[color=39b54a][b][center]The previous night – 1935 hours local – Non-standard gym facility constructed by colony citizens from scrap and personal equipment– North central sector – Grid 54A.[/center][/b][/color]

An open hand crashed across the back of Deacon’s head, a flash of light snapping across his vision as the blow landed. Deacon shook his head letting out a short intense yell in response.  All around him forms moved through a dimly lit space that had been created from scrap transit containers, some of the shapes were gathering around him, closing in on him, shouting, screaming. Iron and steel crashed down around him, sweat poured off him, and abominably violent music blasted through speakers as Deacon stood facing a barbell loaded with 355 kilos. Another blow to the back of the head, a white cloud of powder exploding from around him as he screamed a feral expletive in response just before a third blow struck him.  Before a fourth blow could land, Deacon lifted his hand to his face, crushed a capsule of smelling salts, and inhaled the noxious substance, the now pink stained capsule discarded as he approached the bar.  The set up took seconds, the other screaming lifters that had gathered to witness a colony record faded from his attention as Deacon’s chalk covered hands wrapped tightly around the barbell, the pyramid shaped knurling biting into heavy callouses.  He sat back, eyes forward and locked on a distant point where all the physical pain he felt was driven down and away.  Hamstrings loaded and back tight Deacon pulled the slack from the barbell which flexed considerably.  Every muscle in his body strained and veins rose against his shirtless torso as the pressure in his body increased, the deep breath he had taken before starting this record setting deadlift was held, pressed down, and compressed in his abdomen to brace his spine and core. Still the weight did not move at first but as Deacon turned an unnatural shade of red… the stack of iron plates on each end of the barbell rose from the floor and Deacon began to stand up. Spots of brilliant white light danced across his vision while the weight ground its way up his shins, the knurling of the bar ripping a jagged bloody trail up his right leg.  As the weight rose to knee level the crashing iron and steel in the makeshift gym fell silent or was just overwhelmed by the cheers and shouts of some of the other colonists there.

“Get it! Come on!”

“Lock it out you son of a…!”

“Up!, up!, up! up!”

Deacon’s vision tunneled on that distant point in space and time where he kept his eyes fixed, all else was black and detached.  He felt the blood vessels in his nose burst, tasted the trickle of blood running down to his lip as the weight continued to rise. Nearly standing now, his hips shot forward and his back and shoulders locked into the finished and upright position of a deadlift with 355 kilos still in his hands.  The cheers drowned out the music and Deacon let the weight crash back to the ground, staying with the barbell the whole time, dropping to a knee as it crashed thunderously onto the makeshift platform cracking a 2X4 support, his hands still wrapped around the bar.

[color=39b54a][b][center]The current day – 0748 hours local – Planetary Sciences Lab Victor II – North central sector – Grid 23C.[/center][/b][/color]

Muddy, chalky, a bit grassy.  When the thought crossed Deacon’s mind he could have just as easily been describing the qualities of the loam substrata his lab had been observing in order to monitor the growth of the dekland carrion beetle population, a key prey item to newly introduced avian species.  Instead he was thinking about how this newest flavor of protein/carb/amino supplement tasted.  Gulping down the last ounces of the supplement Deacon crumpled up the biodegradable cup it had come in and tossed the waste into the recycler built into the wall just as one of the lab technicians that worked under him poked her head around the corner of his office door.  

“Director Gills just walked in Deke.”

Before the young tech could return to her station after delivering her warning, Director Gills manifested her presence in the entryway to Deacon’s laboratory office. She was tall, freakishly thin, and had a preponderance of raven colored hair that no one, to this date, had seen outside of a tightly knotted bun.  When she spoke, it was as if a dull rasp was being drawn against a piece of aluminum, shrill and grating to the ear.

“Doctor Randall, have we not spoken about professionalism in the workplace? You should not allow interns and technicians to refer to you in the familiar like this.”  Deacon held back a wince, not at the reprimand but just because it always took a second to become accustomed to Dr. Gills nasally trill.  He stood up from behind his desk and approached Dr. Gills but did not acknowledge her, first he addressed his technician, before ushering Dr. Gills in and touching the pad to close the door.

“Amanda, gather the results of the loam samples from data collections, will you?  I’d like to review them before heading out to the field today. If the data guys give you any gruff tell them it’s a rush job for me and old’ Deke will owe them a bottle of hooch.” The tech, Amanda Grinspoon, M.S. in environmental engineering and science, beamed at the not so subtle slight directed at Dr. Gills and quickly headed out of the lab to do as Deacon had asked.  If Deacon hadn’t been such a socially inept showboat he would have realized months ago that Ms. Grinspoon’s attention was far more than professional.  As it stood Deacon was ignorant of such things, knowing Ms. Grinspoon for nothing more than the superb laboratory scientist she was.

“Dr. Randall, your conduct of late has been less than respectful concerning the directorate of scientific affairs here on Hesta Prime but…”

Deacon passed by Dr. Gills, not offering her a seat, and fell back with a sigh of relief into his chair, the slabs of concrete that were the tight muscles in his upper back finding only moderate relief from a sitting position.  Before Dr. Gills could finish Deacon interrupted.

“That’s because most of the science directorate are a bunch of self-centered astrophysicists that don’t have any business budgeting and directing the planetary sciences.  On top of that, that same majority could give a damn about the good this corporation is doing out here and only care about the corporate bankroll and the next paper or book they can publish on the backs of researchers and technicians who they don’t even bother to get to know.”

Deacon’s fatigue from the record-breaking session the night before had gotten the better of him and he waited for the threats of formal corporate reprimands that Dr. Gills was renowned for; those threats never came this day.  Instead she maintained her austere manner, wrinkle-less lab coat resting perfectly on skeletal shoulders, lifeless coal colored eyes staring down her hawkish nose at him.

“Never mind all of that Dr. Randall.  What I am here to discuss is next quarter’s roster of inbound scientific personnel.  It will be the first wave of new scientific blood we have had in over a year and I need you…” she paused, the next phrase almost paining her to say. 

“…as the leading planetary scientist on Hesta Prime, to review and assign the planetary science personnel.”

With that Dr. Gills unceremoniously departed Deacon’s office, leaving a data pad that Deacon tossed onto a growing pile of data pads and files that went largely ignored.  Once she left Deacon stood, removed his lab coat, and changed into more familiar garb.  A green flight type jump suit with the embroidered Weyland-Yutani patch on one shoulder, the Hesta Prime patch on the other, and a name patch on the left breast.  Soiled boots replaced clean lab shoes, a loaded utility belt, drop pouch on his right thigh, web harness with recording gear, and a day pack with two days supplies all went on over the jump suit.  Examining the display screen that showed current and forecasted weather conditions led Deacon to unzip the front of the suit and tie the arms around his waist, leaving only the standard issue Weyland-Yutani t-shirt covering his torso under all the gear.  As he checked the last of the recording gear and sampling instruments Amanda returned with a data pad.

“Dr. Randall, I have the data you asked for, collections said it was no big deal, one of the lead techs there, Sarah Couth is a friend.”

“That’s great...” Deacon said as he adjusted the last of his gear and collected the data from Amanda. “…I can always count on you, you know that.  And if you call me Dr. Randall again, I’ll have you transferred to Gills staff, its Deke, you know better.”

Amanda smiled and as Deacon was headed out, she called after him.

“You know… Sarah and her friend Mike were heading out the cantina tonight, I was thinking about going there too. Want to come with me?”  
Deacon, completely missing the obvious, just shrugged and smiled, oblivious to how awkward he was making the situation. “Probably be in the field for the next 20 or 30 hours, plus I wouldn’t want to intrude on you and your friends Amanda.  Go, have a good time.”

He walked out of the laboratory door completely unaware of the dumbfounded confusion he left in his wake.  Before long he was through the laboratory passageways, and on his way into a clear and not too unpleasantly hot day.  Scanners pinged his badge as he exited each doorway and soon he was granted access into the open-air motor pool lot.  Deacon logged out one of the six by six, open topped rovers that belonged to the planetary science division and begin doing the pre-op checks for the vehicle using a checklist that the motor pool mechanics forced him to use after previous trips.  Deacon set about strapping his gear down in one of the back seats and ensuring all the jerry cans were filled with water and fluids, and that all the systems checked out before climbing into the driver seat and reaching over to the communication screen.  He scrolled through the neon green names on the colony directory reaching Lancaster, Jamie, Ecological Sciences Department and pressing the page button.  A small antenna on the rovers roll bars pinged to life and somewhere in the colony a communications screen began to flash an incoming message from rover 8, the one Deacon always used.