[h2]John[/h2]

Velia hadn’t bothered to answer John’s auestion; the comm officer being swept up in a conversation his adrenaline addled mind struggled to make sense of. So he left; wandering the corridors for something resembling a ready room or barracks. 

On the eleventh door he tried he found what looked like a security room. A desk with a hardened monitor in one corner; a table next to an array of cabinets with what looked like a small fridge and a hot drink machine shoved on its counter. A row of lockers as tall as him dominated one wall and a small holding cell occupied a distant corner as an afterthought. But beside that small plexiglass cube was a door with a universal symbol. John gave a prayer to whatever deity was listening as he discovered a small washroom complete with a ridiculously small shower stall. 

John took a moment to secure the room behind him and check the lockers for his second goal. Two of the lockers appeared to be equipment lockers; useful later but locked down for the moment and of no interest to John’s singular focus. The third lockers yielded what he wanted; pre-sealed stacks of security jumpsuits. Not the most fashionable maybe; but clean and one was in his size. 

With that John crowded into the small space and took the most lukewarm shower he ever remembered. It felt glorious for all of three minutes before the timer kicked on and cut off the water. Leaving the pilot half-covered in suds but at least cleansed of grime, debris and gore for the moment. 

He was in the process of scraping off the suds on his scalp when the intercom helpfully blared from its mount five feet from his head.

[quote=@Bingelly]
Taking a seat in the bridge as she waited for Ginny to catch-up, Vitiafa put on a headset, and dialed into the ship's intercom. "Could all available hands report to the bridge for an all-crew meeting? We shall decided our course here."

[/quote]

“What the f-“ He bit back the curse as he caught sight of the PA and groaned. “So much for a breather.” 

The last part muttered under his breath as he dumped his dirty and combat torn flight gear on the room’s break table. Taking time to strip his survival gear and TacPad and put it on the security gear’s respective mounts. Not that it fit perfectly but it would do till he washed the previous set or pulled a spare set from the Kestrel’s gear lockers. 

With a reluctant sight he began to make his way to the bridge. Dark blue uniform and its vest feeling too stiff and unnatural. Obviously not broken in.

[i]A price to pay for clean clothes.[/i]

He arrived back on to the bridge with little fanfare; keying it open with what was already becoming a familiar process. Plopping into “his” seat and pulling open the shakedown manual and the current readings. All looked steady and the random heading from before was still being cheerfully followed by the autopilot. 

“Well the ship’s not about the hit an asteroid. What’s the hurry?” He twisted in his seat look back at the bridge.