[h3]Fihlyn Numosath[/h3]
[hr]
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.

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

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!”