[h3]Fihlyn Numosath[/h3][hr]
She dreamed of kelp gardens.

Vast strands curling in the current, thick with darting fish and soft-filtered light. Her fingers brushed the fronds as she swam past, chasing the sounds of her sisters laughing just out of view. Then came the hum of engines, low, constant, not quite right for the water. And a sudden tone.

A flat chime, followed by the familiar clipped voice of the station’s automated comms systems.

“Thank you for your patience. Our records indicate that you have been on hold for two hours, forty-three minutes. You are currently in position one thousand, two hundred, and seventy two in the queue. No staff are currently available to answer your call, and we are experiencing technical difficulties in our customer service hotlines. Please continue to hold.”

Fihlyn blinked herself awake, the soft hiss of her hydration suit reminding her where she was. The recycled moisture in her bubble helmet had begun to fog at the edges, and her stomach growled. She rubbed at her side absently, glancing at the small wall screen in the station berth. Still no updates. No orders. No pingbacks from the command crew.

And no word from Eden.

The hold music hadn’t played in hours. Maybe the line had dropped. Maybe no one was left to answer it. That silence sat heavier than she liked to admit, hanging over the eerily empty bridge. She had hoped that someone might have arrived while she slept. A commanding officer, a pilot, even a comms tech. But no. Just rows of dormant stations.

For a long moment, Fihlyn sat there, arms crossed loosely as the silence pressed in. The smart thing would be to stay: wait for official orders, for confirmation that it was safe, for someone in charge to finally make contact. But how long had she been waiting already? The bridge was still empty. The crew was still missing. The planet still silent. If no one else was coming, then she couldn’t afford to just sit idly by.

A knot formed low in her stomach. What if the station wasn’t safe? What if she left, and the ship launched without her? Or worse, what if it didn’t launch at all? What if everyone just kept waiting, and waiting, and waiting until it was too late.

After a moment, Fihlyn forced herself to her feet. Her hydration suit hissed gently with each movement, the sealed environment humid against her skin. She passed the sealed crew quarters, the darkened mess. No signs of life. No orders. No footprints left behind.

Whatever had been meant to happen here, hadn’t.

She didn’t know if that made her late, or early.
[hr]
The docking umbilical shutters closed behind her with a metallic thud. The station’s interior felt tense, as if everyone was standing on the edge of a knife. It also felt…warm. Even through her protective suit, Fihlyn felt discomfort at the blast of hot air. She frowned, not the first time glad that her hydration suit was able to keep the worst of the outside environment at bay.

Fihlyn made her way through dim hallways, dodging supply drones and clusters of displaced passengers. Here and there, people spoke in low voices. A few glanced at her hydration suit with the usual mix of curiosity and unease, but none stopped her. Fihlyn felt the knot in her stomach tighten as she saw the ragged collection of survivors. How was it that the colony ship was sitting there, empty? They had a chance to help these people, but instead time was being allowed to waste away. 

She asked about command. About coordination. Evacuation.

The answers were vague, conflicting, or absent. Some hadn’t heard anything. Some were sure someone else was handling it. One technician shrugged and told her people had started gathering at the bar.

The bar.

It was the best lead she had to go on.
[hr]
The Drink was well-lit with its neon sign, and it seemed to have become a refuge for those seeking respite from the unfurling apocalypse outside. As Fihlyn stepped inside, her hydration helmet caught the light oddly, a shimmer playing over her scaled skin. Her stomach growled as she picked up on the smell of food from the kitchen, and her eyes rested for a moment on some of the liquor sitting behind the bar. Now wasn’t the time, not when there was a chance that they’d have to leave at a moment’s notice.

As she glanced around, Fihlyn’s eyes lit up as she recognized one of the Edenites sitting by the bar. The dark-haired dhasath had been listed as one of the bridge crew - one of the faces that Fihlyn had taken the time to memorize before being properly introduced. She’d found the Edenites usually appreciated the effort, especially when it came to figuring out the pronunciation of their names.

Walking over to Velia, Fihlyn’s excited smile was easily seen through her helmet.

“You are Communications Officer Velia, yes?” The Quessir’s voice sounded relieved, even as it was transmitted through her suit’s speakers. “It is a pleasure to meet you! I am Assistant Pilot Fihlyn. Flynn, if that’s easier.”

Fihlyn’s suit had been adorned with a patch from the CSF, with the colony ship’s number readily identifying her as part of the crew. It registered that the other woman wasn't wearing her uniform, but Fihlyn brushed her confusion aside. She looked around at the other figures that were standing and sitting around the officer. Her friends, perhaps? Other members of the crew, if she was lucky.

“I have been trying to contact the station for instructions, but I have not heard back. You are an officer of the ship, yes? Does this mean that you can give commands? We have space for more people, we should be trying to help those that we can.”

Fihlyn’s stomach growled again, louder this time. She glanced down at the CSF card sitting in front of Velia.

“Although, perhaps there is still time for a snack?”