Internally, Mavriq repeated and consigned to memory the proper pronunciation of Sophia’s surname: [i]Hagiotheodorites[/i]. Outwardly, he unconsciously, but fortunately noiselessly, mouthed the multisyllabic monolithic tongue-twister of Byzantine provenance. As Feurtes and the trio of metallic intelligence departed on their mission, he drifted in the milieu of what remained of his team and feigned interest in their exchanges while he busily analyzed his dataslate for the latest information on Derelict. It wasn’t until they deliberated in front of a pub identified as [i]Derelict’s Derelicts[/i] in harsh bright red script that he concluded the purpose of their journey.

Cass seemed of the opinion the place was a lavish and overpriced tourist attraction, a stance reversed as soon as Vin offered his credits for a team tab. As their senior officer, Mavriq believed it would be indecent if he joined with the rest of his team in what he assumed were part maudlin part celebratory frivolities. Thus, a polite excuse articulated, he expressed, [i]“While I enjoy imbibing amongst affable company and atmosphere, my obligation to the ONSD takes priority,”[/i] and then retreated and proceeded on to the location and subsequent inspection of his and his team’s preassigned facilities. 

Maasym Orbital Station proved for him an almost unnavigable labyrinth, but frequent use of his OSF dataslate, which included schematics of MOS, compensated for his directional inadequacies. Steadily the riffraff of the commercial sectors gave way to corporate and military order, the corridors narrowed, and the only colors were in the corporate logos impressed on the heavy hermetically-sealed vault-like doors. On these he saw the corporate emblems of MRS, Mercury, Terinhaul-Caskill, and other smaller franchises. Then came Origin—an allegedly democratically-elected and representative collection of pompous civilians bean-counters, regulators, and blow-hards—and, finally, Origin’s Stellar Fleet.

Security credentials accepted, the large door slid into the adjoining walls. A receptionist in a bullet-proof glass enclosure, also a lieutenant, sat opposite him on the other side of the opened entryway, her gaze stern, then leaned forward into a microphone and said, [i]“Approach the biosig scanner and state your business.”[/i] 

Mavriq approached the black X taped on the otherwise plain white tile floor and replied, [i]“Lieutenant Mavriq d’Agenais with the Origin Navy Science Division here with a team on a scientific survey of the Maasym 4e artifact, uh, Derelict.”[/i]

He waited as a red laser light flashed him head to toe, after which the receptionist monotonously said, [i]“Authorization granted. Welcome, Lieutenant.”[/i] There was a click and something slid from a narrow slit that formed beneath the bullet-proof glass barrier. Then she said, [i]“Grab your identification tag. It tracks radiation, pathogen, and exposure to other harmful things. Wear it at all times. Take the elevator to your left down three levels, turn left, go down the hall six-hundred meters, turn right down another hall, ninth door on the right.”[/i] 

The walk was sterile enough and he received not so much as a glance from the other military personnel he passed on his brief journey. If anything, his presence influenced their reticence. Finally, he flashed his badge at a door that corresponded to the termination point on the schematic on his dataslate, it slid open, and he stepped inside. He noted the 0-S3-9 designator marked on the door. This was the OSF’s lowest level on MOS. He was greeted by a whitewashed and antiseptic room deep as it was wide and separated by transparent plastic curtain with a built-in sterilization corridor, made obvious by the exposed pipes that ran along the ceiling and opened to spigots just above the pass. On his side of the see-through divide were living quarters with bunks and lockers built in the left-hand side, a kitchenette on the right-hand side, and a communal area in the center. Cameras in each corner were perhaps intentionally conspicuous. On the other side of the plastic barrier was a laboratory and storage area. Then, along the back wall, the pressure door that opened to the air lock that connected with the unit’s personal shuttle.

[i]“No sanitation facilities,”[/i] he moaned.

[i]“Welcome, Lieutenant. I am HELP. Warrant Officer Feurtes and the three MRS units took the team shuttle down to Derelict 3.8 minutes ago. The sanitation facility, as you call it, is located at 0-S2-4, adjacent to the medical triage unit. There you will find community toilets, showers, personal first aid, hygiene products dispensaries, non-prescription drugs dispensaries, weights, treadmills, a—”[/i]

[i]“Thank you,”[/i] Mavriq interrupted. [i]“Where are my personal quarters?”[/i]

[i]“You have personal quarters aboard the OSF-Thunderclap. You also have a bunk in this team-oriented open-plan laboratory and residential unit.”[/i]

He rubbed his temples and sighed. At least the bunks had black-out curtains. Still, it was going to be a long trip.