Jeremiah gulped in a large swallow of stale ship air. His eye’s shot open. He exhaled. He stared blankly at the ceiling, the blue flashes of the engine reflecting off the metal vault. A jolt of energy erupted from his chest and made his back curve off the cold floor, his whole body was tingling, fingers jerking in unordered response. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat shaking his body and rattling his brain, and yet all he could taste was cinnamon on his tongue.

He sat up and held his head, a wave of euphoria heating his belly and chilling his limbs. He needed to do something. Sitting started to hurt, the energy was bouncing around under his skin, it needed to move, he needed to move.

Jeremiah quickly scrambled to his feet, shockwaves of slow surreal happiness crept up his legs from the impact and whipped up a heated hurricane of energy inside his head. His muscles swelled as if he had been working out for hours but instead of sore pain all he could feel was lightening pleasure across his skin and in the core of each limb, he felt invincible.

Suddenly he remembered the coordinates from the message; if anything it gave him something to do, something to move towards, something to satisfy his body's cravings… everyone should be too busy to notice him anyways.

He looked over to his door, a wide grin on his face and a faraway voice screaming at him that this was a bad idea. He took a step and felt every vibration, his body complained when he stopped and sent another wave of energy through him, causing him to shift. Another step, another wave, he could feel the rub of his clothes, he could feel the ambience of the ship lights, he could feel the vibrations from the almost silent beeps from the computers and the hum of the engine, he could feel it all, and he swore he could even see it all. Another step.

Whoosh

The door opened for him and his body began an eager pace towards the hanger, towards his little ship, every bit of will being used to keep himself from sprinting the whole way there and back.

Step. He wondered how many others in this ship had to hold back so much at such a cost. Step. He wondered who else felt the pressure of keeping back the waters of the psyche and body from bursting into reality. Step. He wondered who else here struggled with such things. Step. He wondered if any of them enjoyed it. Step. He wondered if anyone hated that they enjoyed it. Step. He wondered if anyone hated that their body refused to hate it with them. Step. He wondered who else hated so much. Step. He wondered who else. Step. Cinnamon. Step. I guess you never know how things look through other people’s eyes.

Whoosh The hanger doors opened for Jeremiah and he stepped through, a great chilling sight of relief exhaled somewhere in his head as the door closed behind him. Immediately the sight of Lynnette’s motorcycle ripped him from his thoughts, similar to how the cycle itself was ripped apart. Jeremiah walked up to the vehicle cautiously, in case Lynn was around. It wasn’t that he was scared of her, he just wasn’t sure if he should be, she was ex-government after all, and American no less: but then again so was he. He bit his lip, I guess you really do never know how things look through other people’s eyes.

His Omni-tool chirped and he looked down at his wrist, a green blip flashed and he brought it up to his face. He looked back at the motorcycle and scoffed, “Old enough to still have spark plugs, young enough to have an Engineer's interface computer installed.”

Picking up a displaced wrench by the loose parts he leaned over the opened engine of the motorcycle and rhythmically got to work. The energy rolling through his body purred, content with doing something.

The cushioned couch in the lounge was frayed a bit. It really wasn’t much, and someone (probably Poole) had sat on the right side several times too long and caused a permanent crater to dip uncomfortably into the cushion. Eimi had draped herself over the couch, facing towards the ceiling. Her feet swung nonchalantly over the arm of the couch and tantalized the air playfully if not in an annoyed fashion. Smoke was rising from her cigarette, pressed between her lips, and a dance beat was thumping electronically through her earbuds. The sound of the music playing could be heard beyond the device, but Eimi was mumbling something or another to herself, and no one was around to hear, assumably. The music might as well have all been inaudible to anyone who happened by the lounge.

Jeremiah’s wallet had nothing of true importance to Eimi in it. It was remarkably amazing how transparent the man could be without ever really mentioning his past in any truly edifying way. It was as if his transparency was all a facade, which was, of course, nothing short of the type of character that would happen upon Xaara’s ship. Shocker of shockers. There was not much she could do with his Fake IDs aside from holding them ransom, which seemed childishly delightful. Maybe, she could nudge a story or two from him. The bastard had to have something interesting to say, like how he survived this far in life without The Absolute Magnitude.

In some ways, she was not particularly sure how she had survived this far. It did not feel as if she had. There was a deadness inside of her that felt dry and hollow and empty, and the feeling was unshakeable and growing, as if some worm was munching a hole through the fiber of her being. The worm was birthed after Wes died, and no amount of anger or depression could make kill it. But, she kept trying. She was a fighter, and Wes would be disappointed in her if she gave up. Unfortunately, it seemed to be a losing battle. She was tired and out of touch. In fact, Eimi was not even fighting anymore. She had succumb to it, and in some way, her body felt like another gadget her techie mind was operating. She was merely a shell of a human, devoid of any real meaning aside the whisper of some memories that kept haunting her.

Eimi closed her eyes. She hated doing this, imagining Wes lying next to her. It helped nothing, but it was all she had. No, that was a lie. She had her cigarette. She had her music. She had The Absolute Magnitude.. But, none of it was enough. It never was. She was too young to feel this old, unlike Lynnette. She was too old to be so perky. A hint of anger flustered in her fantasy. Her bust could interrupt anything, Poole’s hammering vocals, which was kind of cute, if only they didn’t interrupt romantic thoughts about Wes, as well.

Dammit, Lynnette. It’d been a while. Two cigarettes and a room ghosted with the foggy smell of nicotine, and Lynnette’s tablet was still broken. If Eimi had to choose her least favorite crew-mate, Lynnette would get two marble trophies. One for each peak. Her body shifted and pulled her legs forward; she turned her torso and swiftly planted her boots on the metal flooring. Two silent footsteps clinked at her landing, and her body stood upwards. Eimi made a small frown as she stretched her arms with her GiP held in one hand. The cigarette dangled ribbons of smoke with her motions. Wes liked her size. At least, he never complained.

Thoughts aside, she left the lounge and headed towards her room. Her eyes focused on her shadow that lead the way down the corridor. It was long and dark, contorted by the illumination of the ship’s lighting. The gloomy reflection nagged a thought in her mind, but she could not quite grasp what that thought was. It was so close to clarity, yet all she could do was frustratedly fumble with the dying cigarette between her lips. That was it. Everything was at her fingertips, but she could grasp none of it. Not even those child games she loved so much were holding out on her.

It was making her crazy. Not like Deevee. He was too happy or looney. She could never decide what his feelings were. His eyes seemed concentratedly dreary, but despite such actions, his idiosyncratic whims seemed to allude to other options. Although, Eimi could hardly imagine being content in the stench of his room. The stench had been a decent guard for keeping Eimi away from him, even if in her rare moods of elation, she was able to withstand his idiosyncratic extrovert outbursts.

Jeremiah, Lynnette, and Deevee all had those extroverted qualities. Poole did, as well, at least, in his massive presence and staunch backbone for religion. They seemed to get along better as a whole, not that Eimi really cared. She did not care for them very much, secretively interested in them all as she was. There was a lot about them she did not know. She had not seen Lynnette’s nipples, yet, for instance, and considering how much they hung out, it was another shocker of shockers.

Xaara had a tough demeanor. Eimi joked to herself that Xaara was in the running to be Who is the Hardest to Get-to-Know? Except, appearances were not everything. Xaara was, after all, Otousan of The Absolute Magnitude.. If that fact wasn't a good skeleton key, then Eimi would… probably do absolutely nothing because it really honestly did not matter in the end. Just like Poole and his perpetual need to ritualize some Zombie God or whatever.

By the time Eimi reached her sleeping quarter, she was more annoyed with things than when Lynnette trespassed her thoughts. Her mind was no longer on Wes, but she was too distracted with her aggravated racing emotions to take more note of this. Her hand slipped into her blazer’s pocket and pulled out her room’s key. The digital device shifted a bolt, and she nudged the door open, entering. The door was quickly shut, complemented with the lights flickering in the room and revealing the contents inside it.

Lynnette’s tablet was still lying on her bedding, slightly creased from her body having been resting on it an hour earlier. Jeremiah’s wallet was still shuffled away by her computer. And, the music in her ears was still playing some dumb dance music. Lynnette’s technological woes were irritating. They were perpetual. If anyone else needed some sort of help, Eimi would have been less annoyed to help them, but sometimes, it seemed like some diabolical ploy. So yeah, Eimi’s curious itch was about to be scratched, and Big Boob’s tablet was about to get screened for something good. Eimi plucked the cigarette from her mouth and walked over to the ashtray on her desk. Lighting up another one was tempting, but Jeremiah was broke.

“NO!” Lyn yelled as she jerked away. Her gaze shot to the left and right, body tense and ready for action, before she remembered where she was. She took a few shuddering breaths, feeling the tension slowly seep out of her body. She realized that she must have taken a nap at her desk at some point after having spoken to Eimi; only an hour had passed since she had spoken to the younger woman.

She shuddered again as she remembered parts of her dream. She could still feel the warmth of blood on her hands. She was still haunted by that day. Why wouldn’t she?

Taking a deep breath, Lyn placed her revolver and gun cleaning supplies on the desk before her. Her revolver didn’t need to be cleaned, she had done so yesterday and hadn’t fired it since, but doing so had become something of a relaxing ceremony of sorts she performed every time she had that nightmare. She had cleaned the revolver so much as of late that she was afraid she would damage it, such as US Marines were prone to over cleaning their own firearms.

Her mind drifted about as her hands performed the intimately familiar actions of cleaning her revolver. Why did Eimi hate her so much? Perhaps hate was too strong of a word, but Lyn had definitely sensed a strong degree of dislike from the younger woman. Certainly it wasn’t just because Lyn was bad with technology and Eimi should be at the tail end of the teenage moody years, if not past them entirely. If anything Lyn would have expected Eimi to seek some sort of friendship with her if only because Xaara, the only other woman on the crew, seemed intent on being as distant from everyone else as possible. Was it because she was an ex-cop? Did that make her some sort of symbol of authority that Eimi found repulsive? Lyn set her cleaning tools down as she sighed.

If anyone disliked her because of her previous career, she would have expected it to have been Poole. He was… an enigma to her. Lyn’s hands began to reassemble her revolver as thoughts of Poole brought a deeper frown to her face. She wasn’t sure if he liked her, liked her, or was waiting for the opportunity to rip her head off. That worried her. A lot. He was a reformed felon, but not in the sense that he never wanted to hurt a living thing again, even a fly. No, he was certainly still more than happy to inflict pain when he deemed it appropriate. Instead he had fallen into religion. Strange man indeed.

Having finished reassembling her revolver, she looked it over with a critical eye, checking the action and every working part. It wouldn’t be funny if she had forgotten to put something back in while her mind roamed. Satisfied with her work, she returned it to its rightful place at her waist and headed towards the door. Perhaps she would give her motorcycle another shot…

The sight that greeted her upon reaching the cargo bay caused one of her eyebrows to shoot up. Lyn had never pegged Jeremiah to be the proactive sort, yet here he was working on her bike. Was it that the engineer in him couldn’t stand seeing her bike in pieces or was he simply trying to distract himself from what must have been a horrid hangover? Whichever it was, Lyn was content to watch, for a time. She leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed in front of her, as she watched him at work.

“You sort of remind me of my dad” She finally spoke up after a few minutes. “He would’ve worked for days on end if my mother and I hadn’t bothered him with the likes of dinner and needing to sleep.” She felt her earlier frown fade away into a smile as her thoughts turned towards home.

Jeremiah froze, then after a second of thought the man smiled, his eyes still on his work before him, “smart man.” There was a squeak as he turned a bolt tightly back into place, his hands still jittery.

“Idle hands make idle minds, and idle minds…” He looked up from his work and turned his head to look at Lynnette, elbows deep inside the open motocycle, “well, idle minds are just... terrible.”

“Or bored.” Lynnette amended. “So tell me, what brings you to these parts.” She indicated the room with a sweeping gesture.

“These parts,” Jeremiah nodded at her motorcycle, “well actually my own rigg, I left something on board, but then I saw this mess.” His Omni-Tool beeped as there was a sudden clunk of metal.

“Fixed mess.” He smiled.

“And now I feel bad about asking Eimi to fix my tablet.” Lynnette said. After a moment she muttered “Well worse..” She pushed herself away from the wall and walked over to Jeremiah. “I must’ve been close to fixing it if it took you less than an hour.” She said as she looked at the bike over his shoulder. “Honestly I’ve been seriously considering replacing her”, her being the motorcycle of course. “She’s been something of a temperamental bitch as of late.”

“I mean, she is an old model, I was amazed she even had a omni brand computer in her,” Jeremiah looked back down at the bike, shoving his hands in his pockets. He began fumbling with a piece of lint. He seemed to almost dance in place as he thought until he finally said, “but I wouldn’t junk her.”

“Hmmm….” Lynn adopted a thoughtful expression. “It’s not like I want to junk her,” She commented, “but she’s pretty much past the point where I can maintain her. I’m honestly surprised her computer hasn’t crashed on me yet.” That last part she muttered. “I’m sure Eimi would just love it if I dragged my bike over to her room and asked her to fix it.” As amusing as the thought actually was, certainly enough to bring a smile to her face, it would probably result in Eimi murdering her in one form or another.

Jeremiah raised a brow, a worried look on his face, “you’ve been asking her to fix stuff for you?”

“Yea. Basically anything that has a processor in it seems to stop working after I’ve handled it for a few minutes.” She sighed. “If there is a God of Computers out there or something, he has a serious hate boner for me.”

“Or just a boner, I mean he has somehow spared you from Eimi this long,” Jeremiah shook his head and turned back to the bike, hiding a smile from his own joke, “but you’re bike is fine if you ask me, and it’s something to do.”

“That’s gross” She didn’t sound disgusted in the least. “Hmm… I might hold onto it for a while longer then. It's a moot point right now though, not like I can buy a new bike till this current job is over anyways.”

Jeremiah took a few steps away from the bike towards his own vehicle: a single pilot space craft meant for quick trips., it looked a lot like a bullet shaped fighter jet of yore, guns omitted and a beige coat. He let his back fall against its hull, the cold tingling through his shirt and causing him to squirm a little. He folded his arms and looked back at Lynnette and her bike, and honestly the location of the first genuine conversation he has had with her. His brow furrowed, his curiosity pushing the rest of the lingering effects of joy into the back of his mind.

“D-do you like doing these jobs?” he rockily attempted to segway the conversation.

“Hmmm…. I’m not sure like is the correct word.” Lyn answered after a moment. “It does remind me of when I worked in the force though. And I do prefer helping people directly over chasing down felons.” She shrugged. “I know that’s not a real answer, but well…. How about you?”

Jeremiah seemed to take a long hard thought, his nose scrunching as he looked upwards in question, “you know, I can’t really say I ever thought about it too much. Wait… what did you do on the force anyways?” He let his arms fall to his sides, one hand silently tapping the hull of the ship, “can’t imagine you were much of a ticket puller, not with those punches I’ve seen you throw.”

Lyn chuckled as she leaned over her bike and looked it over. “Well…” She began as turned it on and revved the engine once. “I actually did start off as a traffic cop.” She flashed Jeremiah a smile. “I was actually assigned a bike very similar to this one.” She patted the bike’s seat. “Of course I didn’t stay a traffic cop for long. And I eventually moved on to SWAT.”

“On the moon right?” he pointed a finger and smiled, “SWAT on the moon, like something out of a comic book- well… some comic books.”

She flashed Jeremiah a smile entirely devoid of mirth. “NAPD would definitely fit in some kind of gritty comic book world.”

“N.A.?” Jeremiah cocked his head.

“New Angeles.” Lyn answered. “Not a place I’d move back to.”

“I- I think I actually heard of that place,” Jeremiah tapped the ship rhymically, “a real tough spot, makes the news quite a bit but in the wrong sort of way. Wait… that isn’t the place that didn’t have a mayor for like three days because no one wanted the position is it?”

“It was more like a week when you ignore the cat they declared mayor.” Lyn snorted. “Yea, you can’t make this sort of crap up. Though, in reality there were a number of individuals acting as mayor who just didn’t take the official title.”

“Well with the crime rate, I wouldn’t want it,” Jeremiah shrugged, “not that I’d want to be a mayor either way.”

A genuine smile crept along Jeremiah’s face, whether it was the tickle of the joy or the fact that for once he was enveloped in an actual conversation, and enjoying himself to boot, he wasn’t sure, but it was pleasant.

“So why did you choose the Absolute Magnitude?” He found himself asking.

“The ship needed someone with my skills and I wanted a job that would take me offworld.” Lyn said with a shrug. “Almost any other ship would have worked. Hell had I known about Poole’s past at the time I probably wouldn’t have joined.” She shrugged again before returning the question. “How about you?”

“Wait, what’s so bad about Poole?” Jeremiah stood up straight, fingers still tapping the ship’s hull in an offbeat.

“Besides the fact he’s a red felon?”

“So what!” Jeremiah narrowed his eyes, “he is a good man.”

“Red felons are serial killers, criminal kingpins, and the murders of children” Lyn slowly stated. “The likes of which do not make good men. I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt and assuming Poole was a spy or something else less heinous than those.”

Jeremiah pursed his lips, clearly frustrated. A flurry of words crossed his mind, things to say, but it was all erupting too fast, he couldn’t cognate a response. In truth a piece of him wanted to lash out and protect Poole, but he wasn’t sure if it was because Poole needed to be defended, or if he needed to justify something else. He turned from Lyn, realizing how silly it must be to suddenly face the solid blank hull of his ship.

“Labels of a broken system,” he muttered as he finally popped the cockpit hatch of his ship.

“What was that?” Lyn asked, not quite hearing Jeremiah’s response.
“It doesn’t really matter,” Jeremiah said a little louder as he climbed up into the cockpit, “No offense but I don’t think I’m about to change the opinion of the Moon’s Finest.”

“Uh huh” Lyn responded with a raised eyebrow. “You spend a few years dealing with the worst types society has to offer and maybe you’ll have something different to say.”

“You’re right, all I’ve ever had was peaches and cream,” Jeremiah scoffed, “who the fuck am I to think different.”

“It’s always like this with you” Lyn said with a shake of her head. “Let’s not do this right before an important job.” She turned to leave, but paused to say “Thanks… for helping with my bike.”

“Sure,” Jeremiah grunted with a strange mixture of anger, frustration, and genuine helpfulness. After a moment he growled to himself and spoke up as she was just leaving, “anytime.”

---

---

---

---

"Aloysius Poole, step forward."

Poole stood at the end of a line in the A.L.C Space Station, sticking out in the chrome-plated terminal like a sore thumb. All around him were faces that seemed typical of the terminal he had often passed through. Tourists with their children, businessmen on their phones, and backpackers with overstuffed suitcases, though there were no other towering bodybuilders with golden crucifix necklaces and body armor. It seemed strange that he had always seen the same types of people in space stations, though he didn't pause to think on that -- Stationworkers closely watched orange and red felons for any strange behavior, and not stepping forward when told was one of them. Poole made his way into a bodyscanner, which whirred for a moment before emitting the all-too-familiar F minor of Red Felon detection.

"Do you have any drugs or weapons on you?"

Poole shook his head. He had placed his wrist-bow in checked luggage, which was a perfectly legal way to bring it to the ALC. The ISSP liked to bully felons, but it didn't like to harass them, and giving him any flack for it could've given Poole a hypothetical case. Harassment was a crime after all, unlike a spring-loaded self-defense weapon on a baggage ship. This day and age, men half as conspicuous as Poole carried concealed plasma pistols that could open a hole in a ship's hull, which was more of a concern to the police than Poole's wrist-bow, which practically went "Pew" when he fired it. Sometimes Poole missed real guns.

"Step into the next room, please."

Despite the hushed whispers of agents who had come to investigate the red felon detection alarm, this was day-to-day for Poole. This was the life of a felon. This was, as Poole knew, the butt room. The door shut silently behind him. There was an armed guard at either end of the room, each dressed as if they were about to fight a war that was taking place in the middle of a riot. At the center of the room was the familiar ISSP agent -- not an officer, but an agent -- and an innocuous plastic table, with black fold-out legs and a mottled grey plastic body. This was, as Poole knew, the table he was meant to lean onto while the agent checked his anal cavity for drugs. It seemed upsetting the first few times, perhaps, though this was far from the first few times.

"Hey there Poole. You been a good boy lately? Keeping your nose clean?"

Poole had a deep dislike for the ALC ISSP agent, moreso than the Martian ISSP agent, or even the Jupiterian ISSP agent. This was not an unfounded hatred, by any means, but a list of three reasons Poole had weighed and measured years ago. The ALC agent wore sunglasses, which had always struck Poole as something only fakes do, especially the very specific sort of skinny cops with goatees and light-up toothpicks like him. Of course, he always had one of those light-up toothpicks Poole hated, but he always had the expensive kind with a swirl pattern instead of a simple up-and-down LED. That being said, his appearance and demeanor were only one of Poole's reasons for disliking him. The second was that despite the clear and present difference of size and age, he had a habit of calling Poole "boy" whenever he could. This was always something Poole came to expect of chip-shouldered Napoleonic lawmen, especially the ones he remembered from the bust. There was a similar feature in the men who would try to fight him in prison to make a name for themselves, though then again, that practice fell out of favor after the second.

Poole nodded, dropping trow and placing two hands on the table in front of him. He winced for a moment, trying to think of the most insulting thing he could say to an ISSP agent in a locked room he would have to see for the rest of his life.

"Clean nose, pure heart, big bowl of fiber every morning. You know me."

"I certainly do. I notice your file says that you recently went to Mars. See any friends from the old neighborhood?"

"Nope. Wouldn't want to talk to 'em if I did."

"I'm sure we wouldn't."

The third reason Poole had for hating him was that he enjoyed little barbs like that. Of all the ISSP agents he had to deal with before entering a planet, this was the only one who liked to joke about Poole's status as a rat. The Martian agent was some straight-laced Japanese fellow who treated him with a level of respect, whereas the Jupiterian was an older, out of shape Brit who always treated him with a cold indifference. The Venusian and Titanean ones had changed too often for him to remember, but they had mostly been indifferent as well. Poole would find no such indifference in the American.

"How long do you think you'll be staying on the A.L.C, Mr. Poole?"

"Can't say for sure. As long as it takes to find this criminal."

Poole hated having conversations with people searching his ass for drugs, though fortunately, it seemed the agent was finished with his job. Poole raised his pants once again while the agent threw a rubber glove into a bin beneath the table.

"Right. Good luck with the bounty, buddy-boy. I don't think you'll have any problems bringing another criminal to justice."

Poole knew what he meant by that. The line between him and that criminal, and the criminals he had brought in, and the criminals he had ratted on, was invisibly thin to the agent. Maybe that was the agent's way of letting Poole know what he thought of him. Maybe, Poole was just a deeply paranoid man. Fuck you, buddy-boy. That was what Poole wanted to say, at least, though he knew the big man didn't appreciate the most loyal of his flock tarnishing his image. Instead, he went with what he always said.

"Thanks for the check-up. Get home safe."

He even gave the agent a warm pat on the shoulder, subconsciously hoping to remind the man he could crush his clavicle in an instant. There was something unnerving for the agent to be reminded of his home, and the family safe therein, by someone with a record as deeply gruesome as Aloysius P. Poole, moreso while the felon presumed to invade his space with a playful pat on the shoulder. In a way, Poole knew that. Poole also knew that construing his well-wishes as a threat could constitute harassment, and harassment was still a crime.

---

The ALC was one of Poole's least favorite planets. His least favorite was Titan, but none of the crew but him had been there, so there were few instances that required thinking about it. The ALC, on the other hand, wasn't exactly unknown to the crew. They had a favorite bar on the planet, a favorite restaurant, a favorite skyway, and a favorite zoo. Poole was far from all of them. He was still on the part of the planet that stunk -- which to Poole, was almost all of it -- and the part of planet on the opposite end of the sun, still illuminated by neon lights every which way. Furthermore, it was raining, which Poole felt was inexcusably ridiculous. If they could control their atmosphere, why did they still have rain? Why didn't they just give their farmers state of the art sprinklers? Probably something about the rain cycle Poole didn't know about, to be fair.

He took the communicator from his pocket, and rang the Magnitude to let them know of his arrival. Ten rings and no pickup. They must've been busy boarding in Nevada by now. Poole plunked the device in his pocket and left the boarding station, entering the rainy, smelly streets of the ALC. He took his communicator from his pocket once more as the rain hit his head, checking his bounty one last time.



Poole nodded to himself, tucking the communicator in his pocket for a final time, marching out into the rain. His first stop would be Little Mexico.

At first glance it would have been easy to mistake the woman who appeared on the screen as Lynnette. If one was ignoring her lack of albino features that it. Still she had such a similar appearance that she could have passed for a twin, were she not a few years younger than Lynnette. The woman, Jill, smiled at the screen before speaking.

“Sis, how are you doing? Mom and Dad have been pestering me to check in on you,” she crossed her arms in front of her, the motion drawing attention to her ample chest which might have been slightly larger than Lynnette’s. Whereas Lynnette was clearly comfortable with her body, her sister seemed to enjoy flaunting hers.

“Why don’t you consider coming home, Sis? Maybe settle down?” Jill continued, “I know you enjoy playing detective or bounty hunter or whatever it is you call yourself nowadays, but don’t you think you’re a bit old to be playing games?” Jill seemed to enjoy throwing that barb out, even if she couldn’t she her reaction, “Mom has been especially insistent about wanting to have some grandchildren lately.” Jill continued, “And you know Rick and I don’t want kids.” The way she spoke made it sound like having children was somehow below her, “So well…” It was the first time since the recording began that Jill hesitated. “Why don’t you come back home? I’ll help you get a job as a security guard at my company. Or something. Consider it won’t you? And give our parents a call! Well I gotta go. Bye!”

That was it? Eimi felt her eyebrow twitch involuntarily, motivating a small twinge in her cheek as her lips mustered a sheepish smile of disgust, articulating the silent thoughts crossing through her mind. She closed her eyes, letting out a small sigh of annoyance. There were two of them. Eimi leaned back in her bed, letting the tablet rest on her abdomen. The payment for this job was excruciatingly low paying, and for all it was worth, the snooping she was about to get for all the times she has fixed and ever will fix Lynnette’s electronic woes brought absolutely nothing more to the motivation of why Eimi worked on The Magnitude. Lynnette’s problems seemed so basic, like a starter character in some fighting game. Boring. At least, until that one geeky guy came along and started schooling everyone in how the primary colors were the only real colors that should be visible in a painting like some Neoplastic Supremacist. Except, this was not some outdated form of art that only Poole might have been able to appreciate. It was video gaming. What was a fighting game with only starter characters? Lame. Extremely lame. Just like this video Eimi had watched of Lynnette’s Pair of Sister Tits.

Lynnette was almost like the opposite of Eimi. She was extremely perky for not having settled down yet, despite her age. Both meanings of the word, perky applied. Eimi on the other hand, barely had a handful for grabbing, and she was definitely not comfortable with her relationship status. It was not as if she was insecure, but she was definitely not happy about it, either. At least, I know how to work a fucking piece of technology. Eimi lifted the tablet, again. The screen had gone to sleep in those quick moments, and her fingers swiped and pressed the code: p - i - z - z - a onto the screen. She played the video monotonously two times over as if over-analyzing the particulars of Jill’s body language and what she said. But each time, all Eimi could duly note was almost the exact same thing: Boobs.

★ ★ ★

“Jerry,” Eimi knocked on Jeremiah’s door. His wallet was tucked nicely into her pants' pocket. Her blazer was unfortunately, for this L.C.P. Mission, out of commission -- no thanks to her reckless head bashing and poor use of sticky fingers, which were about to release their goods back to the starving public.

"Uh huh," a bodiless voice joined the cacophony of the engine on the other side. There was a couple steps, a bang, a few beeping sounds accompanied by taps and with a final WHIIIRRRR, the door slid open. Jeremiah stood in a baggy T-shirt and comfy pants, despite under his eyes looking a little tired, his face showed an active energy, and there was a flush to his cheeks.

The flat attitude Eimi had presented at the door slowly shifted to something less deadpan and a little more unsettled as the notably oddish sounds rattling disorderly like some rat's nest. Her eyes squinted at the site of Jeremiah -- ratty in his appearance yet smiling as usual.

"'Sup, techy," He grinned as he leaned against the doorframe, "Need more wire?"

What a loser. "You dropped this on Mars," Eimi pulled his wallet from her pocket. The worn material was held in front of him, "Here."

Jeremiah's grin faded at the sight of the wallet, "Oh."

He slowly took it from her and flipped it over in his hand, letting the bottom hang open. His eye's quickly scanned the contents, "Geez," he said after a moment, still studying the wallet, "Well thanks, Eimi." He looked back up and slid the wallet into his PJ's pocket, "'Preciate it."

Eimi carefully watched as Jeremiah clumsily handled his wallet, which made sense. There really wasn't much in it, supposedly. At this point in time, Eimi was pretty sure the only way Jeremiah had ever made it this far in life was through pure accidental fluke. He was an anomaly. She as also uncertain why she had even returned the piece of crap in the first place, "So, Michael Jericho?"

"'Scuse me?" Jeremiah tilted his head.

"Why'd you choose the name, 'Michael Jericho'?"

Jeremiah lifted his wallet and opened it. He looked down and used his thumb to slide through the many cards, from credit to I.D's of varying clearance. Idly he shrugged, "You saw that, huh?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Eimi suggested sarcastically.

Jeremiah nodded slowly, "Me either." His tone was unusually serious, but a glint of worry was in his eyes.

"I was being sarcastic, Jerry. Why do you need all those fake I.D.'s?" Eimi folded her arms. He wasn't an idiot, after all. Xaara knew better than to hire an idiot. Of course, every crew needed a village idiot. Maybe that title belonged to Deevee (or was it Lynnette?).

"It's a brutal system out there full of people who don't like people in this line of work," Jeremiah looked up at Eimi, "That's a good enough reason if you ask me."

Eimi nodded in agreeance. It was a sensible answer, "So, why Michael Jericho?"

"It's fun and stupid, and no one is going to miss a Mike," Jeremiah offered one of his grins.

"It is a pretty trumpetering name," Eimi unfolded her arms and shifted her face, bored with the conversation.

"Why do you care?" Jeremiah studied her face, "It's just a name."

"It's not a forgettable name that's for sure," she pointed out, extending his comment on the named Mike, gaining slight interest in the conversation again.

"Next time I'm out shopping for fake I.D's I'll find a better one," Jeremiah quickly rebuttled.

"Well, Jeremiah Jericho," Eimi tilted her head, cocking it slightly as she looked upwards, "I would've expected someone going through the extra effort to get a fake I.D. to use a little more common sense than a rebellious grade school punk," her body rested on her sight leg as she continued studying him. The door was open, and Jeremiah was making it more awkward. Maybe, she wanted to have more respect for the guy, considering his reputation did have some snag on her own, being her crew-mate and all, or maybe breaking through walls was a die hard habit.

A flash of anger filmed over Jeremiah's eyes as he clutched his wallet, "Thanks for the wallet."

Taking a step back there was a soft beep and the door slid closed. Jeremiah looked down at his wallet, an angry frown on his face as he flipped through the many cards of "Jeremiah Strong" until he came to a single card labeled "Michael Jericho". He stared at it, the white sheen had turned yellow with age, and a group of numbers were long since smudged to be unreadable, yet he still mouthed them as his eyes moved down the line.

He let a hot breath out of his nostrils as he turned to his room, the engine coils flashing blue. With a flick of his wrist he sent the card through the air, the emblazoned name flashing one last time as it caught the light before colliding with the protective screen of one of the coils. It bounced off the screen and into a crevice, a flash of fire spitting out for a split second as Jeremiah Strong simply stared.

Eimi watched as the door shut, concealing Jeremiah's quick burst of anger. She took a step back, a little offended the guy didn't want to chat anymore. God, he's more sensitive than those loser gamer kids. She was also peeved that Lynnette had probably breached more about Jeremiah than she had. Although, he did look pretty angry, and Eimi wasn't sure she had ever seen him anymore than aloof or tired. So, she decided to call the conversation a win even if it felt more like a loss. Jeremiah probably lost more than she did. So yeah, it was a win.

Reno.

She had been to the spaceport around fourteen times in the last decade, though it never particularly got better. For the blue-haired pilot of the Absolute Magnitude, it was hard to imagine that the city was once second banana to Las Vegas, especially given the city’s “recent” transformation into the principal metropolitan city in the state. Xaara may have been inspired and curious about Earth, but she wasn’t that curious; or at least, she wasn’t about Reno.

There had been many experiences in the city that she had “experienced” that had given her a bad taste in her mouth. The most significant of these encounters being when Danuel Diaz, otherwise known as “Danny the Fish” to his friends, attempted to frame the crew of the Absolute Magnitude, back when there really wasn’t a crew, to get back at Poole for some reason or another. It was one reason why she broke all of the Earthling’s ten fingers for not only wasting her time but also threatening her livelihood for something inane and irrelevant. Poole had called it excessive. She considered it cathartic. Danny thought it painful—so painful that he never bothered her and Poole for nearly a decade. It was hard to argue with results, though she did remember that her original idea for Danny’s reward was a lot more brutal; a punishment that Poole had talked her down from. It was probably the first instance where her co-pilot and partner had told her she had a sociability problem.

The most recent instance being a few days ago when Poole and Xaara disagreed on their need to be transparent about the past. Her hesitance to even see his point led to a lengthy discussion that she still felt was a waste of time; and had anyone else questioned her decisions she would’ve shown them kindly to the nearest airlock. But sociability and being well-received were two specific traits that Xaara didn’t have in her arsenal and while they weren’t flaws or issues to her they certainly were to Poole. As far as Xaara was concerned the people on her ship knew enough and she didn’t have the interest or patience to embarrass herself or detail a story that was now a non-issue. But she was also admittedly a very private person. To her, there was no value in, as Poole once put it, “humanizing” herself.

Though her steadfast belief in that fact didn’t stop her from thinking about it. Especially with touching down in Reno of all places, but she couldn’t argue against it when it was the closest port to the mission objective. With that in mind, she moved to a console on her left as the Absolute Magnitude cut through Earth’s atmosphere.

“We’ll be touching down shortly. We’ll talk about drawing straws after the fact.” She droned over communications channels as the ship met with the atmosphere of the planet.

She took a light breath. That was another thing about places like Reno; Xaara was even more paranoid about the spaceport officials and denizens. The Absolute Magnitude nearly was taken from her in another occasion in Reno, and the whole ordeal with the Reno law enforcement due to Danny’s actions was always fresh in her mind, reminding her what exactly could happen if there wasn’t at least one body on the ship during jobs. Poole had implemented a “straws” system in response considering he knew Xaara wouldn’t be able to accommodate suggestions for her to not worry about it and that the two events were isolated incidents.

But considering the hostage situation they had bought themselves into, could they afford not going in with the full group? Xaara was the best sharpshooter the Absolute Mangitude had and the others had skillsets that were inarguably useful—Jeremiah was ex-military and a half-decent tactician when he wasn’t toasted, Eimi and Deevee were technological savants who would be essential to hacking into the base to get a read on the cameras, and Lynette had experience with hostage situations due to her police background. Xaara didn’t like it, but she didn’t feel comfortable attacking the base a man down even moreso than leaving the ship unmanned. She could hear Poole laughing in her head. She wanted to punch him.

After sending and receiving the necessary information to the spaceport at Reno, Xaara carefully flew the ship into their docking station. She knew by this point everyone would be waiting to unload and see who got to stay at the ship (though it tended to be Xaara or Poole for very obvious reasons) during the op. She was not looking forward to the comments regarding her not bothering with it this time. She was sure one of them was going to be snarky and annoying.

Time to gear up and deal with it.

When she got to the loading bay she didn’t bother wasting anyone’s time. “We need full staff for this one. Make sure you have your gear and let’s get this over with. If you have a joke, tell it on the way there. Any questions?”