but ever since the bombing, well, ever since Doc had released her, she'd worn them. That was when it had struck her what exactly he was doing. He was making her vulnerable on purpose. As the gloves came off, a scar was revealed on the back of her right hand, the result of a bit of shrapnel from the bomb, and she closed her eyes for a few moments to seek peace. Does he have to take the gun? Of course he did. That was a weapon that was easy to hide behind but took a toll as well - it made it too easy to kill. When he undid her hair, she shivered slightly and opened her eyes - she was the only one who ever did anything to her hair, it was her only vanity, and by letting it fall, she definitely felt more vulnerable and just... different.


Vulnerability was not something she liked or was used to. It had taken her weeks to get used to it with Woods, and since he'd died, she'd put up more walls than even before, and had hidden in work, but now Jericho had taken that from her. He'd found a crack in the wall and broken it from there. And now he had the audacity to ask what ailed her. She'd have to trust him immensely to answer, but how could she answer when she didn't even know? By now she wasn't crying much at all, only a few diamond drops fell to contrast with the dim room. There was silence for a few moments. Finally she whispered, "I don't think I know... how to mourn. I keep wondering if the crew would be better with a captain that actually could deal with such a simple thing, but everyone keeps telling me I'm one of the best, and I don't want to leave them... they're my family. So many of them died, but I need to keep the rest safe and close." More than that burning for revenge and blood, that maternal element had been there, making her desperate to help her crew and keep them all together. "I went back down the dark path to a renegade because I didn't know how else to do it, I was so angry and everyone else wanted to go down this path, but I'm wondering... should I have stopped them? This isn't a good life, I would know. I-I have history in such areas and it's not where they deserve to be." It wasn't where they deserved to be, but in her mind, she did. What was the difference between a few drops of blood on the record, or a bucketful? Not much, in her opinion. It seemed like the ship had gone completely silent for a few seconds, beckoning her to say one final thing. A few tears streaked down her face when she almost silently added, "I don't even know if I deserve to stay with them."
 
She leans her head against the wall, looking up." Instinctual?" she asked. Slowly she braided her hair, deliberately stretching out the silence, before pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and offering it to him.


Understand, what...loss? Just because she was new around here or perhaps grew up in privilege? Sure, she didn't show that she might have understood, but that didn't mean she didn't. Raised as she was, she was taught that self-control was the epitome of a 'gangster facade' she bear the brunt without a drop of sweat. Never let them know you were hurting no matter the cost. Even when friends go missing, or relations show up dead. Do not let them see weakness. No, she did understand, however, she was under no obligation to share this knowledge. Let them all assume that she was a spoiled princess that had suffered nothing. Let them rant, rave and haze, she'd prove that she was infallible, that she could be relied on. She'd prove to be as sturdy as stone.


" You look like a broken sprinkler, might as well get it all out now so you don't leak in front of everyone else." she quipped, trying to add some lightness to the situation. She quirked up a half smile. " Wouldn't want you being all sensitive and what not...might make people think you actually cared." She shook the handkerchief in front of his face," Who's a good puppy." she teased.
 
Jericho closed his eyes when she began to speak. He had found relief in response, and while he expected something much more sinister, he had begun to receive kinder words. To say that he was listening would be an understatement, for he did not listen to the response. He felt the response—the tug and pull of humanity calling back for his return as a person, and much more than a mere mechanic. His breath returned to his lungs. His heart returned from frozen solid, to a spring thaw. New winds were afoot, and they blew away the rainclouds. It was time to enjoy the rainbow.


He opened his eyes to Adira then, the uniform black of the stars beyond were the background to the scene that he himself put in motion. Jericho was pleasantly surprised by the realization and result of his efforts, and he sought to improve on those efforts. She had accepted then that they were talking as equals, so luckily for him, he would not have to receive due punishment from breaking professional etiquette. Though, as young as she was, he questioned if she had the determination to always maintain appropriate distance from her subordinates anyway...


Either way, he returned an equally hushed whisper. "Life is tragedy befallen those fortunate enough to experience it. Those that witness happiness always take it for granted. What light without dark? What order without chaos?" Jericho, fighting his own nature, fell into mental need. His hands were used to being in action always, and they spurred into use despite his best efforts to restrain his own curious hands. So, curious, as they always are, took off and dared to go, Both hands grazed her cheeks, taking the shimmering raindrops from their beautiful source. It felt wrong. It felt evil, removing such ardent artifacts. But underneath each tear was flushed cheeks, and behind those cheeks was a person—dying in the wake of grief and agony. For a brief moment, Jericho felt as if his hands were melting, causing him to turn over his palms to find the reason why, but what he saw was the shine of fresh tears, and hands completely intact. The feeling he felt were the tears running to his palms,,, Something he had not felt in a long time.


"And what honor would you do those that have passed by turning away?" Both hands close slightly, taking a few strands of hair to run his fingers through before he urged his hands to he side again. He froze for a moment then, scolding himself for acting out, before whispering. "They wanted the best. You gave them your best. There is nothing more anyone could ask for." Whether the last bit was true or not for everyone else, it was clear in the way that his eyes bore into her, that it was true for him at the very least. People can't change the way life is, and the cruelty of action is that despite anyone's best efforts, things can go wrong. It is normal to feel guilty then, for the closest scapegoat is always at heart. He needed to remember that sometimes.


 
He was right. He was completely right and she knew it. Even through the pain, she knew he was right. Sometimes, though, it was too easy to forget, and even when knowing those things, it could still hurt. She missed her old crew, she missed the Lullaby, and she missed Woods the most. But life moved on, and that meant she had to move on, too. Though she was certain that this by no means meant she was over the pain of the recent months, it definitely helped, at least in that moment. While Jericho was getting a little touchy, she didn't stop him, since she trusted him, and was obviously upset. There were more important things at the moment than little gestures.


After a few moments of silence, she cleared her throat and wiped off her tears, at least those that Jericho hadn't already wiped away. It seemed like it was time to pull herself together. "Right, right... you're right. I'm, um, I'm going to go to my room and clean up, um... thank you, though. Thank you a lot." And by "clean up" she meant put on her armor and weaponry again and get to work. They had a mission they had to do, after all, and the past could be looked on afterward. Now was the time to be strong, smart, and most of all in control. Adira gathered up her items and walked off the bridge to her room, her heart much more at ease now that the wound had been addressed. While she didn't want to leave Jericho to the massive solitude of the bridge, she knew he could handle it, perhaps even better than her.
 
Space had taken its place in the room again. Silence was now the dominating force, and not moving from where he stood, he watched the grand open window to look out into the great beyond. It was a good analogy, he thought. Despite them being so minute, and so pointlessly stuck in the moments that envelop around them... They are, in fact, moving forward. The wisps in his chest slowed to a crawl, and one dangled off into the dark until disappearing. The lone light shone for a brief moment. The flame had turned to flicker, and before long, that would change too.


When the doors to the bridge opened, he subconsciously turned to face the exit, in perfect view of watching his captain leave. The flicker extinguished to nothing, and he could feel his heart freezing over again. Once again, he had given in to human compassion, and once again, he found himself in the worst type of company... Duly noted.


As the blast doors for the bridge shut, so did the blast doors of the vault that contained his soul. He had just built it then, in the wake of oppressive emptiness, and in the harsh truth he learned just then. Compassion is weak. It is compassion that drove her to tears, and it is compassion that led him to being alone. Again. Also duly noted.


There was a weight on his shoulders that returned. Jericho had not noticed that it had been missing from their place, but now that desolation has found its way back home, he could feel the welcoming claws. At least it had come back to him. There must be something worth keeping, if that is the case.


Either way, he began to reinstate an old thought. Something he picked up after Saami's first big accident...


My business is with machine.


My hands are made to work.


My mind is meant to meld, and weld, my ideas.


Don't forget that.
 
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Once again Deimos found himself walking around the infirmary, making inventory for the third time. He had taken a quick look when he was given the grand tour, a very depressing grand tour at that, but had decided that he should get set up in his room and rest before dealing with this bleak excuse for an med-bay. He didn't get much rest though, for rather big window in his room gave him an ample view of space. For any other person that would be a positive, even more so if it was their first trip in the big endless void. Deimos hated space though. He hated it's lifeless expanse, it's inability to contain life but rather end it. Mostly he hated how insignificant it made everything look. No matter what you did, how many lives you saved, or even ended, how much you helped in the improvement of your people, it all meant nothing when looked from above. Not the type of thoughts one wanted their doctor to have, which is why he mostly ignored them and focused on the here and now. Sadly, the blinds for the window were broken, which shouldn't have surprised him, so his choices were either stay and slowly have an existential crisis, or get out and go somewhere else. It didn't take him long enough to chose.


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Getting out of the room wasn't the only reason he was in the infirmary, though, he also wanted to know what tools he would have at his disposal when the time came. As he looked around and double checked the list on the pad, he went through every worst possible scenario in his head and what he would be able to do in said situations. As long as no one got shot, stabbed, burned, poisoned, drowned, beat up, or had anything worse than a cold, they should be alright. Looking at the meds had made him feel like he was working with guinea pigs. Most of these were cheap brands or ones he hadn't head about, not a good sign. But hey, if someone took enough of them they might developed superpowers due to the side-effects.


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If glares could kill Saami's would've successfully obliterated Kira in that instance. The sentence 'are you kidding me' come to life in an expression, he simply plucked the handkerchief out of the air without even looking.


"Well kicking a broken sprinkler is only going to get you covered in dirty water. But if you're so insistent to know then who am I to keep it a secret that my current death toll is 76? No, not 7, not 6. I killed 76." Nothing in his glare towards her contained any traces of exaggerating, lying or bragging, because it was the cold truth and nothing more: 42 he had killed as a sniper, 34 died from the bombing. In his count, he just about equalled to a mass murderer. Yet a little taunting smile revealed on his face. "Am I still a good puppy? Because the government sure as hell was proud of their murder mutts." The bitterness in his words was close to becoming a physical taste in the air, but soon after he settled down again and appeared to calm himself down a bit. "I'm the one who made all those people lose family, who caused the previous crew to die. I'm supposed to be this inhuman killing machine, just a monster. I feel like a monster, but none else even acknowledges it. They're not angry, they're not hating me, they're barely even disliking me; so then I'm supposed to be grateful for that and pick everything up again like a good puppy?" Quietly he shook his head trying to find the right words to describe what exactly it was that he thought he was. "I might've been like you, a good puppy caught in a bad kennel, but at a certain point it doesn't matter anymore because bad training kicks in and then you're just a trained killer. And then it's even worse to be a good puppy, because you'll become very good at evil too."


Again there was a silence as he tried to think over what he was going to say next, carefully choosing what it was exactly that he wanted her to know. "I hate you because I never ever want you to like what I am, I want you to stay away from me so there isn't the slightest chance it'll happen to you too. To anyone of the crew... so just leave me alone."
 
" You know....your count means little to me. One of my best friend's father was an enforcer for Hayanase, his count sat around 300 or so for a while, then my friend got nabbed, let me tell you that was quite the situation...she came back, her father had new scars and his count had racked up by about 40. " she moved her bangs out of her face a bit. " So really, that was the wrong arguement to use on the 'Princess' Picking on people? That's just petty, if you don't want to get close to people then go find your own ship. As for the monster...well if you truly were one, you wouldn't be feeling guilt, or torn up about all those people who've been hurt. Everyone has a choice to make, I could have stayed on the moon, been an ignorant puppy, been an obedient dog. Seeing what my father did, what we were connected to, I realized it was a gilded cage and all the kids wore invisible shock collars. I chose to become a bad puppy to them, so I can be a good puppy to everyone else." she fiddled with the end of her braid and finally pushed off from the floor wiping her butt off and shaking out her pants.


" Just....hear me out a second. You cannot make people's decisions for them. They chose this life, they chose to stick by you, so you're stuck with them. It's not exactly fair to, say the Captain, who even now is at your side, that she has risked so much. Lost parts of herself even. Chose to be your friend, only to be shoved away. Dogs do better, are stronger in packs. The same applies to people." She stretched her arms and squatted next to him for a second. " You are a person after all, human, alien or whatever...you feel and think, you know what's right and wrong, you can choose. Your past...is part of what you are, but the choices we make define who we are."





With a last pat on his shoulder and a half smile she stood and quietly padded for the door, " You have a family here, whether you like it or not. Now I'm finding something to eat, join me or not, that's your choice...but I do expect that handkerchief to be washed before I get it back." she flashed in a quick smile before officially exiting the room and wandered down the hall in search of the galley.
 
When Erin Jones had signed up for a position on the little junker, she had never quite expected that she'd be stuck on laundry duty. Her lanky frame struggled over the weight of the basket holding the smelly clothes as she staggered down the hall. Her black hair remained held back behind a bandanna and she had a little chef's apron tied around her waist. It was hard work to live with others - she'd had an easier time during her time as an independent contractor.


Still, Erin would have gladly traded her personal comfort again just for the ability to actually talk to people for once. Although she wasn't the most sociable person, being alone in deep space had taken its toll on her. The vast emptiness of the galaxy thrilled her and with her temperament, she was more liable than others to fall bait to the lure of insanity through solitude. More than once had an explorer gone mad and "star-struck", never to return to society.


With a grunt, she set down the basket as she surveyed the rather dirty room where the washing machines were situated. It was a cozy little nook, though Erin would have preferred a little more space and perhaps a nozzle to hand-wash some clothes. It wasn't her first time doing her crew-mate's laundry and she was already anticipating having to wrestle with the machinery. Like other appliances on-board, the washers had a very distinct habit of randomly shutting off mid-wash - she'd learned that the hard way. Erin unloaded the clothes and sat down to wait, alert and ready for any problems that would undoubtedly show up.


Minutes later, an alarming crunch sounded. Erin got up in a flash before inspecting the laundry.


"Half-done again. Shit."


She had little experience with fixing these things -what little she'd learned had been on-board- but she didn't want to disturb anyone else. Besides, the task had been assigned to her and what would the others think if she couldn't even wash clothes? She propped open the lid and got to work, aware that a mistake here could mean wearing dirty clothes until they made port. It was a risk that she was willing to make - how hard could it be?


With a whir and a clunk, Erin finally got the washing machine going again. Her hair had come loose from the bandanna she wore and her hands were sudsy with the ineffective soap that they used. It had taken longer than she'd expected but the damn thing was running as well as it'd ever been. Erin chalked it up as a success and after wiping her hands on her pants, loaded up the basket from the dryer and left. She had no idea whose clothes belonged to who, so she marched through the halls to personally ask each and every one of her crew-mates.


The first man she encountered was the physician, Deimos. He was lurking around the infirmary again, doing gods-know-what. Erin didn't care much for doctors -they had always been so nagging- and Deimos was no exception. Still, she didn't feel the need to be rude to the man as he'd done nothing to irritate her so far. On second thought, Erin and the rest of the crew-members hadn't really talked at all.


"Hey. Hi. Whatcha doing, doc?" She rapped her knuckles on the door frame to catch his attention.


"I got some clothes here. I was wondering if any of them were yours?" Erin placed the basket down for the doctor to inspect. She took a cursory glance around the room to find little packets of medicine strewn all over the place.


"Neat stuff. I guess this is what you're gonna use to patch us up, eh?"
 
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Saami just sighed and nodded, then laid his head back down on his knees. Of course she was right, but wasn't that why he was feeling so guilty? He was just making life hard for a lot of people, but it wasn't as easy as to just stop being angry. Especially when he was angry with himself. He tried, only to get angry again and make it worse. The only reason he hadn't left was because he figured that it would only hurt them more. Then again he wasn't sure anymore if leaving once wouldn't hurt less in the long run than having to deal with him like this over and over again.


"I know... but it's hard to choose when I'm mad..." And it wasn't like choosing not to be mad was something you'd just do instantly. Despite that he'd still held on and tried to do the right thing, he hadn't just fallen into acceptance with what they had made him to be. But he didn't even know how to be good, so how could he choose that? Just trying to do what felt right had cost him his legs and family; had cost his friends their family. How was he supposed to believe he was any good then, if what felt right to him caused so much pain anyway? Quietly he just shook his head again and took a few deep breaths, knowing that now wasn't the time to fall into despair. Within a few hours they'd meet with the rest of the fleet and it wasn't exactly flattering if he showed up a depressed, sobbing mess.
 
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<p>


Deimos didn't answer straight away, instead taking a few extra seconds to finish with the list. Once he was satisfied he placed the pad on the table and turned around.<span style="color:#000000;"> </span><span style="color:#808080;">"It would be less of using, and more of trying. What I have here is the equivalent of hugs and nice words. A kind gesture, but won't save anyone's life." </span><span style="color:#000000;">He had the suspicion that a couple of the unknown brands might be placebos, but he decided to keep that little detail to himself. Placebos were better than nothing, and they tended to not work when people were aware they were fake. He was well aware that she wasn't part of the original crew, ergo didn't have a say on how the purchase of medical supplies was taken care of. But then again, he didn't knew either the new recruits nor the original crew, so he saw no reason to treat them differently.


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Going to the clothes basket, he dug around for his things. He had been thoughtful enough to mark his initials in all his clothes previously to arriving to the ship, which made the search quick and simple. He half folded-half threw his things on top of the desk as he found them. There was no ironing machine in the ship and the dryer was so crappy it left everything wrinkled, so there wasn't any need to be careful with his clothes. The unkempt look of wrinkled clothes matched with the ship though, so at least it's crew will match with it.</span>


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It wasn't what she had expected but Erin wasn't bothered. Though she was quite fond of her life, she was resigned to the fact that people died, more or less. It was what it was and fighting against death was futile in most cases. Erin had seen for herself how undignified death was and when the time came, she was confident that she'd be able to go out silently. A bit naive, perhaps, but she'd never exactly been a philosopher.


"Sucks, Doc."


Erin pushed out her cheek with her tongue and fidgeted on spot. The ship felt restraining to her, as if the walls were pushing in by the minute. As the man searched through the laundry basket, Erin picked up and examined various pills along the shelves.


"Ri-rino? Rinophil? Gooood for, uhm, minor sinus infections." She tossed it aside carelessly. "I dunno if this is gonna work out."


She rummaged around some more, reading each and every label out loud. When the doctor had finished organizing the laundry, Erin took her time to saunter on over to resume her duty. There only seemed to be one set of clothes left in the basket which Erin still didn't know who it belonged to. However, she wasn't in the mood to be lugging around clothes anymore. She had finally caught somebody to talk to and she was going to relish every moment of it. It was during times like these that Erin felt she knew what it meant to be truly human - having meaningful interactions with other humans.


"So... what's the story? I mean, you gotta have a story. Don't really see a lot of doctors in junkers like this," she kicked out at the wall, "do you?"


A slight rumble sounded from the place she had hit but Erin didn't pay much attention to it. A broken down aircraft like this, she figured, would make a few creaks now and then.
 
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Deimos eyed the room when the ship rumbled. It now came to his mind that the only thing between him and the infinite vacuum was a few slabs of metal stuck together with tape and good intentions. Strangely, this didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. His mind was probably pushing the idea of his mortality far back now that the chance of death was much more likely than it had ever been for him. <span style="color:#808080;">"Not a very interesting story. I was born. I went to school, and later on university. Got a job, then decided I wanted a chance of pace. Space travel seemed like the biggest change I would get." </span><span style="color:#000000;">He wasn't really keen on sharing the reason why he needed said change. He had already gotten over it, but blurting it out to any random person would be sharing too much of his personal life.</span>


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He rubbed the fingers of his left arm against each other. It looked like an organic human arm, yet it was none of those things. Well, ok, it was an arm, but all its components, the skin, the nerve ends, and the metallic skeleton underneath it, they were all artificial. He never complained about it, quite the opposite he liked it a lot, it was better than his original arm had ever been. But he liked to keep the distinction between human and robotic in his body present, hence the reason he had disabled the pain effectors from it. He could feel pressure, heat, cold, and all the common things the rest of his body felt. The lack of pain on his left arm allowed him to remember that it wasn't his originally, but rather an artificial improvement. Plus, not feeling pain was sometimes very useful. <span style="color:#808080;">"What's yours?"</span>


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She'd said her piece, what Saami took from it was up to him, but perhaps, she hoped, he'd reconsider his stance on her presence, she peeked into rooms as she passed by, supplies, laundry...she grumbled about not being able to find the bloody galley. She turned the corner and kept walking it didn't take long before she heard voices, she peeked into a room, the infirmary...not what she was looking for. Never the less she stepped inside. " Hello there," she said with a soft smile. " Sorry to bother but...I've gotten turned around, been on board for 3 days and I'm still getting lost. Anyone know where the galley is?" She looked between the two, Deimos and Erin, and realized, she wasn't sure she actually knew them, had she really been holed up in her room for that long? " I'm sorry...I don't recall meeting either of you...I'm Kirian, Kira for short."
 
The unexpected was just coming out of the woodwork now, Erin mused. She glanced over the new girl - she seemed almost delicate. Certainly not someone she'd imagine cooped up in a tiny space-craft which threatened to blow out at the seams every time someone walked too quickly.


"Hey," she nodded. "I'm Erin. And this here is Doc, I guess."


She thumped his arm cheerfully. It seemed a bit harder than normal but she chalked that up to tension.


Taking a seat against an overloaded table, Erin grinned. She hadn't seen this many people in one room since the day she'd signed up - the port where she'd been picked up had been quite desolate. Fittingly named "Endtrack" for its solitude; the only inhabitants there were deadbeats and undesirables, left to rot by the galaxy's indifference. In Erin's opinion, it was a grand old place in the great scheme of things. There was no one to tell you what to do or how to do anything - if anyone even cared enough to look up from their decades old newspapers. In a way, Endtrack had been a bit like deep space - it left you well enough alone with your own thoughts.


"I don't know 'bout a galley but Doc here and I were swapping stories. Wanna tell?"


Without waiting for a response, Erin jumped right into her own background. She told them of how she had been born on an outer district, far away from the metropolis superpower that was Earth. She told them of how she'd gotten into junkyard racing, making sure to elaborate exactly how addicting and exciting it was to race through poorly made arenas. Erin picked over the boring parts of her life - the whole independent contractor bit was told through only a few words compared to her gratuitous descriptions of flying seconds away from impact, just to pull up with nary a scratch on the rusty paint of her race-craft. Having been deprived of talking to others had made her unusually chatty this morning.


"And anyways, I guess you guys know the rest, yeah? Picked me up at Endtrack and I've been here ever since. That was what, like a few days ago? I haven't really been keeping the time."


She petered off thoughtfully before remembering the laundry that she was supposed to deliver to the others. It made her job easier that they came out in sets of two and with the doctor already claiming a pair of clothes the basket was left much lighter than before. With good luck, the remaining pair would belong to Kirian and then Erin wouldn't have to walk all around the ship.


"Er, by the way, that yours?"


 
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" Alrighty..." she swept her knee length braid back down her back," So my full name, well except my middle, is Kirian Hanover, I am the only child and heir, probably not anymore, to Justin Hanover. The CFO of Hayanase Enterprises, and CFO to the Hayanase Crime Family. I grew up on the Moon, all the fanciness. Anyways, witness some questionable arms deals, as questionable as being raised in a mafia family can get...and then saw my father first hand murder an entire alien family. Family head wouldn't do anything about it, so I sorta stole information the Hayanase had on IR and ran away..." she looked at them for a moment to gauge their reactions, and continued," I wandered on earth for a couple months, before learning about the FFA, I sought out an appropriate space port and tah dah, here I am."





She concluded her story by crossing her arms over her chest and letting out a long breath," I am here to take my information to the FFA and offer what services I can."
 
A fourth, illuminated voice resonated through the hallway and hit their ear drums with a soothing sound that was akin to an audible wine. Almost sounding as if the voice came from under water yet retaining it's elegant nature it reached them, but a single word;


"Marvelous!" When and if eyes turned to the voice they would be met with a gangly, pale-white creature with vibrant blue-eyes and and a twisted mouth that would perhaps mimic a smile. The creature shuffled through the hallway in an awkward gait, forced to be hunched over by it's own height. Had it not been for this disturbing manner of walking, had it not been for their rusted surroundings, perhaps this creature would be nothing to fear. But combined, it's approach struck gold in the uncanny valley of the human mind. It was wrong, it was... almost human.


"So brave you few, I am glad to see that you've all taken this as seriously as I have!" The alien, to those who had wandered into the engine room was known as Yalyax N'thagn. An aloof creature, always chipper, always polite, but it was to a disturbing affect. With the N'thagn being a largely unknown race it was difficult to tell if this was just how the N'thagn acted, or if it was the condescending or patronizing rhetoric to an inferior race. The fact he'd decided to join FFA perhaps answered such a question but when the enemy calls for your extermination... Perhaps you have no other choice.


With a slight nod of his head, the alien smiled awkwardly and twisted his hands around the air as if fighting off a swarm of bees in slow motion. "I've finally had a chance to escape from the dreadful heat of that engine room and just as I'd hoped, I am meeting the crew! I am N'thagn, Yalyax envoy to the human race and cavalier of Free For All! Humanity at it's strongest!"
 
Saami had finally gotten up and decided to do something useful with his time, the idea of the gulley not that unappealing to him. Stretching out a bit first he made sure he wasn't stiff as a board before walking there. Yet when he arrived there was no sign of the princess, which he deemed odd but not his problem. What he did however deem his problem was lunch and subsequently dinner: he had a shit day which would undoubtedly only get shittier returning to the place he was made, no need to be tortured with any of Jericho's attempts at food. Or he might actually break and start spilling government secrets.


No, he was here first, and he was a fast cook so in the hour and a bit left till the warp he could surely fabricate a light lunch and dinner to heat up. Especially now the pantry still had some fresh items in them, and if Yax hadn't decided that all tomatoes were considered a midnight snack. So to try and get his mind off of things he set to work, and if anything his knife skills weren't lying about him being superhuman. Fast and precise it would take the standard person quite a bit of focus to keep up with what was a normal handling speed to him. Then again, things didn't heat faster than they did, and on this ship that meant his tomatoes were colder on the stove than in the fridge.


At least the sandwiches for lunch were done quick. The rest he could just keep slowly boiling and cooking until he got back, that was of course if the stove held on that long.
 
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