[h1]Aboard the Secret Service[/h1]

Abe leaned against the door as he looked in, perplexed towards his guest's hunger. With him, a motley collection of his fellow crew stood watching the anonymous alien scarf down entire meals. He ate with what seemed to be a ravenous hunger. It was almost a cartoon.

“Did we tell him it was really all you can eat?” someone whispered in earshot of Abe. He turned towards the speaker and shrugged indifferently. The speaker returned the gesture with a still inquisitive look, still searching for answers.

Thus far, the alien human had put down four whole sausages – in buns – two hamburgers, a third a roast, a bucket of ice-cream, and only just started slowing when he went for chips. Sucking on a soda along the way. Abe was reluctantly thankful that he had not found the dispensers in the commissary, where his meals were being retrieved from.

Tucked away in the medical cordon of the ship,  the medics had wanted to perform examinations on him. When inspecting him for signs of disease he complained to them that he was feeling starved, and in fears over how long he had been adrift alone any and all food that could be mustered was brought to him, mustard and all.

Though he was only one, and unlikely to go through their entire on-board food supply – hydroponics included – there was a spreading feeling that if there were more of his race on board they would easily need to report into the nearest Stockpile to be resupplied before they would have otherwise thought it necessary. But what part of this was biological to his king, or some kind of emotional response to stress was up in the air.

As he slowed eating, and looked up to notice everyone watching a nervous blush bloomed in his face. “I, uh- I'm sorry...” he said nervously, smiling sheepishly.

“Well it's good to see you haven't lost your appetite.” Abe said in amazement.

The alien nodded in agreement, looking the other way. Really, it was amazing both parties could communicate, granted both talked slow to each other to avoid any miscommunication. “So are you done?” Abe asked.

The alien human nodded. He never seemed to relax, and set in a different setting altogether appeared nervous and all together alert. A physical examination by the doctors was very intense due in part to this stress.

His long purple hair fell about his narrow rounded face in messy treads and ropes of greasy barely kempt locks. His likewise violet eyes had a nervous tense look to them as they darted about. Much the rest of his features were narrow and tightly set, made worse by furled brows and a nearly greedy, beaver like brooding of his food. He scratched compulsively at his arms and hands.

“OK.” he said, turning to dismiss his companions, “I think we should talk.”

The Ziani looked up at him with wide eyes and stammered incoherently. Shirking back as Abe sat down across from the examination table.

Unlike most of the living quarters of the ship, the medical bay had not been outfitted with the alien wood, much like engineering and maintenance. It retained a stark sterile look with highly polished stainless steel and linoleum finish. Computer terminals and cabinets of medical examination equipment lined the walls, and small thickly pained windows looked out at the space that slowly moved as the hull rotated.

“So, first question: who are you?”

The Ziani froze, blathered, and hesitated answering. Abe had thought to sweeten the deal, “You tell me, I'll tell you.”

The offer did something better, and the hesitating threat of danger seemed to wane substantially. “Tsimatsu Sun.” he answered, and looked up at Abe apprehensively.

“Abraham Norowitz,” Abe said to him, “I run this ship.”

“So you're the captain?”

“In a sense, no. No one's the captain. But they do look up to me.” he answered, “They seem to trust me with some of the big things and answers.” he added with a smile.

Tsimatsu looked at him stunned, “How does this even work?” he said, aghast.

“Plenty of trust.” Abe laughed, with a dismissive wave of the hand, “Most beings we've met don't need leaders per-say. The by-and-by functions of life can go on without command, order without orders. We're a people of equals.”

“But, back to you.” Abe continued, returning to the line of questioning, “Where are you from?”

Again, the question made him hesitate and falter. He took several moments to answer, and when he did it was nervous; almost as if he was looking for a way out. “Saigonoseiiki. What is this? Who are you? Am I captive!?”

Abe dismissed him. “No, you're still a free man.” he comforted, “Your aboard the Secret Service, part of the Free Fairer Society. We just rescued you from space.”

Tsimatsu thought to that, and shuddered terrified. He squirmed a little further from the nearest window and took a deep breath and unconsciously scratched at the back of his neck. “You don't need to worry yourself, we're not about to dump you out there again. And you don't need to answer this either: but what were you doing out here?”

“What were you?” the Zaini asked.

“Taking a break and charging our cells. Our power reserves were too low to make a jump out and we were holding off and enjoying the view.”

“And how didn't we notice you?” he asked.

Abe nodded towards space, “That gas giant probably helped. It's been throwing up some hell in interference. I'm honestly surprised we caught the signal. Then again, the planet may have bent it around to us, you never know.” he dismissed the rest of it with a shrug.

Tsimatsu nodded warily. “We were exploring.”

“For?”

“I was never told.”

“Understood. Do you want to go back home I take it?”

Tsimatsu thought about it. “Well... I... Yes, but...”

“But?”

“I don't know if I could. I got away from disaster, someone may read it as a battle, maybe. I would have been a survivor, one who retreated. If they...”

“Found the Black Box, would it help if we retrieved it?”

“You would be hunted down...”

“We can destroy it.”

“How?”

“We have a gas giant and an old star. Either will do the trick.”

“Why would you?”

“Isn't what you're implying, or trying to say is that if you came home and they thought you were a coward you'd be killed?”

“Not reall- no, maybe?”

Abe shrugged. “Either way, what do you need us to do? Want us to grab it and you can return home with it; the maybe-victor of disaster? The last lone survivor to tell the tale. Then, maybe destroying any recorder would leave your story the only one there is left.”

Tsimatsu groaned, dropping his head he rubbed at his temples and mumbled to himself. “I don't know.” he said.

“How about this: I'll set you up with a bed, you can rest on it, and we'll grab the black box. It can be pitched into the nearest star at any time you like. What do you think?”

“I think- I think I need to lay down.” Tsimatsu agreed.

“Good thinking.”