[hider=Title of the Recording: Time in Space]Time in a spaceship was an interesting topic. Planet-side time is usually determined by the location of nearby stars and the rotation of the planet on its axis. But when traveling through space and those stars ceased to rise and fall across the horizon, what dictates ‘morning’ or ‘mid-night’? Some ships use PT Port Time, syncing their clocks to the last place they docked even when their journey takes them light years away. Others will use FST (Federation Standard Time), which is useful when traveling from planet to planet but viewed arbitrary once planet-side again. Either way, time is, as they say, relative.[/hider]

Ryen’s eyes flickered open. Dim, blue lights lit up the surroundings. It took her a few seconds to realize where she was. Sitting up stiffly in bed caused the lights to slowly brighten, giving her eyes time to adjust. Soon enough her cabin looked just like she’d left it, bright white, cold, and sterile. The only contents marker it her own was the pack thrown in the corner.

A pang in her stomach informed why she was awake. When was the last time she’d eaten something? A picture of the lox and crackers flashed before her eyes but she struggles to remember what she’d had before that. Already she was beginning to feel a little light headed, a sure sign that her blood sugar was low. A high metabolism was one of the few side-effects of her ‘condition’.

[b]”Maria”[/b] Ryen said, her voice barely raised above a whisper, [b]”What time is it?”[/b]

[b]”Two o’seven PT. Fifty nine point eight FST.”[/b] The AI replied over the cabin’s intercom.

Ryen couldn’t remember dimming the room’s lights or even going to sleep. Either way, hours had passed since she’d last been in the mess hall. [b]”Is anyone else up and about?”[/b]

[b]”No one has been in the common areas in the last hour.”[/b]

Ryen nodded and pushed out of her bed. Pressing the inside panel, her room door slowly opened revealing a hallway dimly lit with blue lights from the floor panels. Shuffling down the hallway, she entered the mess hall and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich and strawberry milkshake using the replicator. The sandwich didn’t taste quiet like the ones her mother used to make but it was good enough. Ryen scarfed the meal down partially because of how hungry she was and partially because she didn’t want to run into anyone, especially after she caught her reflection in the replicator’s glass. 

Quickly returning to her room she washed up and since she was still wide awake, began to unpack her bag. It didn’t take more than thirty minutes to put everything away. She was however, a bit annoyed to find that in her haste she’d only packed seven stockings and the top half of a swimsuit. Meanwhile, her teal mascara and Havtaniana hair pins were nowhere to be seen. They were easy enough to replace assuming their next shop sold such items and assuming she could get to her credits. Ryen bit on her lower lip. Money shouldn’t be a problem assuming she could get to her accounts and assuming Lazlo was paying her. [i]”He is paying me… isn’t he?”[/b] Well, she could worry about it later.

The last item she pulled out of the bottom of her bag was her father’s worn leather journal. The one she promised she would destroy if anything happened to him. A deep seeded guilt filled her stomach but Ryen tried to push it away by telling herself that she could simply destroy the journal away at a later date.

The paper inside was soft and leather. Neat characters were printed horizontal and vertical across the page. The symbols weren’t from Common Tongue or the other two languages her father had taught her. Looking up the original language would be easy enough especially with her personal computer with its integral intergalactic transmitter. It was an expensive and Farley hard to come by piece of equipment on Syrae. Her father had given it to her, as a gift, the first time she’d ventured into space. Unfortunately it was lying on the far right hand side of her work space back at the lab. Now she would simply have to wait until she was planet-side and try to find a public computer system or beg that tablet off Ellie. Ryen studied the symbols on the page a little more before delving deeper into the journal, hoping to find some clue. Inch by inch she scrolled over the cramped handwriting looking for something out of place. Around page twenty she finally hit on it. The symbols were still the same in the patterns but the way they were grouped in to form words weren’t. After flipping through a few more pages, it finally hit her. The journal wasn’t in a foreign language at all but was written in code, a code her father periodically changed.

[center]---[/center]

This time when Ryen woke up, she was lying on the floor, her father’s journal crumpled underneath her. Her room was no longer pristine. Strange, light blue symbols were scrawled across every inch of useable stainless steel wall and crowded onto the floor. Underneath, a few were common words “the” “a” “is” or “and” as well as a few complex ones like “planet”, “research”, “brain”. Pushing herself up off the floor, Ryen felt the tell-tale sign of hunger. It didn’t take her long to wash up and change. She debated briefly about erasing the ‘artwork’ she’d penned over the room but decided against it. Instead she made sure the lock the adjourning washroom from her side and slip out into the hallway. As she did, she almost slammed into Quincy who was making his way presumably to the mess hall.

[b]”Sorry,”[/b] Ryen said as he moved out of the way, just in time.

[b]”Is this a form of greeting in, Syrae?”[/b] the doctor joked, [b]”Remind me to avoid you in the morning.”[/b]

Ryen was about to ask him just how long he had spent on the planet when he lifted her chin and rotated her head. [b]”You’re looking pale.”[/b] he said as he used one and to further open her right eye. [b]”Cardiovascular dystrophy? Ionic palo-pigmentation?”[/b] Ryen’s brain pulled up her conversation with Lazlo yesterday about the doctor’s excitement when it came to the newly equip medical bay. 

[b]”Neither,”[/b] she practically squeaked, [b]”I didn’t sleep well last night and I’m feeling a bit… peckish.”[/b]
 
Quincy’s left eyebrow shot up suspiciously but he gently let go of her chin. [b]”Did something happen yesterday? I never saw you after I came out of surgery.”[/b]

[b]”There was a few things I had to check on.”[/b] Ryen was certain he didn’t believe her explanation. They started walking toward the mess hall again. He didn’t say anything. Hopefully Quincy would drop the subject, filing it under some sort of post-traumatic stress after her father’s death. 

The glass door of the mess hall slid open. Ryen briefly surveyed the room. He was there. He would be. He was the captain after all. [b]”Good morning,”[/b] she said, echoing the doctor’s greeting. Ryen wanted to ask Ellie how she was doing after her surgery but the other woman appeared to be fine and Ryen didn’t want to embarrass her by directing attention her way. Quincy, on the other hand, had no qualms and began battering the technician with questions. 

While waiting for Lazlo to finish up at the replicator, she went over and began to scan the breakfast portion of the menu, avoiding any contact with the captain’s eyes.