"'Attempt,' Sara? An [i]'attempt[/i] at humor?' Ouch... " Preacher murmured under his breath as he read on, shrugging good-naturedly as internally he dedicated himself all over again to proving his personal hypothesis - that an android really could spontaneously generate a sense of humor given the right impetus. He still hadn't found the fulcrum that would move an android, but Preacher was a patient man... 

One artificial fingertip stopped on the page where his eyes last roamed, and he gave Lena a sidelong glance. A soft smile rested on his face, though something icy lurked behind his dark eyes while she spoke with Sara about Reddick. Preacher truly appreciated his captain, but even more than he liked her? Even more than that, he [i]respected[/i] her too. Lena Pretorius was one of the most skilled pilots he'd ever met, military or civilian, and a natural leader who sincerely cared for her people. Talented, skilled [i]and[/i] personable - that was a precious rare triad of traits to find in a boss.

So yes, John Paul was more than happy - proud even - to be the right hand of a captain he respected, and the obvious lack thereof in Reddick pissed him off. Oh sure, the "mission director" likely thought his slight was a subtle dig, a miniscule reminder for Lena where the true power aboard the [i]Aphelion[/i] lie. Well, provided of course Reddick gave a thought for what he was doing at all, and wasn't just outright dismissing her and the rest of the crew... 

"Hmmph." Preacher laced the ribbon back to the page where the 41st chapter began, aviator foot falling to the ground as he pushed the Bible back into his cargo pocket, buttoning it back up again. As naturally as if they were the limbs he'd been born with, John Paul laced his fingers behind his head as he slouched a little further into his seat. And as naturally as he breathed, that same easy grin slipped back into its proper place.

Fuck James Reddick.

"Sergeant Winters!" he called over to the CM squad leader with a laugh, "You hear Mr. Sandoval? Consider this a standing order: if your boss takes a stroll toward an air lock any time soon? Intervene!" Diego had sunk back into some moody funk or other, likely pondering all the possibilities, angles and approaches he couldn't do a damn thing to change anyway. Didn't mean Preacher had to leave him there. 

Preacher's gaze turned toward the pretty Engineering Officer with the sparkling smile who, strangely enough, seemed worried about her age. For the life of him he couldn't see why she'd think twice about such a thing; a mirror should tell Zelda all she needed to know about the complete lack of age ravaging on her face. 

But it was the Russian navigator's unexpected and oh-so-literal explanation of the intricacies of time dilation that just tickled him. John Paul chuckled warmly, meeting Natan's expectant smile with his own - and then biting his lip, hard, to keep from laughing out loud as the young man's wandering eye for the ladies got him cold-busted by the good doctor. [i]"I from Russia?"[/i] Like no one had noticed [i]that[/i] quite yet - and really, was that all the explanation a guy needed, to talk his way out of awkwardness with the ladies? He'd have to give it a try some time.

Sure, it was probably fortunate for Natan that it hadn't been the Captain or Sergeant Winters who caught him eyeballing them - but no matter. Preacher just didn't have it in him to leave the poor guy hanging there long, lost and flailing and being Russian and all.

"So what kind of time are we talking about here, before the [i]Prometheus'[/i] landing site is found?" he asked crisply, letting his hands fall back to his sides and standing to his feet with a grunt. Preacher strode to a nearby counter, pressing a latch to let a small door slide away to reveal a plate of donuts - or at least, what the [i]Aphelion[/i] interpreted as donuts, or donut-like. He shrugged as he picked up the plate with one hand, claiming what might be interpreted as a "glazed donut" with the other as he returned to the table. 

With a sly grin, Preacher leaned over beside Zelda to slide the plate to the table. [i]"And if you like,"[/i] he whispered to her with a laugh as he stood, [i]"We can order up some synthetic frosting-like, find a flare in the emergency packs, maybe do up a birthday cake more-or-less-sorta right?"[/i] He smiled contentedly as he made his way back to his seat, synthetic donut replicant in hand and a hot, coffee-like liquid just waiting on him.