Mark A. Lopez

---

“I’ll make my way to the ship and make sure things are ready to rock.” She’d nod to the engineer “Care to join me?” she offers, scooping up her bottle in her left hand and regarding the rest of the rapidly mobilizing assembly.

Mark gave Ginny a look as she stepped up, all no-nonsense and moving like someone who didn’t need to be asked twice. He nodded once, tight, and adjusted his rifle.

“Finally,” he muttered, “someone else with some balls.”

He brought the rifle up into a ready sling, checking the chamber as he stepped out from the bar. His voice rose just enough to carry to the rest, calm but pointed.

“You heard her. Start gathering what you can. If it’s useful, carry it. If it ain’t nailed down, strip it. We’ll need every tool, every cell, and every capable hand if we’re getting that ship off the damn line.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just moved, catching up with Ginny as she slung her bottle and led the way.

“Main relay network's gonna need testing,” he said low, voice falling into rhythm with his boots, “Capacitors might still hold charge but if the startup sequence is shot, we’re dead before the nav array even comes online. I’ll get under deck when we board, check the power spine. If that thing’s cracked, we’ll need to reroute everything through the backup grid.”

The corridor stretched out ahead, heat shimmering faintly under the overheads. As the crowd noise faded behind them, only the distant thrum of the reactor and the creaking bones of the station kept them company.

Mark spared a glance over his shoulder, then forward again.

“Let’s hope the doors are still open by the time we get there.”

Med-Bay
Doctor Raphael Vitella woke up in a bed in Med-Bay, the wound in his side sealed, the makeshift dressing gone. "Good to see that you're awake, Vitella. You will have to avoid the bar like the plague until your liver fully heals, but other than that, you have a clean bill of health." Doctor Ferdinand said to Doctor Vitella before a nurse helped him to his feet, helped him change back into his regular clothes, and began escorting him out of Med-Bay. "I will take a day off to be on the safe side, but since I won't be drinkin' for a while, I will have to find some other way to socialize once I'm conscious enough to walk." Doctor Vitella said to Doctor Ferdinand as he began to gain his footing. Once he was outside the Med-Bay, Raphael Vitella headed back to his quarters.

Raphael Vitella's Quarters
Upon entering, Doctor Raphael Vitella cleaned the dust off of the screen, sat in the chair, and picked up the remote. Doctor Vitella's long shifts meant that he usually didn't have time to watch broadcasts. He pressed the On Button, a news broadcast appearing on the screen. The Local news station (which was the only news channel left after the Metacer Invasion) had finished reporting on the latest update on the retrofitting of the colony ship before someone handed them a new report. "This just in. A man who was found dead outside a bar had tested positive for Royal Jelly. This highly addictive substance is known to cause euphoria, violent tendencies, and heightened pain tolerance in anyone who uses it. This is the latest in an increasing number of incidents with Royal Jelly Addicts, colloquially known as 'Jellyheads'. We will continue to follow this story as it develops. Coming up next: Are there more ships from Eden Prime and its Colonies? Stay tuned to find out." The anchor said, Raphael Vitella changing it to the sports channel to get his mind off of recent events.

"Goal!" The announcer shouted as an athlete kicked a ball into a net. "And it looks like our local athletes have won. Both teams are heading to the locker room to get changed while the area is prepared for the next sporting event." The co-host said as the athletes began heading out of the recreational area while staff removed the nets and ball and lines. "Sports are less interestin' when you're sober." Raphael said as he changed the channel to some local show.

---

Billie burst into her quarters and grabbed her duffle, quickly stuffing clothes into the bag. The room wasn't much - a display dominated the wall to the left, while on the right was a couch that would fold down to make a bed. Behind it was the drawers and cubicles. Past the bed/couch was the private 'fresher, and behind her, beside the door, was the snack and beverage panel. It wasn't much, but it had been her home these last few months, a gift from Uncle Tony.

She was probably going to miss it.

Billie grabbed her tablet and shoved it into her tool bag, hoisted her duffle, then with one look back, she caught the wallpaper changing to purple unicorns with big, big eyes and golden horns. It must have been majestic to see those roaming on Ancient Earth.

The door slid shut behind her as she made her way to the colony ship.

---

She was just drifting off in her chair when she heard it - footsteps and voices echoing in the passageways. There were people boarding. She glanced at the other burnts in their cubicles, sound asleep.

There was a sudden spike of pain in her head that made her flinch, burying her face in her hands.

Your mission is to secure the ship from all external threats, said the voice. She had a vague impression of a craggy face, a half-smile....

Nine sighs, pressing the release and pushing the padded securing bar up. Climbing out, she went to the broom rack and picked one, and began shuffling out the door.

Time to start cleaning up.

Shipyard Marketplace
Doctor Raphael Vitella walked out onto what could be called the shipyard's Promenade, the area full of stalls and empty rooms that had been converted into shops. He walked past customers and stalls until he saw something that peaked his interest: some refugees rolling dice with some locals. "I haven't seen you around here before. Judgin' by your smell, I can safely assume that you work in Med-Bay. What brings you down here?" The dealer said to Doctor Vitella. "This is your day off, but I've been told to avoid the bar for a few weeks. Damage to the liver." Raphael Vitella said to the dealer as he walked towards the group. "Well, if you want gamblin' without the temptation of alcohol, you've come to the right place. You in or are you out?" The dealer said to Doctor Vitella. "How much is the Ante?" Doctor Vitella asked as he looked at the small pile of money on the floor. "Only two. Most folks ain't got that kind of money these days." The dealer answered.

Doctor Vitella reached into his pocket and tossed the required amount onto the pile. "Even or odd, Doctor?" The dealer said to Doctor Raphael Vitella as he held out three dice. "Odd." Doctor Raphael Vitella answered as he snatched the dice right out of the dealer's hand and began shaking the dice in his hand. He rolled them, the dice hitting the back wall before coming to a stop. "Nine. You can leave now with ten or you can go all in." The dealer said to Doctor Vitella, the doctor putting his winnings on the pot.

(Cowritten by @InfamousGuy101, @Pragia12, @Terrans, @Bentus)

The bridge of the ESS 3822-01 was in the same off-white colour pallette as most of the rest of the ship. Panels, screens and touch-pads lay pristine and dark, waiting for someone to turn them on, their surfaces barely showing a hint of dust or smudges. Only the barest minimum were active, the communications array, and a few others. A wide window at the front opened up to show a vista of space and the edge of the orbital shipyard. The, more useful, view screen was dark, a red standby light glowing in the corner. Nobody had turned it on yet.

The furniture was new as well, comfortable, if a little utilitarian - the CSF didn't have an infinite budget. Velia led the pilots onto the bridge, shuffling across to the communications array, "So, this is the bridge," she said, glancing to Fihlyn, then to Lockman, then back to Fihlyn, "I'll leave this in your hands." She paused, then pressed a button on the comms panel, "Is anyone down in engineering?"

Mark’s voice crackled over the comms panel, rough around the edges but clear enough to make out the hum of active systems in the background, “Lopez here, in engineering. Systems are green across the board so far but I’m not trusting the readouts just yet.” There was a pause, followed by the faint sound of a tool clinking against a panel, “New ship or not, these drives need to be run through a few cycles to get the kinks out. Half of this stuff looks like it just came out of the box, which is nice… but nothing runs smooth until it’s had a little bite taken out of it.” Another pause, longer this time, “I’ll give you a full report in five, but for now... yeah. I’m running things.”

Ginny, and several others had taken up position on the bridge during the conversation. She looked up from a panel, the system alignment on screen. "We're 'posed to run all these to local maxima," a growl in her tone, "before we try to do anything." The redheaded foreigner tapped a couple icons, the metallic whine of valves opening and the almost-deafening hiss of steam and low chugging of coolant being picked up over the comms. "Think we can delay a few hours? We need to load the ship up anyways."

"I don't know what any of that means, so yes," Velia replied, "Like you said, there's no hurry... but to be clear to everyone," she added firmly, "we get the ship ready to move, then we start loading. You don't want to let people onboard then have a delay. They're fractious and unhappy enough as it is.

As test pilot, John was used to a mix of cutting edge and roughshod construction; so this was a nice change, “What station do we need to get underway?” He glanced at Fihlyn.

Fihlyn's eyes sparkled as she took in the sight of the bridge, although it could have also just been the light refracting through her helmet. She felt a mixture of emotions fighting each other in her chest. Excitement, of course. Excitement for finally being able to fly a true ship through the interstellar ocean. But she felt trepidation as well, a gnawing, and deeply unwanted, unease as the shuttle pilot turned to ask her for instructions. Yes, she had scored well in the simulators. Yes, she had been waiting years for this moment. And yes, she couldn't think of anything else that she'd rather be doing. But what if it didn't turn out how she pictured it? What if she fell flat at this final hurdle?

"Station?" Fihlyn frowned as she glanced around the bridge. A ship this size was supposed to be flown by a bridge crew of a dozen, but they'd just have to get by with a skeleton crew. "At a minimum we will need comms, navigation, and helm. That should be enough to get us moving." It looked like Velia had already taken her position on the comms, which left navigation and helm.

Fihlyn's eyes rested on the pilot's seat, a pained longing in her chest. "Mr. Lockman, you should take the helm. You have experience with flying the shuttle, yes?" It stung, by the gods, it stung. But once Fihlyn had uttered the words, she knew that it was the right choice. Someone had to plot the course on Navigation and get them to the appropriate coordinates for a jump, and that wasn't something that you ever had to worry about on smaller craft. Besides, it was likely that the Edenite was going to be better at the helm than she'd be, anyway.

Forcing a smile on her face, beating back the voice that railed against her decision, Fihlyn finally thought to pull out her tablet and open her copy of the manual for the colony ship's helm. "Mr. Lockman, you asked for a manual earlier. My apologies for not sending it sooner." With a few quick taps, she'd transferred the document. Every page had been meticulously marked up, and painstakingly organized with annotations and notes. It was no small feat for such a large tome, but it was evident that someone had poured countless hours into going over every detail.

Taking her place at the navigation station, Fihlyn had to pause for a moment. She felt a twist in her chest as realization struck her. Of all the competing emotions that she'd felt when they'd walked into the bridge, sadness or empathy for all those suffering on the planet below hadn't been one of them. The apocalypse unfurling at this very moment had slipped her mind. The guilt settled in her stomach like a stone.

John took his position with a unique mix of arrogant trepidation. Dropping in with a confident swagger that still avoided hitting something potentially important, “Let me see what the pre-flight looks like on this tub.” The manual displayed the basic rundown; though selecting a step brought up a very technical walkthrough. “Alright then….” A pause as he retrieved the whiskey bottle and took a swig. He was going to need it. “…time to work.”

Screens flickered to life and readouts begun to spin into existence. Familiar and yet so dissimilar. It was jarring. Yet beneath the guilt and primal fear. There was that spark. The one John always tried to downplay; that feeling of anticipation. The one before the first flight in a new frame.

Thoughts of new frames struck him then. John half twisted in his seat towards Velia; who was apparently some sort of comm officer, “Could you hail Bay 12? Have them send a tow drone to bring my shuttle over?”

She nodded, "We can do that, though they might ask for paperwork," she gave a small laugh. It seemed ridiculous with the word falling apart, but some people still followed the rules.

“Just tell them personal orders of Admiral…. White .” John was matter-of-fact as he flipped a few switches. “No one questions an admiral’s personal orders. At least for the short time we need.” A reading caused him to consult the manual with a frown. A few attempts to modify caused the frown to deepen, “Portside maneuvering power draw is too low. We have engineering on the line?”

Mark’s voice came through over the comms, the background hum of active systems still clattering behind him. “Yeah, I see it, portside draw’s under spec. Looks like a regulator didn’t seat right or the bypass was never finished during install, wouldn’t be the first time someone in a factory rush job half-assed a grounding point.” A short pause. The sound of him flipping something open, followed by the faint clack of tools shifting. “I can chase it down properly once we’re clear, but for now I’m rerouting power from non-essential systems, deck lighting, water heating loop and the tertiary climate ring. That should give you what you need on maneuvering. Just don’t lean too hard on it till I’ve had a look inside.” Another pause, then the hum of a subline cycling, “Give it ten seconds. You should see the power jump.”

"I'm telling you, few hours, we can get systems aligned," Ginny declared from where she was now looking at diagrams, "Get the batteries charged so we don't fry anyone's brains, let people load up?" she seems almost pleading over the swooshing of flushing filters.

“Look, I’m all for doing things by the book, but the bugs aren’t gonna wait for us to run pretty little alignments and top off the batteries. Every minute we sit here is another minute they’ve got to crawl up the station’s ass and tear this place apart,” Mark growled irritably.

There was a metallic thunk over the channel as he sealed the panel he’d been working in.

“We can load people while I keep the systems in the green," Mark said, "As long as we’ve got enough power to maneuver and kick the drives, we can finish fine-tuning once we’re moving. But if we take our sweet time in port and the Metacer get within spitting distance, all this prep won’t mean a damn thing. We’ll just be the best-tuned corpse in orbit.”

Ginny rolls her eyes "The bugs are going to wait on the ground, if they were up here they would have shown themselves by now." she says flatly, tapping on the glass of her vodka bottle-to-go, "Know we're all on edge right now, but no need to jump the gun."

Mark exhaled slowly through his nose, a faint scrape of his glove against the console as he spoke, “Fine,” he said at last, edge still in his voice, “We’ll do it your way.” There was a short pause, “But if this bites us in the ass, I’m buying the first round in the afterlife just so I can say ‘told you so.’”

“Reading looks good for now.” John’s voice sounded distant; already moving down the checklist. The readouts looked acceptable… at least according to the manual and the shakedown log that were helpfully added into the helm’s menu. He switched of the intercom and addressed the bridge this time, “Should be good to move in a couple hours if we don’t need to rush it.”

"Great!" Velia looked up from her console, setting down the headset she'd been using to talk to Bay 12, "Once everything is clear we can start loading. By the way, John, your shuttle is ready to pick up, but nobody is flying it over so you'll need to go for a walk... fancy some company?"

Doctor Vitella's Quarters
Doctor Raphael Vitella entered his Quarters and sat down, grabbing the remote and turning the screen back on. He changed it to the news in time for an update. "Looks like people will be leavin' soon if all goes well. As for me, my plan remains the same: grab my things, head down to the retrofitted colony ship, and get into cryo. It shouldn't take too long them to let me onboard. I didn't bring much with me and anythin' I have unpacked is small enough to be packed back up." Doctor Vitella thought as he continued watching, another update coming on, this time about Royal Jelly. "Several jars of Royal Jelly was discovered in a vent during routine Maintenace. The jars were seized by security and is currently undergoing forensic scans. We will have more on this story as it develops. This just in, a Jellyhead has been caught stealing goods to pay for his next fix." The reporter said as footage of a man being escorted away from a store by a pair of guards.

Doctor Vitella changed the channel to sports, a player running after hitting a ball with a piece of metal. "Sober or not, this is a sport worth watchin'. I prefer that they use wood instead of whatever metal they found lyin' around but you make do with what you have in these tryin' time. I'd hate to be the guy who has money ridin' on the losin' team right now. At this point in the game, they would need to get at least five points to turn the game around." Raphael Vitella thought at he watched a new player walk up to a metal plate and twirl a piece of metal in his hand.

Velia and John

Shuttles and colony ships definitely differed in their flight systems. There was a major advantage though to the more complicated system of bigger starships; they were often so complex they were automated to a degree. So one could say; initiate some sequences then take a walk to retrieve a next generation assault shuttle stocked with provisions and military equipment.

As John was doing right now with the comm officer Velia in tow. His helmet was back in place though the faceplate was popped and his breather mask dangled from its mounts on the helmet like a wayward branch.

"So I'm guessing you're not the captain of that ship." John broke the silence as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder; back down the concourse. "Any idea on who's leading this little exodus then beyond a rule by committee?"

"The Captain never made it from the surface," Velia replied with a sideways glance at John, "Which probably makes... umm... the pilot, what was its name? Anyway, I haven't read the regulations, but I imagine they are in charge. However, having said that, I'm the girl with the plan who's been at the coal-face of the Station's evacuation plan, so I suggest we don't tell anyone that until we're in space. Then they can appoint the pilot, or vote, or draw straws or whatever, they feel like doing to decide who's going to run the show."

“Wonderful.” John glanced at his erstwhile companion and her civilian attire. “So is there a reason you decided to wear your Civs?”

Not that he cared or was complaining; but it would have been an awkward walk to the bay in total silence.

"You wear a uniform to be recognised," Velia replied, her eyes roaming the corridor as they walked. The interior of the station seemed hotter than before; clearly the station's engineers hadn't located the problem yet. It was at moments like these when dhasath started to stand out; Velia seemed blissfully unaware of the temperature. She paused as a couple of people passed them, waiting for them to be out of earshot before explaining better, "If people know I'm 'that girl from the Colony ship', they start to get agitated about being kept here. People have been demanding I take the ship out for days. I have refused since I'm not a pilot and I figured waiting and praying for one to make it from the surface for a few days was better than me rolling the die with me and hoping not to crash and kill everyone."

“Still rolling a die with me.” John said; feeling the sweat began to appear on his face; untouched by his flight gear’s life support system.

The need to put his faceplate down and embrace the cooling sensation balanced out by the drain of the flight gear outside the shuttle’s power system.

Velia’s condensation free skin, despite her jacket and jeans, plus her tanned complexion and darkened eyes and hair cast a sudden revelation.

“Dhasath?” The word wasn’t an accusation so much as a curious query.

"Don't say that!" Velia exclaimed, then laughed, "Well you have the proper pilot in Navigation so the odds are significantly better. As good as we're likely to get."

She cocked her head to one side, as if wondering where the question was going, "I am."

“Just curious whether you were that or an android who didn’t feel temperature.” John gestured at her garments then his uniform. “I’m feeling the heat even in this.”

Something nagged at the back of his mind.

“Why is this station even heating up anyways? Place can’t be that run down?”

Velia gave a small shrug, "Something is broken. Somebody hasn't fixed it."

She paused, frowned, then held a finger to her lips, stepping back to peer down a corridor they had already passed. When the conversation stopped there was the distinct sound of heavy footfall. A glimpse around the corner showed the Security chief leading a dozen or so security guards behind Divaldo, the strange little amphibian, powering himself forward with pompous purpose on his mobility scooter... followed by the weird snake with the cat.

Velia watched them pass, heading back in the direction of the ship, "Mmm... that doesn't look good."

John leaned out slightly more to watch the strange procession over Velia’s head. Consternation and confusion dancing across his features.

“Should we do something about that?” He didn’t know if she had anything hidden beneath the jacket but his single sidearm wouldn’t help if something came to blows.

Not that he wanted to when his shuttle was within reach and both he and Velia could be safe in vacuum with armor plating between them and any hostilities.

"No... let's get the shuttle and dock through the ship's hangar bay," she looked over to John to make sure he agreed, "Let's hope nobody on the ship is stupid enough to open the door."

“Yeah let’s.” He didn’t specify whether he agreed with her wishes or the need to get to the shuttle; but the pilot met her eyes and gave a nod of assent.

The pair eventually heading off towards the shuttle bay; quieter and slightly more cautious than before.

Reenneesuash (Ren to humans) daughter of veanamdarr

Ren walked as part way through a pile of various items like oil, spare parts and industrial chemicals that looked suitable for the making of a hydroponics or keeping one working as she was stopped by a high vis wearing crew who looked to be smoking and generally not working but following the motions of it all. “Oi. What ya doing back here, and why are you taking our stuff, should you not be with the lab nerds.” The group came up waving hands, making noise and one had a pipe wrench.

Though Ren her power loader turning on one foot did make them least pause so she could talk, small victory. “We are planning to leave, get the ship working. Leave it for bugs, void or take it. I prefer taking it with us.” She said and kept the larger claw shielding her body, the second ready to respond.

“How do we know you're telling the truth, Northland made those monsters, the vids said so…” One who might not be the smartest of the bunch claimed. “Carl… What proof ya have.” One more reasonable one asked and lowered the wrench to his side, an overseer?

“None, bar my word, we have no official full crew, but it beats cooking alive or being eaten.” She said pretty fairly, they had no real permission but there was nobody left to ask.

“Sounds no worse than sitting and being boiled, fine missy knife ear. What ya after and how do we get on.. my crew know the cargo. We help, we get off this damn oven.” He gestured to the orange and so clad men and women.

“Anything of value long term, food, clothes, materials, booze, you name it. Fine, we need logistics people.” She said and relaxed her posture a bit in the exo suit.

“Least you can run an exo right, shank, get the tools, take a few guys. Vicky, grab a exo and help out, Draxlo and Gio too if they run. Load up bays.. you know, get to it.” He gave his orders roughly as he had challenged her, rough, ready but they seemed to be useful folk if nothing else, good either tools and cargo. “You better not be tricking me point ear, but if you're right, we help.” He said weighing his weapon with clear intent.

“Got it, cargo…” she said before being cut off.

“I know, cargo ramp, we haul it over to the cargo ramps near the port side.. Oi Jones, bust open customs. who gives a frak. If it fits, it fucking ships.” He said turning away without even a notice of his behaviour. Rough but they were helping… Ren grabbed an extra rate cursing the heat as she picked up what looked like a large box of old ration meals, 5000 units.

“Well that worked…” Ren said to herself as the heavy metal of her machine made loud clunks marching over to the gathered pile to be moved to the colony ship. Hopefully they were good with her getting a few others on hand who could help them get off this damn station.

Rations, a fusion welder, 200 self sealing hull patches, space corp shark plushies, because she really wanted one and damn the apocalypse for denying her. Pretty soon they had the start of a large pile of supplies from indulgent to practical and a surprising amount of rations, tasteless, boring but they would keep people alive.

“Hey. This is Ren.. Northland lady. Ship, can you clear us, we're gonna have some cargo coming inbound and Load crew.” She said into what she saw was the ship's comms band but was not sure if she went to the bridge or some other comms room on the ship.

“Now we wait…” She said to the grumpy man who seemed to have an emotional bond with his wrench. “I meant it”

“Good, This is station load team Gamma, mixed. Fuck marters, clear the damn cargo ramps, miss pointy ear elf lab corpo said ya wanted supplies. Unlock and interface with load station Delta 45." He shouted so he could be heard even though the suit with Ren above him.

Vitiafa of Endiohon & Iorosinn of Vendarrdech

---

Vitaifa rested against the wall of the station, taking some of the weight off her leg and providing a reprieve from the soreness that had been building through the day. The blaster rifle she had borrowed from Lopez remained slung over her shoulder as she and Iorosinn took position just before the docking tunnel, keeping watch for any crowd forming up. The larger marine had rested her heavy blaster on a crate by its bipod, and the gunner was ready to take position on a moment's notice.

Producing a pack of cigarettes, Vitaifa offered Iorosinn one from the pack.

"Do you smoke, marine," Vitaifa asked, breaking the silence between them as she pushed off the metal corridor. "A few men in my company used to smoke. They claimed it helped with the stress."

"No I don't, one of my uncles smoked himself into a grave. He just couldn't quit it." Iorosinn answered, taking her eyes off her watch to look towards the older kiel, "Though speaking of family, do you think any of yours made it? I think ma and the youngest of my siblings got out, not sure about the rest."

"Ah," Vitaifa replied with a sigh as she pocketed the pack. The sorrow in her chest writhed uncomfortably. "I was on Eden when Euphrades fell. I have not heard word since. I've prayed for them, but it's been to no avail."

"I wish well for them too, Only reason I know my two made it out is that they were on Eden proper, the other five and dad, I have no idea?" Iorosinn said with a shrug, leading into a sigh.

"It is hard, and will be hard for all of us, but the Traveller blesses the lost." Vitaifa said. "Our people have endured exodus to new stars before, and our families shall hopefully reunite."

"Yeah, here's hoping we do." The marine replied, her tone clearly a bit dour, before returning her attention back to the watch.

For those on the bridge, there was a beeping from the Communications desk, now vacated by Velia.

It was hard to hear from anyone inside the ship, but someone was banging on the gates of the boarding tunnel.

The Communications desk did, however, have a link to a camera and microphone to communicate with anyone wanting to get in. If anyone bothered to check, there were quite a few armed members of station security in the field of view along with, just off to one side, a squat amphibian on a mobility scooter. Anyone unfortunate enough to have met him would recognise 'Gloriont' Divaldo.

Station security didn't look happy...

Vitiafa of Endiohon & Iorosinn of Vendarrdech

---

"Hey, get on the repeater, I'll take the rifle to check on the banging," Iorosinn says to her companion.

"Aye," Vitiafa replied, offering the marine her rifle before settling in behind the heavy gun and training it on the gate. The one-eyed priestess seemed familiar enough with the platform as the marine, who remained out of line with the muzzle, moved forward. "Report what you see when you get down there."

Walking down the corridor, she reaches the grate. Seeing a team of station security rattling it. The lead security guard asks her, "Open the gate, we have reports of an armed team trying to steal the ship."

The accusation catches the marine off guard. "We're not trying to steal the ship, we're getting it prepared for an evacuation." She replies. Bringing her ear to an earpiece, activating the communicator, "We've got Station Security at the end of the docking tunnel. They think we're stealing the ship, they may want proof."

"Gods grant us patience," Vitiafa mumbled as she began to slowly walk down the corridor, "Surely they won't think a priestess of all people is looking to steal this ship."

---

There was no better distraction than difficult work. At the console, piecing together how to coax a ship this vast into flight without missing any of the thousand details that could go wrong, Fihlyn could push everything else aside. The end of Eden would wait. For now, she could lose herself in charts, numbers, and routes, where precision left no room for fear.

With John and Velia having left to collect their helmsman’s craft, the bridge had largely fallen quiet as the remaining crew had gone about their roles. It wasn’t like there were many people left for their Comms Officer to communicate with anyway, nor would the helm have been of much use before the engineering team made the ship operational.

Under normal circumstances, a navigator at this stage of the voyage wouldn’t have had much to do either. The colony ship’s course had been mapped well in advance, with hyperspace weather monitored by a lattice of satellites and probes. Normally, the central authority gathered that torrent of data into clean, reliable forecasts. Navigators simply verified what the computers already knew.

But Fihlyn wasn’t so lucky.

With Eden’s government gone, there was no one left to tame the flood of raw telemetry. Some probes had fallen silent. Others still broadcast, but not in any format she could easily parse. Fihlyn was left stitching broken signals into something usable, a process equal parts engineering and patience. It was manageable, but maddeningly slow.

Being so engrossed in her work, it took a moment before Fihlyn registered the beeping coming from the communications station. At first, she was confused why nobody had already answered the call, before realizing that there probably wasn’t anyone else in a good position to do so: none of the others on the bridge had been part of the original crew, after all.

Putting down her stylus, Fihlyn hastily made her way over to the communications station, hoping that the call wasn’t anything too critical or important. Her heart sank as she saw the collection of armed guards in the camera feed, one of them pounding their gauntleted fist on the docking tunnel’s door.

"We've got Station Security at the end of the docking tunnel. They think we're stealing the ship, they may want proof."

Her chest clenched. Maybe if she didn’t answer, they’d move on. Maybe they’d find something else to occupy their suspicion. Or maybe silence would only make things worse.

Fihlyn swallowed, forcing herself to clear her throat. She flicked the microphone on, voice striving for a polite tone that would put any concerns at ease.

“Hello, this is Assistant Navigator Numosath of ESS 3822-01. I can assure you that there has been absolutely no stealing of the ship. There is no need for unnecessary threats of armed violence or aggression, thank you!”

Reenneesuash (Ren to humans) daughter of veanamdarr

Freight boarding tunnel. Cargo bays.

Warning alarms sounded and orange lights flashed as the cargo tube locked into the side of the space ship, their new and only escape from this dying station. They were kissing themselves if they thought they would last here, no new food, cut off and the last and final bastion on the entire planet she knew of. Other stations were now overrun, radiation craters planet side or had been left when they fell out of use or ran out of supply.

“Clear the way, fuck, get back ya idiots. This is not your first day on the job.“ shouted the foreman as the huge industrial void locks began to move on large powered systems far larger than a passenger link made of heavy metal with thick deck plates and wide routes that two cargo lifters could pass if they were careful.

“Copy bridge. report. have found food, supplies for ships maintenance, welding gear and misc items so far, they are grabbing as much of the station's engineering and maintenance kit as we carry. Ren out.” Ren spoke clearly over the voice link as the more rough tones of the foreman came along as he reached the intercom unit.

“Little miss corpo science says you are leaving, we want off too, we have our tools and gear coming, so you let us on, we help keep this tub flying.” The man said, with a rough accent but cutting straight to the heart of the matter with the directness of a punch to the head.

“I promised, we getting off, this place is fucked even if the bugs not get us. Too damn fucking hot anyway.” She said, tired and in no mood for small talk.

“Now you are talking in my language, little miss pointy might just be bearable.” He said with a laugh as he grabbed the most valuable stack of tools un their battered containers and so, an entire unit had been ripped off the wall and taken whole, some bulk head was left behind with it on top of everything prior.

The cargo tube soon rang to the sound of 2 working power loaders, one had failed and was being quickly patched up with some wire splicing by a disgruntled woman in dirty overalls with a soldering iron and some hand tools. Crate gripped in the claws Ren walked forward carefully as her machine's feet thundered on the steel in the enclosed space.

“All that to the left, circle out right. And I mean right.” One of the group was now directing the traffic flow as the loading…totally not looting crew where dropping items off in the bay in rough piles to be sorted later in more detail.

“Anything you need, Bridge? We don't get another chance once we launch. Still hot as hell here…” Ren asked as she walked back, being directed round to the right and circling back out to collect another heavy cargo. The Kellier sounded tired and luckily this suits video comm was on the fritz for now.

“Stick right, inbound left, outbound right. You too corpo. Keep the line going.” One of them gestured as they set up a rudimentary lane system to get cargo aboard at a steady pace. Ren just let herself join the flow and did her best to not mess up what would probably have once been well piled station crew. Ren only nodded as her ears rang again as the feet hit the metal deck plates, the ear protection had long been lost it seems.

@Bentus

"Fuck it. Better get my stuff packed up now. The sooner I can head to the colony ship, the better." Doctor Raphael Vitella said to himself as he got up and began packing up what little he had left. Doctor Vitella looked at an image of his family, their screams echoing in his mind for a brief moment before he put it up. Once he was finished, he returned to his chair and continued watching the game until a winner was announced. "Well, I would like to say I'm gonna miss this place, but I'm done with breathin' recycled air and sleeping in a metal room with no windows and workin' long shifts. Not to mention that I wouldn't want to be here once supply shortages reach their breakin' point and important systems start breakin' down." Raphael Vitella said to himself as he turned off the screen, grabbed his things, turned off the lights, and left his quarters for the last time.

Doctor Raphael Vitella entered the Med-Bay. "Hey, Vitella. You're back early and it ain't even your shift. What made you change your mind about taking a day off?" Doctor Ferdinand asked Doctor Vitella. "I just came to get a spare doctor's coat and sign my resignation before I head down to the passenger area of the colony ship." Raphael Vitella answered. "Heading to the colony ship early so you won't be stuck waitin' for them to put you in cryo? I don't blame you. I will tell the Chief Medical Officer that you were here once he gets back." Doctor Ferdinand said to Doctor Vitella.

Fihlyn Numosath

---

...

“Hello, this is Assistant Navigator Numosath of ESS 3822-01. I can assure you that there has been absolutely no stealing of the ship. There is no need for unnecessary threats of armed violence or aggression, thank you!”

"I have no record of you," one of the guards responded after checking a datapad, "Where's that dhasath comms officer?"

There was a certain degree of tension in the corridor. Clearly the group wanted to be sure that they were actually dealing with a real representative of the ship...

"What did I tell you! Armed pirates!" Divaldo declared from the far side of the camera.

Vitiafa of Endiohon

Raising the grate to the boarding tunnel, Vitiafa measured the group that met her and Iorosinn. She counted 12 guards, armed and ready and a particularly pathetic and ugly xeno on a mobility scooter as she stepped forward.

"Officer Larci is away with a pilot, they left not long ago to retrieve his shuttle," the priestess answered as she stepped out into the open. Her hands were raised, cautiously but clearly establishing her as non-threatening for the moment. "We can call try to reach her communications if that is needed, but the pair should return shortly.

Her eyes narrowed angerly at the amphibian she towered over, though her hands remained by her shoulders. "Do not presume our motivations, either, and I assure you that they are honest."

---

Recent events had been... bizarre.

First off, Sarve had chased after his cat, Verminsalayer, after she had decided to jump away.

After that, he found his cat hungrily eyeing a Gendari. The Gendari had managed to distract the cat from pouncing on him, but then, the sequence of events began to get progressively… strange. After the Gloriont of the Gendari (yes, it was the actual sovereign leader of the Gendari species up here, not that there was a Gendari people left to rule over) successfully fended off Verminslayer by catching her attention with a stick, some guy got stabbed by some kind of hooligan, who then proceeded to get eaten by another alien. It was definitely not a Metacer, as Metacer don't stand on two legs, unless they somehow produced a whole new subspecies. It's not like cannibalism wasn’t unheard of among the primitive alien species that were the original inhabitants of Eden and her colonies.

Now, he had asked the Gloriont about cultural icons of the Gendari species, but he had been promptly ignored, as the old man was more interested in getting aboard the ship before anyone else could.

He'd lounge about after that, only to notice a group of armed guards moving to the boarding tunnel...

<Snipped quote by Bentus>

"What did I tell you! Armed pirates!" Divaldo declared from the far side of the camera.

Vitiafa of Endiohon

Raising the grate to the boarding tunnel, Vitiafa measured the group that met her and Iorosinn. She counted 12 guards, armed and ready and a particularly pathetic and ugly xeno on a mobility scooter as she stepped forward.

"Officer Larci is away with a pilot, they left not long ago to retrieve his shuttle," the priestess answered as she stepped out into the open. Her hands were raised, cautiously but clearly establishing her as non-threatening for the moment. "We can call try to reach her communications if that is needed, but the pair should return shortly.

Her eyes narrowed angerly at the amphibian she towered over, though her hands remained by her shoulders. "Do not presume our motivations, either, and I assure you that they are honest."

“Oh, it’s you people again!” Sarve appeared seemingly out of nowhere from behind the group of armed guards, and Diavoldo. “I wondered whether you actually proceeded with your plan… well, it seems that you have actually gone ahead.” He slithered a little forward, casting a glance at the Gloriont. He even gave a wink, a little quirk he picked up from humans. “Please forgive the Gendari, he's displaying signs of senility and paranoia typical of advanced age. I mean, you did talk about getting the colony ship ready so that we can all proceed into it in an orderly manner, yes?”

Mark sat hunched over a console deep in the guts of engineering, diagnostic lines crawling across the screen while the steady hum of the ship grew just a little stronger with every cycle. His biomech fingers tapped absently at the edge of the panel while the other hand keyed through readouts, making sure nothing was ready to cook itself the second they put power into the drives.

“Portside grid’s holding steady… coolant feeds are cycling…” he muttered more to himself than to anyone else.

He leaned back in the chair, rubbed the back of his neck, then glanced over at the redhead across the bay. For a long moment he thought about just staying quiet, burying himself back into the work but instead, he cleared his throat.

“So… you got any family among the refugees?” He realized immediately how that probably sounded. He shifted in his seat, trying to soften it.

“Sorry. Don’t mean to drag up bad shit. Just… figured we might as well talk about something while we’re down here, running circles with the diagnostics.”

Ginny, for her part, was torquing down a flange not far away, a methodical series of powerful whines from the impact driver coming from not far away. It gave her a zen-like focus which would be broken with Mark's Words.

"No, its fine, I didn't have anyone planetside." she said it casually with a slight longing in her tone. The redhead paused, as if she were confused by her own words. "My family are a few thousand light years from here. Your folks make it out?"

Mark let a silence sit, eyes on the scrolling diagnostics before he finally muttered, “Doubt it. They were still back on Shinar when it all went to hell. Farms don’t get priority evac. Odds are… they didn’t make it.”

He shifted in his chair, forcing a shrug, “Can’t dwell on it. Not when we’ve got a few hundred souls counting on this over designed heap of metal to run when we hit the switch.”

"I can appreciate overdesigned, beats the hell out of most ships I've been on." she drives a couple more bolts into full engagement "When it comes to last chances, this is about as good as it gets." she seems comfortable enough with brushing past the harder subject left to hang in the air.

"I just hope that people aren't too against getting frozen away. We don't have the food for everyone to be awake the whole time." She says, the lilt in her voice conveying her conflictedness on the matter.

Mark leaned back, letting the console hum as he considered her words. “Yeah… it’s a hell of a change. Never thought I’d be crawling around in something this new. I’m used to servicing tubs two generations out of date, keeping them stitched together with tape and prayers. This thing? Feels more like I should take my boots off before touching it.”

He smirked faintly, but the expression didn’t linger, "Those pods are the last resort for me. No way I’m climbing into one of those coffins unless I’ve got no other option. You close your eyes and wake up God knows how long later? No thanks. For all I know, I’d pop out just in time to see one of those big-ass Ragons trying to chew me in half.”

He gave a dry chuckle and shook his head. “Nah. I’ll take my chances awake. At least that way I can keep a gun in my hand.”

"Not gonna be a choice for most, count your blessings there." she has some somberness in her tone, looking down toward the console to distract herself from that thought. "You do much shipboard work? Not really sure how much Eden folks went into space."

Mark scratched at the stubble on his chin, eyes still on the console, “Yeah, I’ve had my fair share of ship work. Mostly patch jobs after pirate raids or some poor bastard clipping a meteor field. Shinar never had the newest toys, so keeping the old ones alive was half the job.”

A faint grin tugged at his mouth, “One time, we were deinstalling a thruster assembly, and the damn thing fired. Whole workshop turned into a fucking tornado. Tools flying everywhere, alarms screaming. One of my squadmates caught the thing square in the head... barely flinched. Just stood there like he was made of steel until the power finally cut. Funniest damn thing I ever saw.”

He chuckled at the memory, the sound short-lived as it trailed into something quieter. His gaze drifted for a moment, “He’s probably gone now. Most of them are.”

Mark let out a slow breath, pushing a few buttons on the diagnostics screen like the work might steady him. “Still… guess I’m lucky enough to be here making this thing run. Could’ve been a lot worse.”

Ginny stays silent as the man reflects, it felt more appropriate to give some space for the man who had lost everything he had ever known. So she took her time to rush over to her console, marking the procedure complete before digging through her pack. "Suppose there's a good chance for new beginnings." she offers only slightly above the din of the engine room

Mark noticed the quiet stretch between them, her eyes down on the console, and it clicked that maybe he’d gone too far down memory lane. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as if to brush the weight off.

“Anyway,” he said, forcing a lighter note into his voice, “once we’ve got this beast running, we’re gonna need something to keep people from going stir crazy. Maybe set up a tabletop game in the mess. Hell, even a ping pong table if we can scrounge the space, that is unless there's already something set up.”

He let himself grin faintly at the thought, “Back on Shinar we had this old mini-soccer table in the rec shed. Thing was beat to hell, supposedly came all the way from Earth before we even had FTL. Still worked though, kept us sane and entertained.”

Mark shook his head, “Figure anything’s better than staring at bulkheads waiting for the next jump. Don't ya think?”

The tech gives an approving nod at that "Mini-soccer table?" she asked almost rhetorically, trying to imagine it and seeming to get the gist "I'm sure there'll be plenty in the cargo hold to break out. Got some cards myself. You guys still use 52 and 2 right?" she's almost teasing... but she has seen some interesting divergences.

"Even with everything fresh and clean, plenty to keep track of on a watch. Seeing as there's two of us, that's twelve a piece." She feigned excitement at the prospect.

"Cards’ll do the trick. Yeah, we still play with 52 and 2. Can’t say I’m much good at it, but it’s about the best way to kill time when you’re stuck somewhere you can’t walk away from.” Mark said with a smile.

He keyed through another set of diagnostics, watching a line of green bars crawl across the screen. “And you’re right, with just the two of us keeping this tub humming, twelve-hour watches are gonna chew us up quick. We’ll have our work cut out for us.”

He tapped his biomech fingers against the console, thinking aloud. “Still, we can get smart with it. Rotate checks so neither of us is babysitting the same system all shift. Maybe rig a couple of auto-pings to alert us before something cooks instead of chasing every little light. Buy ourselves some breathing room.”

He gave her a quick look across the bay, smirk lingering. “There's also something I've been working on which may help, if the ship has a workbench and enough materials I may be able to cobble it together and will save us a lot of time..."

“I'll need to get you up to speed then. Ever play Durak? We'll need some extra players." she'd offer with an impish grin. Clearly she was a shark among these stars. She'd finish writing up a list of material to test, her eyes narrowing at the growing number of things that still needed to be evaluated.

"Plenty of ways to skimp on duties as needed, and she should be running well. Material history seems pretty light so I'm sure problem pieces will be very clear very quick." She rolls her head some and turns to look at him, the man's expression and tone causing a raise of half a lip "Oh? Going to lash down some controls?”

Mark let out a short laugh at her jab, but it trailed off into silence as he scratched at the back of his neck. He hesitated, weighing whether to even say it out loud.

“Well… not exactly lashin’ down controls,” he said at last, “I had this idea, back on Eden. Off-duty, I’d fill up notebooks with schematics... half-baked, really. A sort of helper machine. Nothing smart, nothing that’d get me run out of the colony for even whispering the wrong letters. Just… an extra set of hands.”

He shifted his weight, “Picture a little drone, something that could pass a wrench, carry supplies, maybe even keep the crops tended while the real folk got on with their day. Pre-scripted routines, dead simple logic trees, no more independent thought than a coffee maker. I never built it, never had the resources. But I carried the notes everywhere. Guess I couldn’t let the idea go.”

Ginny's eyes betray her, those green-brown orbs being narrowed for a quick moment, their focus dipping down for a moment to his actuated arm. Even so, they reopen and she shrugs "If you think you can throw something like that together on your own, I don't see why not, might be a pain in the ass to get running with preformed boards." She offers affirmingly, her skepticism more implicit.

She'd look over to her duffel for a moment, and sighs, slipping an arm down to schlep it onto her back. "Got my list to get things moving, should only be an hour and a little extra."

Mark caught the look toward his arm but let it slide, he gave a small nod. “Fair enough. Might be a pain, but I’ll see what I can jury-rig once we’re stable.” He pushed back from the console, “I’ll stay here and check on the secondary systems then, don't get lost out there, it's a big ship..."

“Keep it moving, grab this.” The power loader began to groan as the claws gripped the crate marked “500 units. Class 7 power relays” Ren just nodded and picked the crate up, their directive they had assumed and taken to. A simple fact, anything left is left to the void and anything else they would take with them. They already had taken several dozen other crates of various kinds from small boxes to full sized handler crates holding bulk units. Ren just was tired but carrying on and keeping on going. That was the post apocalypse.

…

They had been left alone by station security and the whole situation was probably the exact opposite they expected. Looting. No. Loading yes, they were loading and loading in a form of disciplined order that was rag tag but efficient, steady. Hundreds of tons of cargo and materials were being moved into the docking area but there were likely many hundreds to thousands they would have to leave behind before they left. Raiding the customs area was a somewhat distraction but there were likely valuable items, drugs, medication and other valuable items hidden in those storage lockers. The whole lockers were just pulled out of the wall, locks and so where to be opened later they had time. There had been some effort to yank some safe out the wall that was too damn heavy to lift and they had to haul that hunk on a cart.

A battered up internal truck rolled past Ren loaded with a full cargo of materials, metal, pipes, spare parts and so on. So many parts rolled out to the ship with a determined pace of the end of the world. Each step from the heavy machine was slightly unsteady but thudding metal on metal, one step after another. Ren nodded tiredly as she passed someone, the heat was massively tiring and her armour however light did not help.

“One more night, one more day, one more morning I say.” Ren sang softly as she worked, badly singing to keep going.

“One more day…, one more hour.”

Vitiafa of Endiohon

Raising the grate to the boarding tunnel, Vitiafa measured the group that met her and Iorosinn. She counted 12 guards, armed and ready and a particularly pathetic and ugly xeno on a mobility scooter as she stepped forward.

"Officer Larci is away with a pilot, they left not long ago to retrieve his shuttle," the priestess answered as she stepped out into the open. Her hands were raised, cautiously but clearly establishing her as non-threatening for the moment. "We can call try to reach her communications if that is needed, but the pair should return shortly.

Her eyes narrowed angerly at the amphibian she towered over, though her hands remained by her shoulders. "Do not presume our motivations, either, and I assure you that they are honest."

Sarvenolos of the Third Fane of Tekumo

---

...

“Oh, it’s you people again!” Sarve appeared seemingly out of nowhere from behind the group of armed guards, and Diavoldo. “I wondered whether you actually proceeded with your plan… well, it seems that you have actually gone ahead.” He slithered a little forward, casting a glance at the Gloriont. He even gave a wink, a little quirk he picked up from humans. “Please forgive the Gendari, he's displaying signs of senility and paranoia typical of advanced age. I mean, you did talk about getting the colony ship ready so that we can all proceed into it in an orderly manner, yes?”

There was an exchange of glances between the security officers. The presence of a member of clergy made the people in the ship seem less likely to be armed thugs stealing the rescue craft, "Ma'am," the guard who seemed to be in charge's tone had shifted. He seemed a lot less sure of what he was dealing with, "We'll wait to confirm with Larci, but assuming everything is in order, we'll be on our way."

Divaldo's eyes bulged in outrage. He motioned at Vitiafa with budgey fingers, "Any tralk can put on a fancy dress and pretend to be respectable!" he declared, "The snake assured me these were pirates, even if he is trying to ingratiate himself now."

The guard, however, ignored Divaldo. He paused, then motioned to one of the others, responding to some unknown message that must have been broadcast across station security coms, "Rajani, take the lads and look into that. I'll stay here with Aspen and Shamil. See if we can't get this nonsense sorted out."

"Nonsense?!" Divaldo tried to puff himself up further, though it still failed to make the grey amphibian seem any more threatening, "I am the Overprelate of all Grendari and Keeper of the Sacred Flame! My word carries the weight of mountains! This is absolute, utter incompetence of galactic proportions! I shan’t stand for this! No sir! Not while I still have air in my lungs..."

He didn't seem to be stopping any time soon. The guards ignored him, for all intents and purposes acting like the Grendari didn't exist. Apparently he'd done this before.

---

Meanwhile, in the shuttle hangar, Velia was leaning against a wall, playing with a loop of string strung between her fingers as John signed out the ship. The sound of raised voices from the far side of the hangar had her look up from her game.

A group of people seemed to be trying to barge their way into the bay. A member of station security physically pushed the leader back - a big looking man with a black beard.

"Hey John!" she called, "Looks like things are getting a bit heated over there," she paused, appreciating the accidental pun, "Want to get a shuffle on?" she suggested as she collapsed the cat's cradle, shoving the string back into her pocket.