Solae was not certain how long she slept nor did she remember her dream, but the cold sweat on her brow and irregular gallop of her heart as she jolted awake signified her dreams had been unpleasant. The marquise rolled onto her stomach from her side and buried her head into the pillow. Even with the luxurious silk covering there was no hiding the economical composition of the stuffing that had flattened from prior use and clumped in the interior. This was not the refined quarters of an aristocrat as had greeted her every morning for her entire life before the rebellion. It had not been so long she had forgotten the comforts of her home on New Concordia. For each day of the past week she had opened her eyes to a place that was unfamiliar, that was not immediately recognizable to the sluggish pace of a mind rousing from slumber, and tried to piece together how her world had changed. She would be lying to herself to say it was not a struggle. Were the nightmares that plagued her at least in part fueled by the dissonance between her past and present situation she would not have been surprised.

What she knew, however, was that it was not the abrupt departure from a life of courtly pursuits and decadence that had disturbed her in Rene's absence. Death chased her, haunted her, and nipped at her heels no matter how quickly she tried to run. The smell of burning flesh as missiles plowed into the embassy was still fresh in her mind. What surprised the noblewoman was how memories consumed all five senses in their recollection. Not only was there a scent to her concept of death now, there were the sounds of people gurgling as they choked on their own blood, images seared into her eyes of limp bodies falling to the floor, tactile impressions of falling on top of a corpse, and the coppery taste in the air that permeated tragic scenes. Rene had dealt with the horror of the coup admirably. He was courageous, valiant, and did not waver in his protection of herself and others. The mental fortitude of the Quentain man was yet another strength she admired, loved, and was concurrently wretchedly jealous of in secret.

"Mia?" she reluctantly called out for the artificial intelligence she had poorly integrated into the ship. When there was no immediate response she realized that her voice was sufficiently muffled by the pillow such that the freight's sensors had been incapable of picking up the sound, much less interpret it. With a pronounced groan she shifted back onto her side and cleared her throat loudly. "Mia?"

"Yes, Lady Solae?" was the coy reply. While she would have welcomed such a tone from Rene as she languidly laid in bed, it felt especially peculiar coming from Mia. The linguist tried not to hypothesize on why Lord Armon would want a seductive synthetic female being cooing to him while he laid nude in his bedchambers.

"Where's Rene? How long have I been asleep?" she inquired as she instinctively reached for the void on the bed next to her. The sheets were cool to the touch; he must have not stayed long after she fell asleep. The rejuvenation chamber would have provided him with sufficient rest that the diplomat realized he would not have been tired at all when she was succumbing to her fatigue. Though he was not obligated to stay by her side she was somewhat disappointed he had not; it was selfish, greedy, and would have meant he was twiddling his thumbs doing nothing while she slept, but there was a calm reassurance provided by his presence.

"Sir Rene is in the cockpit," Mia announced with inappropriate sultriness. "You have been in a state of repose for approximately 8 hours, 43 minutes, and 15 seconds. Would you like me to summon Sir Rene?"

"No, I'll go see him myself." Determined not to waste the rest of their time in jump space dosing, she jumped off the bed and hastily dressed herself. Her parents had often argued over the thermostat in her home; her father complained it was oppressively hot when her mother set it, and her mother complained that it felt like winter on Destuna when her father was in control. With a smile on her lips she wondered if she and Rene might have such mundane disagreements in their future. Regardless of any currently held perceptions, she felt slightly chilled and took a threadbare blanket that had been kicked to the floor and wound it around her shoulders.

"Mia," she started as she stepped outside the captain's quarters and into the adjacent hallway, "Would you be capable of talking me through doing some routine cleaning and maintenance of the Bonventure's internal components? Would that help your successful integration into the vessel?"

"Yes, Lady Solae, that is a possibility. There are some components and connections in the wiring that are less conducive to my processing, especially the secondary central nexus," she answered quickly with what almost sounded like excitement. Mia was incapable of genuine emotion but her simulations were uncanny enough they edged on believability.

"Where are the tools I'll need?" she asked as she paused in the hold.

"There should be one in the wall in a panel to your left," Mia directed. Solae wandered over and found a compartment labeled 'SYSTEM MAINTENANCE' in large, bold, black font that had faded slightly with age. When she popped the portal open she found a thick layer of dust on the plastic case that indicated that no one had ever bothered to withdraw the set much less use it for its intended purpose. If she was honest with herself she would have been more shocked if the filthy smugglers had shown such dutiful responsibility to conduits given the trash they had strewn about the ship from nose to thrusters.

"Can you please let Sir Rene know that I'm awake and where I am?" she said as she wiped clean the container and pulled it out for a brief inspection. "I don't want him to panic if he tries to check in on me. The ship is just big enough that two people can lose one another," she needlessly explained.