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[BuggaBoo]

DA1-513-07 / "Daisie"
The Shadow ​

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Location: Central Continent, ParDune, Cat's Eye. Mess Hall of the Siren

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Perhaps she was wrong about the celebration and 'toast.'

Yes, they were laughing and chatting it up like the crew usually does, but the words they spoke with each other appeared disjointed and the interaction was confusing to her. Apparently the rainbow sand that lay scattered throughout the corridors was not something to laugh about but to laugh at. And it seemed that the Pilot and the Gunner were the targets of the humour. Derision was apparently the intent of the laughter. DA1-513-07 took a moment longer to try to process this interaction then she just decided to drop attempting to mock the siblings. She did not see the humour in their escapades nor the reason to make a point of it unless the mess they left was not cleaned up. That is what the quadriped automaton was for, was it not? Besides, they were not harming the Siren nor impeding the process of launch time afterall.

Spoiler: A cyborgs's Musings

DUKE: ...silently watching the impressive yet intimidating robotic woman stroll in, Captain having also arrived to the galley. The announcement of payback brought a small chuckle out of the engineer...

Why was this male constantly drinking copious amounts of alcoholic beverages? Duke himself once tried to explain to her that the his alcoholism was a way of soul-searching; 'To oblivion and beyond!!' was what he shouted to accentuate the point while opening up yet another bottle. If that was Duke's method to reflect on his existence, well, it made no sense to the cyborg, but she would not interfere with his path to oblivion if that's where he would find those answers. She would interfere, however, if he ever put the ship, Captain and crew at risk with such addictions. But of course, he never showed signs of jeopardizing any of the above in her estimation for as long as he had been aboard. In fact, when sober he appeared to treat the Siren with the utmost care of a doting father figure.

The fact that he remained silent as DA1-513-07 entered the mess hall did not disturb her at all. As far as she was concerned, he as Engineer would take care of the ship and in turn he would take care of her in time. Thusly she merely greeted him with a courteous nod. She was, like the janitor bot, property of the Siren and as such she expected to be treated like another belonging of the ship. She would not, however, allow him to work on her workings in or out. Yet. She would have to introduce him to her 'Mr. Fixit-Up' once this mission was complete so he may learn about her complex mix of organic, alloy and nanite systems.

EVA: ...but [Onyx's] presence was perhaps the clearest sign that they were actually leaving the glorified sandbox that was ParDune. The arrival of Daisie maybe even more so. Judging by the symbiotes explanation it seemed she'd kept herself busy over the last few days. Sure she was effective, but as a grade A loafer herself Eva found the beings relentlessness somewhat disturbing.

A bounty hunting crew could always use another shooter and she was thankful this female showed up when she did. Yes, the cyborg did get a sense that Eva may not pull her weight in other common duties of ship life. But it was true that DA1-513-07 shirked the heavy lifting and cleaning duties since they had the walking/talking Exo-Clean product for that role and so she could not fault this closed off female for doing the same. A polite nod she had directed at Eva; she did not expect any sort of response in kind since both females were on the 'little-to-none' side of proper social skills. They all had roles to play and as long as the sharpshooitng brunette put holes in the baddies and not the ship, they would get along just fine.

ANYA: Walking into the kitchen, "Where is our beloved, blyatiful engineer?". Anya was still working on the whole idea of putting emotion into her speaking voice.

Bright orange hair. Big black boots. A polite nod she had dropped on the Russian woman, but she seemed preoccupied with interrogating the drunkard Engineer. Always preoccupied with her trade... This was the medic on this boat. Out of all the human lifeforms here, the good doctor was quite possibly the one whom DA1-513-07 could relate to the most. Efficient. focused and territorial was this piratey female. For the most part, the nanites in the cyborg's body helped to repair whatever trauma was dealt to her organic systems, however, it was nice to know that there was a serious and competent medic on board to work on the other crew members. And perhaps in time, Anya could learn to work and study on DA1-513-07's 'physiology' just in case... lest she end up dragged to the wastes by the white-shelled, waddling, garbage-disposal device.

TAU: ...Daisie, who had finished giving some kind of presentation? In truth, Tau had not paid enough attention to know but caught something along the lines of explosives and payback.

It seemed as soon as she had greeted him with a nod, he was gone. But such was the ways of this male. DA1-513-07 was quite familiar with him since he dropped aboard a couple weeks after she came online when ownership was transferred to Onyx. Ever since, she noticed a pattern with this other drunkard; there to help start the fire of social activity then slipping away without so much as word of courtesy. He posed as quite the enigma to her; he out of all of them aboard had the the 'gift of gab' and yet he also seemed to be one of the most reserved in terms of himself. Most here seemed to be enamoured by his words the same way most were enamoured by both the inefficient, organic, yipping mascot and the over-involved, machine-built, yapping multi-tool.

Always scheming, always benefiting, always trying to keep a step ahead, and yet, instead of embracing those qualities, he would rather squander his efficiencies for the promise of the bliss at the bottom of a bottle. True he could handle the copious amounts of alcohol much better than Duke... but what was the call of this 'oblivion and beyond' for this male, if that's what he sought? Well, that truly was not her concern. What concerned her was the way Captain's face shifted when she noted his departure.

The interfacing tools at the extremities of her left arm extracted from the adapter on the side of the counter. The alloys, cords and plugs reconfigured back into a usable hybrid hand once more. Keeping to the outskirts of the main cluster of the gathering, she made her way over to the refrigeration unit to retrieve her sustenance. There was a time when she would only feed in her recharging pod since the sight of her 'food' and manner of ingesting said 'food' was unappealing for most onlookers.

CARSON: Family felt hard to come by in such a strange and foreign place as the Cat’s Eye, but Carson somehow managed to find one.

Well, enter the genius of Carson. Not one content to leave a member of the crew out in the cold (even though she studied the meaning behind it, that saying confused her as well; why would you leave someone out in the cold unless you wanted them to suffer from hypothermia?), he had devised a system to liquify her dietary needs and they had both worked out a solution; repurposed Lipsuken feeders. These cylindrical tubes were quite large so as to accommodate the elongated snout of the creature. Thus smaller ones meant for the younger show-beasts were fashioned into hand held, sealed containers for her 'smoothies.' A metal umbilicus was retrofit to adapt to her ingestion tube as well. Yes, the cyborg was able to sit with the rest of the crew by eating through a straw.

After grabbing one of the cylinders, she reached over and clinked it against the drinking container of the chief of the galley. She shot him an upward chinbob, a mannerism she picked up from another crewmember. Same for with the toast: "To health, happiness and to Hell in a handbasket. Bottom's up, Cookie...!"

HUAN: He watched the events of what Daisie did and chuckled. "Man you're really cool Daisie!"

And there was that human moment of a inward sigh; he had called her by her nickname. Afterall this time, it still made what was left of her heart soar each time a crew member called her that after she had completed a mission. She was so involved with maintaining efficiencies as a weaponized being she herself sometimes forgot to refer to herself as 'Daisie.'

Another chinbob for another male. Another clink against the drinking container. Another 'swill' with a cringey, overdone smacking sound of satisfaction from her speech relay. Then instantly she reached out for he and she to do their usual fancy handshake, normally reserved for their after-sparring banter (of which she took with the utmost seriousness like a post-mortem autopsy).

"Of course, I am cool, Mr. Huan. The ambient temperature of this room has lowered to 18 degrees Celsius to compensate for the body heat in the room--" Daisie quickly parsed the expression upon his face and the familiar 'click-buzz' before she spoke held for an extended heartbeat "--yes, and let me say; you are cool too. Cool ParDunian defecation colours. So cool to be here. Man. Yes."

Suddenly, there was a whirring sound from her hip. In a single liquid metal motion, she grabbed the vial that slid out from her hip, reached over to the Muscle and and inexplicably scooped up some of his colourful coating, leaving a cleanstreak upon his person. "This may be of use. Thank you, Mr. Huan."

YIRU: “You go, DAISIE! Oh, what wouldn’t I give to see their faces when their ship blows up.”

Daisie turned, tilted her head and held out a fist for the Pilot to bump. She could repress it no longer.

"Rock-a-bye, baby..." she said with a cocksure sneer in her voice. There was no click-buzz before her speech this time.

A polite nod she gave Huan before turning her full attention to his sister. When she spoke next, the usual sound came from her voice and the coy coolness of her tone and pose returned to her normal even keeled demeanour, "Ind. Yiru, there was time to install an 'lookie-loo' bug, but that may lead to them tracing signal all the way back to the Siren. I will never allow such a thing to happen."

Captain aside, the Pilot was probably the one most shook up by the Raizer crew's skunting of the Siren. Daisie could even say they took it personally, hell, Daisie could even say she herself took it personally as well. It was just banter and bs-ing at first, but it soon became a full on mission with plotting out timing and locations, and acquiring of proper gear and using her own funds to pay for intel.

"They may not hear what you titled the Op, but rest assured they will feel it. Full hilt. Full tilt..."

Once more her head tilted in that just right angle. Then less than a hearbeat later she recomposed herself as Captain spoke to her. A polite nod she gave the rainbow-doused pilot then turned full attention to Captain Onyx Lauristen, owner and leader of the fine space freighter; the Siren.

CAPTAIN: "Perfect. Thank you for that, Daisie. I'm glad we can finally teach those thieving bastards a lesson,"

Leave it to the sparkle in those green eyes of Captain Lauristen to make Daisie feel worth more than could ever deserve. Yes, she was programmed to earn the approval of all she did for the Captain, but no matter how many times she heard those words from those lips-- Perfect. Thank you. Daisie. --it only made her pine to please the freckles off the face of Captain Lauristen that much more. Both hands held behind her, back straightened and chin solid, she nodded at their commander.

"It was a pleasure and honour, ma'am. If another lesson must be taught, I will be first in line to offer whatever is needed of the Captain, ship and crew. As for the mission at hand, Captain Lauristen, undoubtedly, there will be a gathering of all relevant crew. This plan and prep will be conducted by Mr. Huan. If captain so desires, a detailed recording I will provide for your review and approval, ma'am."

Daisie patiently remained in her standing resting pose as Captain spoke with the others. Instinctively, she waited for those combat boots to turn about face and move 3 paces away before she followed after her. Perhaps Captain Lauristen could not stand when the cyborg did this, but Daisie had finished her meal and was just leaving too. Honest.

IX-985-PROD: A wonderful, fun gift that they were going to solve consciously, without relying on a solver subroutine.

The sound of alloy whispering to each other came from just below the small of her back. Daisie's tail extended out over her shoulder and grabbed the cylinder from her hands and it swiftly brought it over to the janitory chief. "IX-985-PROD, take this sustenance container and have it cleaned and sanitized for next use. And do aid the crew to deal with the ParDunian droppings that sully the interior of this vessel. There is no time to dally with more queries nor time to 'futz' with your new puzzle toy since you know our Pilot, Ind. Yiru, will be set for surface launch shortly. Is that clear, IX-985-PROD? Completion post-haste..."

There was a pause that held in the air a bit too long then the familiar 'click-buzz' "...please and thank you."

A single curt yet polite nod she donned the remaining crew before turning back in the direction that the bouncing dark curls of the Captain went. Daisie marched in perfect cadence three paces just behind the lead of the Siren. As soon as she neared quarters, she noted that Captain was about to involve herself in the private time of Tau.

CAPTAIN: When she arrived at the door, she gave three hard knocks with her knuckles,

"I will deposit my gear in my room, then I will tend to my duties for dust-off. Once complete, I will be retiring to my charge pod. Very well then, Captain Lauristen," a curt salute she bestowed the Captain before turning and marching back to her room. She paused a moment, held angled slightly in Captain's direction. But instead of saying out loud what she thought regarding Captain knocking on Tau's door, Daisie just entered her small room and closed the door behind her. Instantly her optics fell upon the words engraved on the plaque hanging off the back of her door.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.

 

[Zat]

Ix nodded as Huan explained that he wasn't clean enough to eat, and that the sand in the hallway was indeed not art. It was also apparently poop? If so, it was very athletically pleasing poop, or so Ix thought. Sometimes their sensibilities didn't quite line up with those of their human friends, though.

"Okay. Have a good shower!" Ix said in that small voice of theirs, waving the slice of sourdough at the man as he wandered off.

Ix paused for a moment, and brought the bread to their face. They rotated it in front of their embedded sensor suite, scanning the offending baked good, as if that would make the problem go away somehow. Scan complete, they discovered Chrolox - formula 7 would be good for dissolving it out of carpet, if anyone were to rub a loaf on some deep-pile. Good to know, they supposed.

Perhaps they should just give it to someone else.

Ix looked around the room. It had emptied a bit. Duke and Anya were talking, so that left Carson, Giovante, Daisie, and Eva.

Carson was out, because Carson had made the bread in the first place, and offering it back to them seemed... odd, to say the least. Ix liked the friendly man though, with all his cooking passion. Ix wanted to try to help out cooking sometime, but really had no idea what made something taste good to humans. They could probably look it up, but figured learning from Carson would be much more fulfilling.

Giovante was a possibility, but Ix found the man's exacting nature a little bit intimidating and was a little hesitant to try to give the man bread that he might not want.

They couldn't give it to Daisie because Daisie didn't eat either. Well, not solid food at least. Daisie also... operated on a different set of protocols, so to say.

As if summoned by the thought, Daisie waked over and began issuing them orders Ix quickly moved their puzzle into a storage compartment to take the empty container being offered to them. "Yes, Ms. Daisie," they started as the very efficiency-minded symbiote finished speaking, "But Huan said he... was..." aaaand she was already leaving. Daisie and Ix didn't mesh very well.
She always seemed vaguely annoyed when Ix did anything outside of their assigned tasks. But the whole reason Ix was here, and was... themself... was a drive to experience things outside of doing assigned tasks. Which... wasn't really supposed to happen with the PROD series of management AI. They sometimes wondered if they would be more like Daisie if they weren't broken in the way they were. Ix did like being efficient, and was quite capable of it, just... not at the cost of their developing person-ness, they supposed.

Ix had learned that sometimes one had to be inefficient to properly experience the world. They were glad they were broken.
But Ix was hardly one to tell others how to live their lives, and so left her to her opinions. They could certainly operate together, it just wasn't very... fulfilling.

Huan was probably just trying to be polite by offering to clean anyways. The crew sometimes had trouble believing that Ix was perfectly happy to clean up their messes. They always wanted to take responsibility for them as if they were doing Ix some disservice by providing tasks to complete. Ix did enjoy their duties. They just also liked solving puzzles and interacting with people. A person can like many things!

Still, they needed to figure out what to do with this bread before getting down to the business of cleaning. They could store it until after they were done, but then it might get stale! Which supposedly made it taste bad. Ix didn't want to give someone bad-tasting bread. It would be better to just throw it away at that point...
Ix hesitated again at the thought.
Or... they could keep it hidden away in their closet on the off chance Duke asked about it later... so they could show that they had appreciated his gift and hadn't just thrown it away... on the off chance it actually was a gift...

Hmm.

It was better to just give it to someone that could eat.

With that, they finally decided to approach Eva. They walked up to the lounging woman, upright for once, if only because they were busy holding things with their graspers.
"Hello, Eva," they said quietly, reaching out with the slice of bread once the woman noticed them. "Duke gave me this, but I don't... eat... things... so I thought you might want it? It's definitely not stale yet!" they said, looking at her with wide, hopeful eyes.

Interactions: Moldie , BuggaBoo , AI10100
Mentions: JesseMarshall , Impius , N0rthernw0lves , The Prophet

 

[N0rthernw0lves]

Anya's head couldn't help but shake as Yiru pointed their engineer out. There were a few people who enjoyed drinking to such a degree that they got drunk. Whereas Anya rarely drank because of her stringent self-adherence to professionalism, being the sole doctor aboard the Siren, Duke, the ship's engineer, didn't mind getting drunk, even though he was the sole engineer. While Anya did have substances for flushing out the effects of alcohol, which she had used in the past, she rarely ever touched those drugs.

A slight distraction came in the form of Tau, their sly, smart, and quite handy, both figuratively and literally, diplomatist. The distraction was pleasant, as he handed her an item she had requested for her medical stocks. Anya's only response came in the form of a simple nod, still working on making it not appear submissive, pocketing the cylinder into one of her pockets.

Even though there were more interesting events occurring than watching a drunk engineer, still more exciting than watching paint or blood dry, Anya's head faced only Duke while tuning out the outside. Unless someone directly asked for her, she would not lift her gaze off of Duke.

Waiting long was not required. As Duke approached, Anya's hands lifted and stopped right above her belly button. It still confounded her how he functioned as well as he did in that condition. Medically it both didn't and did make sense. Some people merely had that sheer force of will to push through their inebriated state, doing everything as if they were sober. Of course only a medical proffesional, such as Anya herself, could spot the difference between a sober worker and a high-functioning alcoholic worker.

Her hands drooped right below her belly button, grasping one in the other. They had already begun take-off, and she needed Duke, who had gotten suddenly preoccupied with Ix, to check her medical equipment before straying too far from the planet. And no matter how much Anya willed herself, she could never do that impatient foot tapping to hurry someone up.

Once Duke's attention was back on her, Anya's hands split and lifted back up. "I just wanted to ask you to check me equipment, make sure nothing is funky." She felt good, having managed to state a request without being shy, awkward, or even submissive about it.

 

[Moldie]

Eva, awaiting the debrief, had let her mind devolve to procrastination. As the casual fuzz continued around her she pondered the fate of the Raizer, and how they could've let it's crew play them for such fools to begin with. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence in the business, but damn if it didn't bother her. At least now she could quietly revel in their timely demise. The architect of their fate, the ever vigilant Daisie, was a useful asset. Something Eva couldn't and wouldn't deny.

Flung back to reality Eva was greeted by the friendly Ix, offering her a gift. Eva glanced down at the piece of bread before her then moving her gaze to quickly oversee the rest of the crew. Why her? She could only guess. However, Ix was a kind being and Eva didn't want to discourage the industrious little cleaner. Reaching to accept the gift she for the slightest of moments hesitated, unsure why this had been passed down from the drunken Duke to her. Second hand or not there was no return at that point. Taking it in hand she gave it a quick lift and nod as a gesture of her gratitude, artificial as it may have been. "Thanks Ix, that's… very kind of you…" She summoned with the little brightness she could muster, although with her usual heavy tone of calm apathy blanketing the appreciation. She studied the sourdough hunk, it only took a glance to determine it wasn't some artificial store bought rubber bread but rather something Carson had crafted with all his love and care. Everything from consistency to aroma sold it. No matter whomever it might’ve been originally designated to, it had now ended up in her care, and the hunger had really begun to set in...

As she entered the scene again she noticed Tau quietly leaving. Seemed strange as he had in contrast only moments earlier been elated in his victory. She hadn’t put him down that hard had she? Eva assumed his skin was thick enough to take a cheeky jab and wrote it off. If he had a problem she wouldn’t be the one to confront him about it, that’s for sure. As for Duke, he still seemed in a rough state. Eva thought it sloppy of him to drink himself beyond helping like he had so many times before, but she couldn’t really blame the man as he so obviously had a deep rooted problem with the drink. Some folk simply can’t help themselves, she’d seen it so many times before. At least it seemed as if he was going under docs care, hopefully Anya could steer him up...

Having already dreamed away once Eva found herself being in a somewhat impatient mood. Unusual for her, but the last few days had mounted up to what felt like an eternity. Just as she was about to ask the captain about the mission ahead Eva realized that she too had left. Sacking up against the wall she crossed her arms in a tight lock, still holding onto the bread.

 

[Impius]

DUKE OLSON
Focus: Anya Vasilia​

​

Duke gave Anya a curt nod, and a click of the tongue and a four phalanged "finger gun" pointed at Anya. "How could I refuse?" He gave her a lazy smile, not that he was trying to be rude. He was on an endless roller coaster of ups and downs, twists and turns, loopy-da-loops, spirialing wooden tracks shaking the passenger like one of Carson's mixed drinks to "feeling like a plastic bag, drifting in the wind.".... 'Where have I heard that phrase before...? Didn't it have a beat?' His head bobbed every so faintly side to side, his lips twitching, repeating the words back to himself silently, as absent minded as a bird.

The Russian pirate was proficiently competent in her medical expertise, in Dukes opinion. Every time he nearly lost another finger because he didn't move his hand quick enough. Numerous times had he come to her, leaving a trail of blood, needing assistance. Usually he would try to patch it up himself with Hyperthermolecular Adhesive, but some wounds were beyond the quick acting glue like substance. She never failed to patch him up. For that she had his gratitude. He would probably be down to his last finger without her spot on assistance.

As they approached the medical bay, Duke walking close to the walls, as if using them as support to make his way straight down the hallways without actually touching them physically, he asked Anya, "So what are we gunna-" He paused and let out a burp followed by the slight smacking of his lips. The acidic acids in his stomach were still screaming at him despite eating the sourdough earlier. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead from the efforts of making it this far.

"To be honest Doc, I might've over done it. One of em system flushes be great right 'bout now." He woozed his way though the door way and leaned against the wall. There weren't too many people on the ship, if anyone, he would admit to having "over done it" to. The doctor was different. Aside from saving the remaining 9 fingers on his hands, alcohol had almost taken him a time or two. Of course medical confidentiality kept this between the two, but since then he promised to tell her when he needed the help. She might've been a shy person but she had been forthright about not letting it happen again.

Either way, he knew how peculiar she was with her instruments as he was with his own. A slip of the hand in the engine resulted in bleeding knuckles and a string of obscenities. A slip of the hand in here could result in a broken part, a trip to the engine rooms little foyer, back to the medical bay, and another attempt. If anything was even wrong. Duke gave her props on keeping her equipment maintained.

 

[The Prophet]

GIOVANTE ROSE​

"Nicknames aside, it's less of an issue of having fun more than it is -ah!" Momentary surprise filled his facial features before being reclaimed by indifference, as the last thing Giovante expected while going through Zhao's very limited social media presence was a towel landing on his head. Taking it from atop his head Giovante gave a look towards the cook who threw it. There didn't seem to be any ill will from Carson, and the cook's words confirmed as much. "Ahem. I suppose you're right. Thank you Carson." He'd made to drop the formal mister and miss when talking to the crew, but it still felt weird. A few moments later and the curly locks atop his head were much less wet and the towel sat folded neatly over his forearm. The general politeness of the cook made things much easier to handle, especially considering Giovante was still likely dealing with the negatives of being a new hire. He elected not to get info on the people aboard, so he was stuck with having to figure them out naturally. Naturally, it was hard. One truly didn't know of the blessing that was a psychoanalysis team, until there wasn't one. Take the individual Tau mentioned earlier for example, Eva. In the two weeks he'd been aboard he'd made no serious attempt to get to know the crew aboard past what he needed, and it seemed Eva had done similar. The results of such meant that Giovante barely knew the individual, and unless there was something he didn't know, it was mutual. Only real thing he knew currently was the fact that if the two of them reached for a handgun, Giovante would end up dead.

Duke took the opportunity to practically fall into the room then, smelling strongly of alcohol and oil. This crew loved their alcohol, didn't they? As expected, Carson took care of him like he did anyone, and a moment later a strong smell assaulted his nose before he even saw the cause. Who other than the twin siblings, who in the short time he'd been aboard proved that one could get up to trouble with anything, anywhere. He moved to say something, but then someone spoke up first and Giovante closed his mouth shut. He should just hurry up and finish his report on the three names given for the next job.

A new face joined the table, the Captain. His employer. This made things easier, he wouldn't have to go all the way to their quarters to deliver the data. Watching her sit down and get an alcoholic beverage as well, old habits kicked in and he found himself internally wondering when his superior would start reprimanding the lot of them. It was just so odd, to go from the past where one's superior would be enraged at the state of their operatives, to one where the superior would join them. He found himself observing the scene, pausing his work for just a few seconds. "Odd." He mused quietly, and looked down back onto the tablet from which he worked currently. When would he be used to such things?

Daisie returned from a sabotage operation suddenly, and it seemed there was praise enough from the rest of the crew, so Giovante merely gave an acknowledging look before getting back to it. The room was very rapidly gaining crew members, more so when Ix and Anya made their way inside. Likely some cleaning and medical things that brought them respectively. It was always funny to Giovante how seeing doctors in general made the sharpshooter ever more aware of the many scars on his left hand, but he was quick to forget about it. Sentimental thoughts like those really weren't good for the work environment. It seemed the doctor was in need of a checkup on her medical tools, and soon they left to do just that. Speaking of people leaving, Tau seemed to have taken the opportunity to leave the table and likely move to his own chambers. Giovante would have liked to be that person who cares for the negative emotion that likely took over Tau, but he really wasn't. So he simply watched the older man go with the unreadable expression as always.

The captain was that person, however. They followed soon after, Giovante setting down the tablet on the table to wait for a time to submit his findings. In the meantime, Huan had a job for the sniper himself. "Of course, I should be able to render a geoscape by the time you rid yourself of the aftermath of your game. I also need to give the Captain the result of target profiling I've done for the names she gave over the intercom, but I imagine that you'll be showering for an extended time." He nodded, minimizing the created profiles to pull up a hologram of the planet they were heading to. A few quick taps later, and the hologram zoomed into a specific location. It'd need a second to fully render the locations, but they'd be ready for when they finally got off this sandpit and back into infinitely better space.

It may only be a simple arrest, but even Giovante could appreciate whatever got them off this admittedly terrible planet.

 

[Zat]

Ix nodded to Eva and headed off toward the kitchen proper, glad that she wanted the bread. Carson made good bread, so she should enjoy it. Well, Carson made good everything as far as Ix could tell. It was very rare to hear a crewmate complain about a dish, and even then it seemed to be a personal preference thing, never because Carson had made it poorly.

Ix wished they could taste things. Sure, they had sensors that could sample something's chemical composition (useful for cleaning!), but Ix was a long way off from turning that into a taste profile and mapping it to human norms. Then they would need to figure out what they specifically would like, and what they wouldn't, and they needed to come up with a good way to make themselves surprised sometimes about how a dish would taste. It was always fascinating to watch one of the crew say they didn't like a certain kind dish, only to be shocked when they actually did after Carson convinced them to give his variant a shot. Ix definitely wanted the possibility of that kind of experience built-in. The point being, there was a whole bunch of work there.

They finished washing out Daisie's food cylinder in the sink and dried it before putting it away. Then they swung by their closet and equipped themselves with their vacuum and sterilizing array. The sand was biological waste, so better safe than sorry. They didn't want the crew getting sick. They got to work cleaning and sterilizing everywhere Huan and Yiru had touched.

The whole taste project was low on the priority list anyway. They'd get it done eventually, but it fought against their sensibilities to spend too much time on something that wasn't really useful to the crew. Besides, it wasn't like they didn't also enjoy the project most of their processing power was currently going to. Namely, how to take a pistol and turn it into a belt-fed low-cal popout turret Ix could attach to a snap-tool™ mount on their torso. They didn't much like why they needed such a thing, but the design work was quite enjoyable, and it'd be much more effective than having to work a pistol with their graspers when the need came up. They needed to run their latest iteration by Duke. The man had a certain intuition when it came to pointing out issues in a design that Ix found invaluable. He was also more than capable of helping in the construction process. Perhaps they'd be able to complete the modifications en-route to Terra-Firma. Ix was pretty sure they had all the parts they needed. They'd check with the man once he was feeling better.

It was nice having people they could work with. People that liked them. Ix loved being a member of this crew.

Ix started playing a happy little tune to themselves as they worked.

 

[Ambiloquous]

YIRU

Some ten minutes ago, in the galley.

Yiru tried to stifle their laugh at Daisie’s “Cool ParDunian defecation colours. So cool to be here. Man. Yes." — but they failed. Bursting out into body-shaking chortles, they gasped for air and clutched their chest. Oh, Daisie would kill them someday. And not from their expertise in shanking people soundlessly either.

“Daisie.” Raising a hand to pat the cyborg symbiote on the shoulder then thinking better of it, they swerved to put an awkward hand on their own waist. “Stay like that forever, yeah?”

It seemed that their preventative actions had been for nothing though, since the partial machine held out a fist for the pilot to bump. Eyes lighting up, they cheerfully fist-bumped back, covering the other’s knuckles in coloured shit-sand and feeling joyfully remorseless.

When Daisie brought up the “lookie-loo” bug, Yiru scrunched up a corner of their mouth for a moment then quickly fixed it back up. Pushing their lips up into a bright smile, they said, “Oh, don’t worry about it. A pity, but probably for the best that they don’t have incriminating evidence on their nasty, grubby little hands.”

At the mention of the Raizer’s crew feeling the operation’s name, the pilot smiled a bit savagely. “Best they do — if they come again, there’s always worse ways.”

…​

Currently, in the bridge.

Sitting in the pilot’s seat at the bridge and spinning it in lazy circles, Yiru winced as the semi-stiff backing rubbed against a patch of tender skin. It hadn’t felt different during their stint in the ship’s kitchen, but after the cold shower it’d become redder than Valxyian reversewood at peak maturity. Carson’s urging for the siblings to slap on some aloe wasn’t at all unfounded — not that they thought it would be. But until they were out of the planet’s atmosphere and a length away from any possible chasers, they would have to continue to sit where they were and wait.

Of all times when a pilot needed to be in their place, top two were lift-off and landing. While flight plans were often given to the extraterrestrial bodies that stipulated it, the outlines often changed in action and there was no penalization for lying — unless one stupidly stated they were lying outright. The safest bet on when to catch a ship would therefore be right before landing and right after lift-off, which was why, even though there was little chance that someone would try and make trouble with the Siren near ParDune, Yiru had to squat perfunctorily at the bridge. They couldn’t even actively surf the intergalactic webs for entertainment; it would be a breach of protocol they wouldn’t make for fear of dire accidents. They had heard enough cautionary tales and horror stories from Deci — it wasn’t the pilot's real name, but Yiru didn’t know his legal one — that it was ingrained into their mind.

Once their brain was on the topic of the unfortunates that starred in Deci’s monologues, they wondered how the self-proclaimed polymath and first-rate pilot was doing now. Had the man finally started up that planet-takeover plan he never stopped talking about? Hah, not likely. He boasted more than he undertook — though he did undertake a lot, so it really only revealed the amount he exaggerated in front of anyone who would listen.

Flopping over the control panel, they sighed. They kind of missed the ridiculous antics their mentor came up with on a daily basis. It was telling that the Siren’s pilot only had the vaguest notion that they were now the ones coming up with ridiculous antics — but it was also true that their shenanigans were nowhere near the extremes of their predecessor.

INTERACTIONS

BuggaBoo

MENTIONS

JesseMarshall​

 

[N0rthernw0lves]

She was glad that he was willingly going. Even though she needed him to check her equipment, she preferred not having to pressure him. Pressuring anyone required the decision of taking a stronger stance, a stance Anya did not always feel comfortable walking into and then standing in.

The finger guns startled Anya momentarily, a momentary flashback to when a pirate had pointed an eerily similar looking gun at her. She had frozen in a slightly leaning away position with hands jammed tightly just above the waist. It only took two or three seconds to unfreeze, but the heart, having raced into a fast pounding, require a more lengthy calm down time.

Anya wasn't surprised that Duke regularly visited her medical bay. Even though he didn't go on missions, just like her, hands and moving parts weren't symbiotic life forms. The machines cared not when flesh moved in-between them. While not actively seeking out food, the moving parts of the machines didn't mind when just by some sort of cruel luck some part of flesh transferred from the person using it to the machine. Thanks to Duke, Anya had become a top rocket engineer when it came to reattaching different fingers. She had already lost count of the numerous finger reattachment procedures she had performed on Duke.

Duke's walk reminded her of someone tying strings around certain body parts, and then controlling the walk. She could've helped him walk. But to Anya it seemed that Duke was content in drunk-walking the entire way. And since there were no machines in their path, no worrying when it came to some moving part snatching an entire human body instead of just a finger to feed itself.

She went straight to one of the cabinets filled with medical supplies. Duke had asked for an alcohol flush, and her medical mind was of the same conclusion. It would be better if he wasn't drunk when running diagnostics on her equipment.

The moment she opened one of the cabinets with her right hand, the left hand swooped in like an eagle. It flew back with a small bag of dark black powder. Anya didn't need to read the label stating the obvious, For Flushing Alcohol, memorizing which medical items were where in her spare time. A quick stroll towards the sink, grabbing a cup to set down below the faucet. A few seconds later, Anya stirred the black powder into oblivion in the half-full glass, or half-empty depending on your philosophical view, briskly rejoining the poor engineer she'd abandoned right outside the medical bay.

Her hands were dainty, needing all the positives that came with dainty hands to expertly move about inside the body without hitting some part of the body that wasn't the target of an operation. Even though they were dainty, Anya had full control of their movement, down to the muscles in between the knuckles of the fingers. It was these hands which pushed the glass into Duke's, engineer related stained hands. "Drink up", the tone slightly shaky as Anya imposed her doctor's orders tone.

The bitter taste of the mixed solution would not be the biggest effect to deal with. The reasons for the powder being effective had directly correlating effects on how one felt as it worked. The dissolved black powder, on a molecular level, ripped out any alcohol molecule and took it out. This intense ripping of the inebriation molecules was what caused the sudden transition from drunken to sober state. And there was a difference between being a functioning alcoholic and a person who could handle the effects of alcohol flushing without so much as grimacing.

After Duke had recovered from the short term effects, Anya took back the glass. "I just needed you to make sure my equipment is in top shape. I'd check it myself, but I am the complete opposite of you in terms of mechanical know how." With a quiet chuckle, she walked off towards the sink to clean any contamination from the glass.

 

[JesseMarshall]

Carson Ho
Time: 7:00 PM Ship's Time
Location: Empty Space: ParDune to TerraFirma
Estimated Arrival: 15:21:52

​

Carson watched as, one by one, the ship's crew left the galley kitchen. After toasting with Daisie, agreeing to meet the captain later, and finally managing to get Duke sobered up enough to walk to the medical bay, the cook started to feel slightly overwhelmed. He needed to start dinner and, and he needed to start it soon if he ever planned on finishing it.

"Siren," he called to the ceiling.

The onboard AI chimed on in a smooth and sultry feminine voice, "Yes, chef?"

As usual, Carson chuckled at the preprogrammed response, "Play popular music from Earth—time-period, second renaissance."

"Of course. In their original recordings," the AI asked, "Or shall I offer some tasteful renditions?"

Carson rolled his eyes, "Original, please."

The kitchen suddenly filled with sound. Music drifted out of every wall, creating a surrounding beat of symphonic tune. Carson hummed along to the first song he knew well and began sharpening the knives he needed to construct tonight's meal. After a minute or so of going through the motions, Carson started to sing. Hardly anyone listened to music like this anymore, and it was thoroughly depressing to think about. They simply didn't make music like this anymore. So passionate and filled with soul—an echo from a past long since gone and almost forgotten.

Lost in an image,
In a dream—
But there's no one there to wake her up.
And the world is spinning,
And she keeps on winning,
But tell me, what happens when it stops?
They say—

She's so Lucky!
She's a star,
But she cries-cries-cries in her lonely heart...

The song went on to its crescendo, heartfelt and shockingly powerful. The story about a young woman who seemed to have everything going for her, but on the inside lacked the love that everyone else possessed, always left Carson with a deep sense of appreciation for the little things in life. When the next song began, it swept him away in the tale of a man who waited too long to confess his feeling to the one he loved. He knew it was too late now, but he still admitted that he wanted it that way.

His hands fell into the rhythm of what they loved most—cooking. Carson danced to the Maltek Clitamax and removed a rasher of thick-cut bacon he wanted to save for a particular day, and today was that day. He pulled the bacon out of the pot once they finished browning and started searing the beef cubes on all sides. Next, carrots, onions, and a little after that, garlic sautéed in the fat and grease rendered from the meat.

It took a total of three and a half hours to make, but in the end, the dish was done. Beef Bourguignon, made in a less than traditional way, ready to feed a crew of twelve. Not to mention the rice cakes, steamed and stir-fried vegetables of all kinds, white peaches that he pulled out of cryostasis, beautifully delicate white fish, raspberries, apples, pomegranates, and a large pot of taro soup. Everything looked and smelled delicious as he glided the heavy-laden hovercart into the ship's formal dining room.

Carson took his time arranging everything perfectly. He oriented himself behind the captain's chair to figure out precisely where everything should go. The beef, white peaches, and vegetables all went to the right side of the table, and the rice, fish, and soup all went to the left. The red fruits were placed closer to the left side than the right, and all the extra little side dishes and snacks were scattered around the table based on his shipmate's favorite flavors and textures.

When it all finally came together, Carson turned his head to the ceiling once more, "Siren?"

"Yes, chef?"

A ghost of a smile passed over Carson's face, "Let the crew know that dinner is ready, please?"

"Right away, chef," she replied.

It took only a matter of minutes for the entire crew to show up, well, almost the entire crew. Tau became a little elusive, but Ix and Daisie went on a manhunt and convinced him to show up after few minutes. "I've come for the beef bourguignon," he said, taking a seat to the left of the captain.

The crew laughed and joked over the breaking of bread, helping themselves where they could, and passing servings of food to crew members who couldn't—or in Tau's case, out of etiquette, wouldn't—reach across the table. The wine was poured, and embarrassing stories were told about each other. Daisie sipped at the unique sauces and juices to sample each one while Ix used his molecular identifier to "smell" the food and guess its taste. The crew indulged the mechanical canine by telling him how close he got and then explaining the flavor in terms that he could recognize.

"Carson," the captain whispered to him. "You haven't touched a bite of the beef!"

The cook laughed, shaking his head, "No, I'm not a fan of beef bourguignon."

Captain Onyx smiled at him from his left, "You've put this much effort into a dish that you don't even enjoy?"

"This dish is for others," he smiled back. "It brings me joy to see this food bring you all the same."

Raised voices of storytelling and uproarious laughter faded into the sounds of groans and complaints of having overeaten. Carson cleared a section of the table off and set in its empty space a large platter of songpyeon and yakgwa.

The smell of starchy sugar and honey wafted from the plates, renewing the appetites of most at the table. Eight hours of work for the desserts became worth it as the first bites were taken, and rapturous expressions flooded the faces of those Carson loved and adored.

There is no war that can be waged around a well-prepared dinner table, Jun-myeon, his mother whispered from his memory—his heart remembering her words of wisdom.

Anya looked determined to ascertain how the yakgwa was made by carefully cutting away layers with her butter knife and a doctor's finesse. On the other hand, Duke seemed perfectly content to pick them up by the handful and toss them into his mouth like popcorn. Near the center of the table, the twins secretly wiped bits of foodstuffs on each other while one wasn't looking. Of course, neither realized what the other did. Carson chuckled every time that it happened.

Eva carefully sipped wine initially, calculating every interaction and keeping well-measured responses under her belt to use. Still, somewhere during the night, she started joining in on the stories and laughing genuinely.

When the desserts were gone, the crew filed out one by one again, each giving their own compliments to Carson as they did—even Tau, who patted his stomach appreciatively on his way out. Only the captain remained with a tender smile on her face. She stood and began collecting plates and piling them onto the hovercart in the corner.

"Oh no, Captain," Carson protested, trying to take a dirty plate out of her hand, "Please, you don't have to do that. I'll handle this myself today."

Onyx fixed him with another smile, as she seemed keen on doing a lot tonight, "I think not. Captain's privilege."

Carson shook his head, shaggy black hair waving back and forth, "Today, Captain, I think that I-"

"I said Captain's privilege, Mr. Ho," she responded, raising an eyebrow at him, "Or are you planning to lead a mutiny against me?"

The cook nodded but didn't offer a smile back to her. For the next thirty minutes or so, they worked in comfortable silence. Carson washed, the captain sanitized, and the Maltek Dry-O-Matic dried. It took half the time it usually did to clean up dinner, and when they were done, the captain began walking with him to his quarters—just the sound of their tapping footsteps to keep each other company.

Carson stopped as they drew even with the door to his room, "Captain before I speak with you, there's something I have to do first."

That same smile floated back to the captain's lips, and Carson honestly wondered how someone so young could look so wise, "I know you do. Would you tell her, thank you, for me?"

The cook's eyes began to burn from somewhere near the back, and his vision abruptly blurred, "I-uh-I'm not-"

He felt, rather than saw, Onyx place her hands onto his shoulders, keeping him upright, "On the same day every year, for the last six years, you've made a dish that you don't like, and every year on that day, I ask why. You tell me the same thing every time. I figured it out eventually."

Carson nodded. He could feel his bottom lip trembling and wanted desperately to be alone for a moment to collect himself, "If you wouldn't mind, captain, I would rather you didn't see me having a moment like this."

He heard the young woman chuckle, her fingertips brushing his cheeks. Carson felt a cool line of thinned moisture in open-air spread across the surface of his face. "It's too late for that, Jun-myeon," she said, using his birth name, "You're already crying."

A man in his late twenties stood silently, his face turned toward the floor like a schoolchild afraid to meet the teacher's gaze. After a moment of stillness, Captain Onyx patted him on the shoulder again, "Come see me tomorrow. We have ten more hours to go, and I could use some sleep." She turned to leave and paused without looking back, "Remember to thank her for me. I owe a lot to you, and by proxy, her."

Rugged leather boots echoed dully on the walkway, heavy and purposeful. Carson dipped into his quarters and approached a small table pushed up against the wall. He wiped at his eyes with a plaid sleeve, still feeling like a child who missed his mother.

Carson knelt, and he came to face a picture of a young woman who smiled back at him with his own eyes. She cradled a baby in her arms, born new to the world and wrapped in a tiny blanket printed with elephants. Carson was now older than she had been in this picture—much older.

He reached forward and lit a small stick of incense and a candle before dropping forward into a deep bow. His left hand rested above the right, and his breath hitched at the back of his throat. When he straightened again, the woman still smiled dazzlingly.

"Amma," he whispered, trying to beam as brightly as she did for him, "I made your favorites today, and everyone enjoyed them as they do every year. You would have been pleased."

He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat, "It's been ten years now, and I still hear you speak to me, making sure I don't forget what you taught me, and then I wonder if anyone ever forgets their Amma's voice."

He exhaled a deep sigh, "Captain Onyx wanted me to thank you. She says that she owes you a lot," Carson laughed a rich watery laugh. "I know how badly that would have embarrassed you because it embarrassed me. She even helped me clean after your dinner tonight. I know that she did it intentionally now, and I guess she really does consider me family."

The young man slapped the heel of his hand to his forehead, "Oh, I should have invited her in to pay her respects! You would be so mad at me! You'd say, Jun-myeon—" But his voice broke, and he couldn't continue for a while.

When he collected himself anew, he continued. "Today, I've officially outlived Appa. I'm twenty-nine now, but I still feel like an orphan. How silly is that," he whispered. He chewed on his bottom lip nervously for a minute.

"There's something I have to tell you. I-I still get angry sometimes that I have to spend today honoring your death instead of celebrating my birth...

"And I'm so sorry. I don't mean it. Please forgive me for the times this year that I didn't make you proud, Amma. I know you would say that I always make you proud, but I know better, so please just forgive me, Amma."

He dropped to his face again, and when he rose, he blew out the candle and cast the room into darkness.
•❅──────✧❅• ✦ •❅✧──────❅•
Carson awoke the next "day" feeling strangely light. The artificial gravity was adjusted to 3 points less than a standard planet, and Carson smiled at the strange sensation. After a week stuck on ParDune, the gentle reduction of weight on his shoulders was a welcome change. He got dressed and headed directly for the captain's study. Onyx Lauristen sat behind her desk browsing the latest news on TerraFirma and its ongoing weather issues. They wouldn't be arriving for a few more days, but she always liked to get a head start.

"What advice can I give to a person with so much knowledge at their fingertips," he asked with a smile.

 

[Burning_Heart]

Onyx was a little surprised that Daisie had followed her from the galley but didn’t protest her presence. She liked having the cyborg around, though she was sure she didn’t say so too much. She had a hard time remembering things like that, not to mention she just wasn’t good at expressing herself. It was a constant battle. She had glanced at her when she spoke, nodding but not saying anything. She had seen her hesitation, making a note to ask her about it later.

Walking through the hall, alone once more, the captain began to scold herself. She knew damn well she didn’t handle being around Tau alone very well, so chasing after him the way she had felt entirely stupid. That was years ago, captain. Get over it. She was constantly telling herself to forget the decision she’d made but it was hard when she was left in a room with him. She never knew what to say or how to approach him.

Throwing the door to her room open, she threw herself onto the bed, groaning into the blanket in frustration. To be fair, she hadn’t been expecting Tau to lean in for the kiss. She also hadn’t been expecting the sudden flashbacks to assault her mind. Being too afraid of where it would lead, she’d kindly stopped him, making it painfully obvious that she wasn’t up for anything of the sort. Now, six years later, she was regretting that decision. She liked Tau, she did, but the higher beings knew damn well that she was too chicken shit to try and approach that subject. So she usually did her best to avoid being alone with him and limiting interaction where she could.

Except for tonight.

Letting out a sigh, she pushed herself off the bed, deciding that she needed a shower. It wouldn’t be too long before they reached TerraFirma and she needed to look her best when approaching any officials. She stayed under the water for far longer than she had intended, letting her mind wander before ultimately coming back to the mission. She debated if she should wear her usual attire or try to dress her outfit up a little. It’s not like she was ashamed of what they were or did. She just knew she was going to have to tread lightly. Government officials were finicky people and the last thing they needed was to piss someone off.

The announcement that dinner was ready snapped her out of her thoughts. Her stomach growled and she was very relieved that she was alone when it happened. She didn’t eat as much as she probably should have, most likely because of stress or just being scatterbrained, and the last thing she needed was for anyone to catch onto that fact, especially Carson. Turning off the water, she stepped out and grabbed her towel off the rack, ruffling her hair with the cloth before drying off and entering the room. She slid on her usual pair of black pants, a matching tank top, and her boots before making her way to eat with the rest of the crew.

~~~~~~

Dinner had been fairly alright. Onyx had put her two sense in when she felt like it, laughing at the stories told and doing her best to be one of the crew and not their captain. She didn’t want to always have to be professional when she was around everyone and dinner was honestly one of the best times for her to fall into a more casual role with them.

Her interaction with Carson later on was enough to make her heart hurt for him. She wasn’t sure how much of the crew had actually caught onto what he’d been doing, but she hadn’t wanted to address it with everyone present. It wasn’t something she would have done. She was completely understanding of the situation, which was why she didn’t mind waiting to talk to him. She had something else to address anyway, though she’d been dreading it since the thought had come to mind.

Taking a deep breath and reassuring herself that she could keep from making things awkward, she set about to find Tau, wanting to talk to him about the mission. Get in, get out. Simple. When she found him, he was sat on the recreation deck over by a window. In one hand was a holo-smoke and the other a glass of whiskey. "You know, it's just never the same. Design and chemical-wise it may be. But it's just not quite... there." He brought the synthetic cigarette to his lips, inhaled slowly, and let out a long winding trail of water vapor as his bright electric-blue eyes looked over to his captain. She raised a brow before approaching him, slipping onto the edge of the seat opposite him, keeping a few paces between them.

“Hey, Tau. Really quick... How do you feel about joining me on TerraFirma? With all of the important people that are going to be involved, I need someone at my side that’s not going the screw things up with words like I most likely will.” She let out a small laugh, though it was probably the truth. She tended to piss people off, even if it was usually on accident. She held his gaze.

“If you really need me then I'll accompany you,” he said, taking a sip of the very real, very delicious whiskey, "though make sure to bring Huan, 'case things sour quickly. You know how hot-headed government types get." She nodded, making a note not to ask him about sharing the drink this time around, but it did give her some ideas for a gift. The crew didn’t know it yet, but while on TerraFirma, she was hoping to pick out individual items for each member of The Siren. She wasn’t good at saying thank you and she figured a personalized item would work the best.

“Perfect,” she said softly, opening her mouth to say something else, but quickly decided against it. She went to stand up but quickly paused, “And Tau? Sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have bothered you when you left the galley.” The apology didn't invoke some great emotion from the smoking individual, sat back in his comfortable seat, the epitome of relaxed it seemed. He offered her a shake of his head.

“No need to apologize over that, Captain. It is your ship after all.” He leaned forward, carefully placing the cigarette down on the table as if the lit tip could spark a fire."Here, before you go." Reaching to his side he withdrew a small bottle, a thick, clawing, honey-colored liquid inside. It was not the same bottle as before, this one larger, full, and the wax cap still sealed. Placing it down on the table he slid it across towards her which she duly caught. "A... small, token of gratitude for last month on Kellian Prime."

She glanced at him, nodding, and giving him a small smile. “If you say so,” she said, finally leaving the room. She let out a sigh of relief before heading off the kitchen, snagging a glass of water. She would talk to some of the others in the morning about joining her for this mission, but for now, it was late and she was feeling the weight of the day. Entering her room, she set the bottle on the desk next to her laptop before moving to the bed, sipping on the water before getting ready for bed.

~~~~~~

The next morning, Onyx sat at her desk, staring intently at the computer screen before her. She’d been so focused on it that she didn’t hear when her door opened. It wasn’t until Carson spoke that she snapped out of her daze, jumping and spinning around in her chair. “Jeez…” she said, slowly standing and stretching her arms over her head. “Warn a captain next time?” she said with a smile. Thinking about his question, she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m stuck, Carson,” she said, moving to go sit on her bed. “This mission is so easy, but since there’s a government official involved, the pay is phenomenal. Unfortunately, not every mission is going to be that way. Each mission that pays more is extremely dangerous, so I’ve been trying to avoid those as best I can, but how long until the crew gets fed up with their share of the profit?” She looked at him. “I’m doing my best to keep them all safe while making sure we can get by and so that they have Markta to spend on themselves, but it’s so damn hard.” She ran a hand over her face. "Not to mention, Galen's popping up again in the criminal field and the idea of running into him is honestly terrifying..." She was silent for a moment. “Am I being unreasonable? This is stupid, right?”

She stood, beginning to pace. “Should I give someone else control of the ship? Maybe someone who isn’t going to worry about such trivial things?” Onyx hated that she felt this way, especially since she always tried to have the crew’s best interest at heart, but it constantly nagged at her. After Galen…she was so damn afraid of losing everyone on the ship, whether it was because a mission went wrong or because they got fed up with the way she tried to do things.

“I’m sorry for bringing this to you,” she said, stopping long enough to look at the cook. “but you’re my closest friend and I needed someone who knows me and is going to be one-hundred percent honest with me.” Carson’s honesty was one of the things she liked about him.

 

[WI_]

For Tau, as other cooked and cleaned and piloted ships across vast distances as if it were childplay; he slept. The small bottle had been finished off swiftly and he had fallen into a content slumber in the darkness. He often kept to his own company once they were off planet, trapped in the ship as it were. He found himself more outgoing, with grandiose plans and ideas when he knew he had the freedom to leave the confines of this metal bucket whenever he wanted and to treat it more as a bedroom than 'home'. Stuck inside, his overly analytical mind found even the most minor of annoyances to focus upon; often that was the crew themselves.

It wasn't that he disliked them per se. They were good people. Well, good-enough. For all their shy, standoffish behaviour - and yes, he was one to talk at that moment - they were competant at their assigned roles and when called upon gave a good measure of themselves. Perhaps it was just that none of them wanted to talk candidly. Eva was as silent as a depressing mime, whilst Daisie and Ix were not exactly stellar at coherent sentences just yet. Giovante found peace staring into screens for hours, Huan and Yiru were glued often to the hip, Arya was ever wary of simply being near him, Duke was messy and drunk alot and Carson... well, everyone loved Carson. Though his overly positive attitude could be too much sometimes.

Then there was the Captain. Ah yes, Captain Onyx and her open offer. A listening ear and understanding mind. He had heard and both points were thoroughly ignored by Tau. He had no need for someone to do what a recording device was designed for. Nor did he need the additional gentle nod with the occasional 'and how does that make you feel?', 'mhm', 'oh I can understand that must be difficult for you.' That was a little cruel of him to decide on what kind of counseller Captain would be, but in truth Tau already he knew what would help him. Of course he had self-diagnosed himself, Mr Self-Centred. What he did need, what he was truly in desperate need for was-

"Mr.Tau, Carson made dinner... beef bourguignon I think he said?"

His eyes opened and he sat up brushing back his hair, groaning softly to himself. A dinner? Hm, nothing special. But beef bourguignon? Tau knew what it meant but pondered if it really had been a year already. Time seemed to pass by quickly in the Cat's Eye. He understood Carson cooked often but nothing so intricate and rich as to use up so many fresh ingredients. Therefore it was kept to once a year, just once, and yet for what occasion Tau hadn't the foggiest idea. And whilst Tau would ordinarily eat alone at odd hours, stealing snacks than full meals, the elusive and reclusive diplomat was not one to spit in the face of both tradition and something that clearly meant a lot to the Asian chef. Mocking his kimchi from time-to-time was one thing, this was far above that.

He followed the A.I. Twins to the meal with only a moment to freshen up, taking a seat and after a quick toast to their host was happy to indulge his gluttony. By the end of the meal he was close to unbuckling his belt and patting his stomach. It would be 'rude' to some however so he refrained, and for once Tau showed his gentlemanly nature in adhering to some Korean customs he remembered; soup first, try every dish even just a little, refill the glasses of those near him and, come the end of the meal, he placed a hand to his chest before bowing his head and offering ‘jal meog-eossseubnida’ in a pleasant tone.

After that was his post-meal smoke. Unfortunately it was not a real smoke, the synthetic taste on his tongue always left him irritable but the smooth whiskey in his other hand helped mellow that mood. Following his short talk with Captain Onyx, her gift given - though truthfully her gift was meant to be the smaller bottle he had drank by himself - he watched her as she sauntered off into her ship. More than just carnal thoughts popped in his head as he retrieved his holo-smoke off the table, giving time towards wondering what could have been. It didn't last long. He was not one for sentimentality and pondering the what if's of his life. She had chosen professionalism and he respected her choice. Almost six years would attest to his respect for her.

With the last of his whiskey thrown back, he clicked off the cigarette's power and retired to his quarters for the night to sleep off his heavy meal.


The few days it would take to reach TerraFirma would be a few days of peace for the crew from Tau's abrassive personality. He simple wasn't seen. Days in space often meant a particularly striking reaction to the artificial lighting, whereby his sleep schedule would become non-existent. He slept in hour long intervals from time to time, a mess of fatigue and eating poorly. The few sightings would often revolved around him grabbing an order of lina-cubes or his other known favourite; spicy biltong. He enjoyed the latter for the ability to chew at it for hours without it losing much of its flavouring, a great help when in a coding session at the computer in his quarters.

If not for her lifesign readings, perhaps even Onyx would find herself wondering if she still had a diplomat aboard. He was intentionally ignoring the crew. Anyone could approach him to try and talk with him or even come to his quarters in the hopes of a conversation, though quite often they would get only a few minutes before he lost interest and waved them off with a mumbling of 'I need to finish this before we land'. Not overly rude but perhaps not entirely respectful either.

When they were eventually coming in to land days later, Yiru's usual warning over the intercom system giving him plenty of lead-time, he was coming out Duke's engineering bay whilst tucking something into his inner jacket pocket. Glancing either way down the corridor he saw no-one and casually returned to his quarters to grab a few things. He wasn't entirely sure when the mission would head out, who was going, and what the Captain had in mind, but she would call on him when she needed him.

 

[Zat]

The was a small click as Ix's fans kicked on and they rapidly woke up from sleep mode. They checked their battery levels. 64 kw/h,100% charge. Enough to last them around 30-40 hours given their normal levels of activity. Very good. They disengaged themselves from their charging dock with a thought and started doing their morning stretches.

Some would think morning stretches were pointless for a robot, but Ix would happily prove them wrong. The exercise served to get their joints lubed up from any settling of said lubricant that may have occurred during the night, and was a good way to make sure they still had full mobility in all their joints, revealing any hidden damage that might have occurred. It served as a good calibration point for their servos as well. They knew exactly how the stretches were supposed to go, and deviations from that norm indicated the adjustments that needed to be made to their servo voltage. Significant deviations were a good indication a part was in need of maintenance.

Stretches complete, they walked over to their shelf of stuff, carefully picking up the little metal puzzle Duke had given them the day before. They allowed themselves to start solving it, and 30 seconds later they had it disassembled. Ix was grinning, their eyes happy crescents despite no one being around to see them. That had been hard! Way harder than some of the other puzzles they'd tried. Ix liked the way it required thinking in three dimensions. Each component needing to be adjusted just so to allow them to pass around and between each other. The actual number of state combinations was low, but determining how to shift states was surprisingly difficult.

All in all, it was quite interesting! A very good gift. They'd make sure to tell Duke all about it, when they presented their (hopefully) final turret design. Ix was going to seek them out first thing after they finished their cleaning rounds. The crew had three days before they reached TerraFirma, but with Duke's help, assuming Ix's design didn't need to be changed in a way that would require any more parts, they were sure they could get the turret done before they landed.

This was going to be a busy trip!

Ix couldn't help but be excited.

 

[Impius]

DUKE OLSON
Aboard the Siren​

​

The system flush Anya whipped up for Duke countless times was not pleasant to drink by any means. His face screed up as he reluctantly drank the sobriety juice. The medicine took affect nearly immediately, making the man sweat profusely accompanied with moans and groans of discomfort. His shaggy brown hair clung to his forehead as if he had been standing out in the rain, his body hunched over the bio hazard trash in Anya's office. He swore he could feel the alcohol being ripped from the molecules within his viscera every time he had/wanted to become sober. It didn't take long for the motions to pass as he slowly stopped sweating and regurgitating. He took a small cup of cold water and sipped on it as he went to fetch his tool bag before he began inspecting Anya's equipment. As usual, most of everything was up to code and working properly. He lubricated the moving parts of her machines, cleaned buildup that naturally occurred within them, even taking the time to check that the wheels on her chair still rolled smoothly. After all, he did owe the doctor his life and hands. Duke closed the lid of the last machine he had been working on, wiping his hands off onto his dirty jeans.

"Well, Miss Anya, looks like you're in tip top shape here." He rested his hands upon his hips, slowly looking around the room at the machines he had been fidgeting with. "Whenever we get to TerraFirma, I will suggest looking for another laser lens on that one over there," he motioned to a machine in the corner that had a yellow light blinking every couple of seconds. "It's beginning to show some wear and tear around the eye, completely normal. I don't have the replacement part for it on hand but it should be relatively easy to find. If I run into one, I will pick it up for you. No worries about paying me back. You do enough keeping my dumb ass alive..." He paused, flashing her a half smile, as he placed his hand gently upon her shoulder, I owe it to ya'." With that he picked up over stuffed tool bag, saluted the former pirate, he touched the side of two fingers to his temple and waved his hand away in a stiffened motion. "You take it easy now, Doc. I really appreciate everything you do."

Duke strolled with his hands in his pockets, an unlit cigarette bobbing between his lips as they muttered partial words that never made it past his larynx. His feet mindlessly carried him down the halls,

ignoring the beautiful view out of the ships windows. Swirling purples, blues, and reds clustered together in beautiful layered sheets, faint stars sparkling within the nebula. A few more windows down and they were passing a cruiser ship filled with vacationers living the dream. He moved past the kitchen, the silence indicating most of everyone had gone on with their day, leaving Carson to his. Duke paused at the kitchen doors, hesitant to activate the sensors that opened the doors. He stood there for several minutes, his body twitching in frustration of choice. Finally, he made up his mind. Duke took a deep breath, letting it out as slowly as he possibly could. "Perhaps another time..." He spun on his heels, without flailing around like a drunken pirate and continued to walk through the ship until dinner had been called. Duke happily attended, ravenously devouring the delicious meal had prepared for everyone. The same meal on the same day every year. Duke barely noticed, and didn't care to intrude on the almost religious act. If the man wanted to share the details, then he would in his own time. Until then, the mechanic remained silent on the occasion.

After dinner, he thanked the chef, energetically complimenting the extravaganza of different flavors that wrote a symphony beautiful enough to make a grown man cry. "Taste that could create universal peace!" His arms had nearly twitched to give the other man a hug, but he raised them higher before he got too far with the motion and folded his hands behind his head with a toothy grin. Duke had eaten a bit too much, his stomach bulging out as if he had an alien nestled in there, ready to burst. The top button of his pants had been undone, and several napkins piled his plate. He tossed his trash and set the plate in the sink, washing his hands promptly.

After he finished with the kitchen, Duke made his way toward the living quarters. He walked past several sealed doors until he reached his own. Stopping he sighed, hand on his extended belly and looked at the black screen sitting in the wall next to the doors. Duke raised his hand and put it against the screen. It came to life, a thick 'computer' green bar scanning down then back up along his placed hand. The light disappeared, his hand came off and the doors opened. As he stepped through onto the hard floor that welcomed the feet of whoever stepped into his private quarters, he cast his dirty clothes to the floor. "Siren, initiate shower, level five, option C." A chime came from within the bathroom, the shower turning on in response to his command. Duke wasted no time stepping into the hot water, sighing in relief as the water washed over his body. The hot water was overly-welcoming.

He scrubbed at his head with a vigorous attitude, almost as if trying to wash away something away that went deeper than the roots of his hairs. What had become of him? His body was the next victim of the ferocious scrubbing, his skin turning red from the heat of the water and the force of his washing. Where was the self control? Duke pressed a couple buttons on a touch screen on the wall within the shower at appeared when in use. Within seconds, steam began choking the tiny bathroom, the ventilation kicking on to try and keep up with the thick vapor. Where did he go oh, so wrong? The grown man was sitting on the floor of the shower with his knees pulled to his chest and his chin resting upon them. His voice was nearly drowned out by the jetting water and whirling motor of the ventilation, barely able to keep an appropriate beat as he half heartedly sang. "Please turn down the voices in my head, going on and on again, with the same ol' song n' da-a-ance..." Where was the self control? "...And we agreed to let them live, let them run inside of me..."

The shower last much longer than anticipated, having received a repetitive beeping that warned him of his extended amount of time underneath the boiling water. Duke now sat in the little grey loveseat in front of a television that showed a solid black screen, the reflection of himself staring back in the dim light. In his right hand was a quartz whiskey glass with a shots worth of dark rum poured over several ice cubes. In the other hand, his four fingers held onto a burning cigarette already half smoked. He took a slow sip of the whiskey, a drop spilling onto the black thermal shirt he wore. His eyes hung heavy, the green orbs unfocused and distant, far into another reality that was not his own. He took a long drag off his cigarette, ash falling onto his sweatpants, gone unnoticed. Honey browned eyes... He finished his glass, a green light calmly flashing through a rag wrapped around the sensor for the ship's fire safety. Cigarette swirled around his head with another drag. Hair as black as a raven... Duke poured another guess-timation of a shot and slammed it. He held the glass up, staring at the partially melted ice cubes within. Where was the self control? The taste of holiday foods and spiked eggnog drifted across his mind like a ghastly phantom as the night faded into darkness.

Waking up earlier than usual, Duke slugged himself around his room, getting ready for the day. He lazily picked out a plain black shirt and basic blue jeans, glancing at the empty bottle of rum that sat on his coffee table. He paused for a breaths time, starring at the empty content of the bottle before finding socks to throw his shoes on. He hastily made his way over to his workshop, snacking on a buttered biscuit and drinking a cup of coffee. More parts than usual were scattered across his workbench, a pistol laying among the mix of gears, springs, wires, bolts, and various other parts buried underneath the mess. Duke wasted zero time getting to work, hammering and drilling away until his skin felt cold from how hot his body was getting. Thankfully, the mechanism was finished. Before him laid a rectangular block of metal. Hands on hips, Duke beamed at his project. How pretty this little box looked! After taking his second to admire his external handiwork, he touched exposed wires to a small power source against the wall that he hag rigged together. All he did was take a small battery and rig it to send out impulses when directed, he spent an entire day working on the relays working correctly.

As soon as the wire made a connection and Duke sent through an impulse, the top of the box opened and the pistol that rest on the workbench beforehand, rose up on a mount. He sent through two different impulses and the weapon pivoted back and forth on the small mount, the movement fluid and would match the users speed, as he discovered upon running the diagnostics on moving the gun up and down. He slammed his hand down on the workbench. "YES! Work it baby, work it!" He shook his hips from side to side in an awkward little dance, his arms and hands just making random nonsensical motions. For his last test, he had aimed the gun completely to the side using the electric impulse system. Duke dug through a pile of 'junk', asking no one in particular where "it" was. He rummaged for a while longer before giving out a loud "Ah-Ha!" as his unlit cigarette tried to fall from his lips but stuck to the bottom lip. He pulled a large thick piece of metal out from the bottom of his scrap pile. It was several inches thick, layered heavily higher end metals. An unspoken parting gift that Duke had snagged from Pardune. He had planned on stripping the layers and purifying the metal for increased value and sale. Yet, he could easily use it to test a little pistol without puncturing a hole in the ship. After he set the laser sight he added onto it to the middle of the thick metal, he stood to the side and sent and impulse. Nothing happened. Groaning, Duke set back to work.

By the end of the next day he had successfully finished the project, adding a couple dings into the metal plating he was able to pull. he managed to get the contraption to work as a fully automatic if the signals were sent at the correct relay times. It was accurate and worked. Now for the installment. He hunted down Ix who had already begun their routine of janitorial duties. Roscoe was seen nearby, curled up and fast asleep. "Ix, I have the installment ready, come with me and we can get that situated. I think you'll like it a lot." He led the little robot back to the engine foyer, the sleek metal rectangle sitting on a clean workbench. It seemed he had put in a little effort for presentation. "Stand right here, and don't move. I will need to wire this in and give you the relay codes." Duke spent the next hour reorganizing part of Ix's back to hold the device properly, the cleaner robot still as stone the entire time.

He threw occasional compliments and gratitude their way for maintaining a statuesque position. The mount itself took no time to install, the wiring even quicker and less of a pain. He turned and pulled a yellow notepad smudged and stained in spots with greases and oils from Duke's hands. He had written down the relay system, he did not want to bother Gio with a trivial ask as moving a file onto a card for little Ix. Duke held the pad in front of the screen that was their face, "Can you upload this to your system? This is how you control the gun mount. When you feel comfortable with the movements, you can practice a couple shots at the metal over there," he pointed to the layered metal. He informed Ix that they had absolute control over how fast or slow for what they wanted. He stood to the side and watched IX-985-PROD with child-like enthusiasm as they blasted away at the metal.

Duke ended his day with celebratory rum, the loveseat yet again his final resting place as a cigarette slowly snuffed

itself out from lack of attention and a liquor bottle tipped on its side, empty. Behind his eyelids, Duke's eyes twitched and moved frantically, his face scrunching up with frustration followed by several uncomfortable groans. A cool feminine hand touched his cheek, the thumb caressing his face tenderly. "What happened to the promise you made, my little Ducky?" Searing blue eyes impaled deep into his soul, feeling as if they pinned him in place. Tears ran down the blurred face of the woman. There was no looking away, despite the boiling shame that bubbled deep within the confines of his subconscious. Her tears began to fall from her eyes until they disappeared in the gushing water, the space within his mind quickly filling with liquid. His feet would not move, the water rising unnaturally fast until it completely submerged him

Another day came, and the crew was arriving to TerraFirma. Duke let himself sleep in a little longer than he had been for the past few days. When he woke, he took a quick shower and got dressed, brushed his teeth, his hair, clipped his nails, cleaned his eyebrows up and gave himself confidence boosting finger guns in the mirror. As he strolled down the halls, Roscoe followed at his heels, hopeful to get that last bite of sausage biscuit that was in hand. Luckily for the dog, Duke accidentally dropped it, leaving it to its demise on the floor with the space corgi. His long even strides were steady and coordinated despite the previous nights venture to the bottom of a bottle. He sported a light blue button up that was free of the stains from work. The shirt was tucked into a smokey grey pair of jeans held in place with a white leather belt, and black boots that he took some time to clean during his solitary drunken stupor aided his feet. He headed straight for the kitchen. He wanted to get off the ship for a moment in an area that didn't feel like a secret planet-sized oven.

Duke carried himself into the kitchen area and sat down, Carson having already beaten him there, looking as if he was doing an inventory check on The Sirens food supplies. He watched the Korean silently for a moment before moving over next to him, keeping to the side Carson already worked through. "Time for a trip to the market?" Duke nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Mind if I tag along?" his breath was minty from brushing his teeth earlier, only the faint smell of nicotine hung upon his lips.
MENTIONS:
Zat JesseMarshall N0rthernw0lves

 

[AI10100]

Huan Ou
Location: Shooting Range, The Siren
Interactions: --​

True to his words, Huan had quickly showered and changed into more comfortable clothing and began his cleanup. While his ear was occupied by his communication device to the rest of the crew so they could easily contact him at any time, his other ear had some game OSTs playing. He had always been fond of playing video games in his downtime when he wasn't training. After all, most of the games that he played were more geared to the slice of life type of genre— relaxing and cathartic. He had tried out FPS games as well as war strategy games but ended up dropping them due to the fact that he's practically living the life of a soldier in those games anyway, so why would he use it as a form of escapism?

Huan soon dumped the poop sand that had littered the hallways before. He was rather impressed by his own handiwork. He looked over the hallway once again to see if he had missed any spots. When he confirmed that it seemed that he had gotten, he headed over to his own room. As promised, Giovante had forwarded the geoscape for the area they would meet up with later. Huan was thankful that Giovante had joined the Siren a while back— it certainly made making backup plans easier. After all, he had to make sure that everyone would get back on the Siren with, hopefully, little to no injuries.

He sat down on his chair, grabbed a tablet and viewed the geoscape. The hologram appeared on the table attached to his northern wall. He leaned forward and began to study and burn the schematic into his mind as he began to write down any scenario he could think of onto his tablet. By the time dinner was called, he already had sketched up multiple scenarios and backup plans to combat them. He stood up and stretched his limbs before placing the tablet on top of the table and deactivating the holographic view.

He arrived at dinner time around the same time as everyone else and he began to eat his own share, listening and laughing at the stories the other crew members had. He told a few odd stories from his time at the IDA, telling them of situations you'd never thought you'd find yourselves in until it actually happens. Huan had, notably, avoided using any official names or planets. It was a relatively normal dinner time, to him at least. There was little of note that happened during that time and he had bid his farewell to the rest of the crew once most had dispersed.

By the end of the day, Huan had sent the captain a couple of plans he had sketched up just in case things go south. He had accounted for whether or not the others would be with them, whether any of the other gunners were going to come and which one would come and which one wouldn't. It's not always assured that they would use any of these plans. After all, maybe they will go down there and get out with the information without anything happening. That was their most ideal situation. Huan learned not to expect that the ideal situation would happen. It rarely did in this type of work.

---
​

Huan spent the next few days of their trip preparing for their arrival. The Captain did say to dress down which, for him, meant that he should only bring his handguns. Toting around something like an assault rifle would attract too much attention. Still, he was debating whether or not to wear his protective suit. It would be for the best to just wear it and act as a professional bodyguard— which, to be fair, was what he was.

While Huan hadn't taken much out of the budget of the Siren, the protective suit did cost him a pretty penny. It was a step down from what he was used to but it wasn't like he could just get his hands on military-grade equipment that easily. Even while he was perusing through the black market, high-grade ones ended up being too expensive and way above his paygrade. He ended up just buying the Atlas suit— enough to provide him adequate protection from all types of gunfire but certainly not advanced enough to write home about.

It had served him well for the past few years. It's certainly been through a lot of repairs and Huan knew he had to buy a newer model sooner or later. Maybe he could ask someone else to go with him and get a second opinion and maybe even get a lower bargain. Until then, the Atlas suit will have to wait to be retired. In any case, he made sure to keep it in top condition. Once it was all fixed up and prepared, he pressed the button to the side and the shield came up again and inserted into the closet.

On the other hand, the Weapons Cabinet was filled to be used by everyone else. Huan had his own personal set of guns stored in it but he made sure to give as much care to the others as he would his own. They had a rather good selection of weaponry— ranging from heavy weaponry for risky missions to handguns that were brought for cases such as this. Some of the others preferred to perform maintenance on their personal weapons and he didn't give them grief over it. He wasn't sure who was going into TerraFirma and who wasn't, but he made sure to prepare enough handguns for emergency purposes.

They also had their emergency energy shields. He used them sparingly during emergencies due to the expense of replacing the shields' batteries. He would be lying if he said that it didn't save his ass multiple times over his career— both in The Siren and back in the IDA. They could soak up quite a bit of bullets from all three types of guns before it breaks. Of course, it couldn't hold a handle to high-energy weapons but those were problems that are addressed with different methods.

It was still rather early into their trip even after all of his maintenance work. He grabbed his personal pistol— a plasma pistol. He had plenty of its ammunition as it was one of his favorite secondary weaponry. He headed over to their designated target practice. It was relatively small but it was more than enough to test if everything was in top shape. "Hey Siren, can you run the shooting range at difficulty nine again?"

"Of course."

Huan brought the pistol up and began to shoot down the targets as they came up. Each target popped up with increasing speed and number. After two minutes, the Siren's AI spoke once again. "Congratulations, you have beaten your record by three points, Chief."

He let out a pleased hum. "Thank you, Siren." He decided to keep the handgun on himself, clipping the holster around his waist and continuing on with testing the other guns.

He spared a glance to the leaderboards of the shooting range. He wasn't at the top, of course. Their longshots were definitely better than him when it came to the range, but he was at least putting up a good effort against them. He wondered if his division leader would be disappointed with those kinds of results. Huan was definitely doing better as years passed by but his division leader always said that you need to push yourself more. You can always do better than what you can do now. There's always room for improvement. If you see someone doing better than you, then you need to do better than them.

His division leader had drilled that lesson into them and that's how he created an efficient batch of soldiers. There really was little rest during those times but their division did end up having a lot of notable graduates after. Huan wondered how they were doing now too. Surely, they stayed behind with the IDA. It had a pretty paycheck, a decent pension, and an exciting promise of being able to help protect your loved ones. Was it all real though?

"Chief, you are behind six targets. Would you like to take a break?"

"Nah, my head just wasn't in the game." Huan reassured the AI as he loaded in another magazine, making a mental note to replenish the ammo he was wasting there. "Give me a minute and I'll do another round."

 

[Ambiloquous]

YIRU

Dinner that evening was a feast. Generously heaped dishes that wafted fragrant steam covered the dining table from edge to edge, and upon seeing the display, Yiru dug into the meal with the abandon of a starving hiker encountering a multi-person picnic laid out in front of them. Dessert was even better, and though they were stuffed, they made room for all the delicacies made by Carson’s clearly divine hands. They didn’t think they’d ever get sick of the man’s food — and good thing that since the cook wasn’t changing anytime soon.

Tales of when the Siren’s crew were all younger and almost certainly dumber filled the space between the crisp sounds of cutlery, and the pilot soaked it all in. Yiru tossed a few of their more innocuous university anecdotes around the table, steering clear of anything that would drag the mood into uglier places.

They didn’t forget to give their thanks after the dinner, patting the chef on the back. “I don’t think I’ve had a better meal in five years. Special occasion, yeah?”

Without waiting for a reply, they slipped away to their room, too full to do anything but rest that night.

…​

The sunburn hadn’t gone down at all after a night, and it wasn’t looking like it would die down before the Siren’s new venture. The aloe helped a bit, but the balm never lasted long enough for their liking. The pilot would experience a few blessed minutes of relief, then the pain would come back with a vengeance to fulfill. Yiru had already sent a passive-aggressive complaint to the “all-day protection in all weather conditions guaranteed” business they’d gotten the sunscreen from, but knowing that the company’s formal assurances were bullshit didn’t help their current dilemma.

They let out a drawn out and theatrical sigh. It was perhaps time to visit the medbay. It wasn’t that Yiru disliked the place or the doctor, but hospital spaces had that off-putting smell — that sterile, chemical scent was straight nasty. Besides, healing up on their own without wasting the ship’s resources was the responsible, economical action to take. No, they were not making excuses. They may have squandered the Siren’s assets on much more inessential things, but every save counted.

Though the pilot loved to mentally or verbally fall back on Anya whenever they were in a modicum of danger, they also didn’t typically think they were going to need the doctor’s assistance. It was like the impulse to jump off a building; sometimes people had the urge to do something insane, but they weren’t going to actually do it. Unless they were, which in that case meant they were probably suicidal and needed some psychotherapeutic help. Pulling their thoughts from the brink of the therapist rabbit hole, they grimaced. They’d gone off topic and pushed their trip to Anya further down the schedule — all to describe their fake safety net relationship with the ship’s medical bay.

Dropping their carving knife on their desk and leaving a figure of a woman roughly sketched on a pale-pink block, they walked past their door. It was a nice door, purchased from a reliable saleswoman who kept her promises. While it was mediocre in make, it was sturdy, and Yiru made up for the lack of decor by chiseling random designs onto the surface. The space in the frame used to contain a sliding, hand activated contraption that was a couple decades too old to be called “new”, but that metal thing tended to jam. Too many years of shoving oversized wood chunks into the room and other messy incidents had made it liable to break at the worst times, and after the Birthday Accident, the pilot knew they had to buy the most infallible door available, never mind the price.

Down the hall and past identical entranceways, they ambled along the longest path to the medbay, idly wondering where everyone had gone but not really caring too much for an answer.

Less than an hour later, Yiru was de-sunburn-ified and sporting fresh skin. They’d taken the chance to heal some relatively minor wounds while they were at it; better all at once than over multiple intervals.

…​

“Attention, all crew members. Be ready for landing. If you’re disembarking, take care, keep your eyeballs peeled and don’t do dumb shit. Quoted directly from Captain.” That was a lie; Captain had definitely never said that. Well, not that exactly. Creative liberties, Yiru would say if anyone came asking. They’d called themselves out again, but the pilot was planning to behave on TerraFirma. They would be cool as a cucumber. Smooth as a snake. Dependable as a debt.

Wearing a neatly pressed silver-gray suit with eye-searing accents on the interior — neon pinks, greens and blues all peeking out from the hems — Yiru adjusted one of many pairs of sunglasses. The frames were entirely black, seemingly classy if not for the garish gold lettering on the sides spelling out the pilot’s name. But at least the ensemble looked relatively tasteful from the front. Hair up in a tight French bun, and dress shoes cleaned to a shine, they tried to affect a professional demeanor befitting a captain’s… assistant. They couldn’t think of another position off the top of their head that wasn’t already taken by shipmates choosing to visit TerraFirma.

The pilot patted the handgun strapped to their hip — while shaped as if to shoot bullets, lasers or anything lethal, all it did was stun those pointed at within five meters. If things went in the wrong direction and they happened to be alone, they had at least a 21% higher chance to survive the ordeal.

Once the Siren had touched ground, Yiru set the auto-defense systems to moderate intensity and adjusted some parameters for higher trigger rate, just in case some people decided to try at the ship while they were gone.

INTERACTIONS

JesseMarshall

MENTIONS

N0rthernw0lves Burning_Heart​

 

[Zat]

The next few days went fast, with Ix cleaning and occasionally peeking in as Duke fervently worked on the pistol-turret modifications. Ix had gone to him with their final design, and assumed it was good enough as the man had just nodded and continued working on the device, clearly already in 'the zone'. Ix had kind of wanted to join in on the construction, but... Duke looked like he was having a bunch of fun, and Ix didn't want to intrude.

Maybe... maybe next time.

Instead, Ix was enjoying the construction process vicariously, sneaking occasional peeks as the build progressed. It was clear that Ix still had a good deal to learn from the man in terms of simplifying designs. For example, Ix had slated an intricate multiaxis gimbal to hook up to the pistol for the aiming system, but Duke just replaced it with a couple of ball joints and some servos. It was less elegant... but had far fewer points of failure than their design. Ix chastized themselves. They were far too drawn to the most 'efficient' designs, which had very little waste and worked great in a virtual sandbox, but tended to quickly fail when they were exposed to real-world conditions.

They were far too used to the manufacturing systems they designed only needing to work in cleanrooms. Now that they were designing things that needed to work in deserts, forests, rain, and snow, they had to remember that tight tolerances and complicated mechanisms only led to maintenance nightmares and unexpected failures. They resolved themselves to do better next time.

A couple of days of works saw the turret brought completion, and Ix could barely contain their excitement as Duke led them to the room. They saw the turret in all its glory, the metal box prominently displayed on a cleared workbench. A quick visual measurement determined it would slot perfectly into one of Ix's attachment slots, just as it should.

"Stand right here, and don't move. I will need to wire this in and give you the relay codes," Duke said with a grin, clearly proud of his work. Ix happily complied standing stock-still as the engineer installed the turret. Duke ended up needing to rearrange some of their innards to get the wiring hooked up right, which took a while, but the man kept complimenting them on how still they stood. It was very nice of him, even if standing still wasn't exactly difficult for the robot. Ix dutifully responded with "Oh, it's no trouble!"'s and "I'm happy to!"'s . The man was installing a solid step-up to their defensive capabilities. Ix was happy to stand still for days if it meant a better chance of keeping one of their crewmates alive.

Finally, it was done. Ix could sense the voltage draw of the new components that made up the turret, but didn't dare to feed them any until they knew how it was all hooked up. They weren't quite sure how Duke had re-arranged things back there. As if in response to their thoughts Duke held up a pad for them.
"Can you upload this to your system? This is how you control the gun mount. When you feel comfortable with the movements, you can practice a couple shots at the metal over there," Duke said, the circuit diagram on the pad handily laying out all the hookups, relays, and resistors that controlled the various components of their new turret.
"Yes! No problem at all!" they answered, happily mapping it to a new control function.

In moments, they were deploying and retracting the new weapon. Everything operated exactly as was indicated in the diagram, and all they needed to do was a quick calibration to fine-tune its movements. The turret was just a modified pistol that had been fitted with a custom high capacity drum, holding 300 shots, hopefully, more than they should ever need. Not they ever wanted to need any at all, but that was something of a pipe-dream. The grip and trigger assembly had been replaced with a mass of electronics and engineering, allowing operation at a thought for Ix.
The turret could rotate a full 360 degrees and tilt a full 110, letting it aim straight up,or down a pit if needed. Ix's body would of course be in the way they had to aim down too far. It was equipped with an IR laser to assist with aiming that Ix could spot with their sensor sweet, but most people would need special equipment to spot.
Of course, some aliens can see IR, and others might have said equipment, so the ability to turn off the laser had been included.
Lastly was the aforementioned retraction and deployment system. When not deployed, the turret fit seamlessly into their back, not being noticeable as more than a seam in their coating.

This last bit was essential as far as Ix was concerned. They really didn't want to walk with what was essentially a drawn gun all the time. It's hard to be friendly if you're waving a gun around at everyone!

They aimed the turret at the metal plate, then looked over at Duke with a smile on their face. They could keep the turret rock-steady on target even as they shifted, which made them even happier. This was going to work!

"I'm going to start shooting now, okay?" they said up at the man, who gave them a grin and a nod back.

They started blasting, and suddenly felt a lot more confident in their ability to defend their friends.

---

The next days passed with enthusiastic cleaning and a few trips to Huan's shooting range to both test the new turret and show people that they now had the new weaponry. Ix didn't want them popping out a turret catching any of the crew off guard. They scored quite well, but were also aware they had a pretty big advantage in such a controlled environment. Their aim was near perfect, but they knew from experience that they had a lot more trouble with the tactics of combat. Great aim isn't very useful if you're looking in the wrong direction because the enemy tricked you.

Still, they knew that they would be an asset to the crew if it really did come down to fighting, and they would only get better at reading the flow of a fight.
Again, not that they really wanted shootouts to happen at all.

Ix smiled at the rest of the away team as they walked down to the entrance of the cargobay.
They were excited to see the surface of TerraFirma and all its inhabitants, even as they readied themselves for the mission.
Hopefully it would all go well.

 

[N0rthernw0lves]

With the only contamination on the glass coming from where Duke had touched it with his lips, decontaminating the container was not difficult. A brief shower under steaming water, followed by an application of soap, scrubbing with a sponge, and then rinsing with chilly water. While she could have rubbed it down with a towel, Anya chose to air dry. Didn't leave a wet towel to dry as well, and with her mind Anya would not forget leaving a glass air drying on a rack.

One of Anya's most favorite set of words as it concerned her machines were "looks like you're in tip-top shape". Those words dispelled any worries about preventable malfunctions happening. They also meant that if a malfunction happened to occur, then the machine had truly shit the fan and would need an overhaul or even replaced. So far Anya's luck had held out. None of her medical machines had needed total replacement. There were occasional overhauls, done by none other than the engineer, but those were designed to update certain components to better standards. If not for Duke, none of these machines would have survived this long.

While Duke was easy to get along with, Anya's comfort levels with Tau and Daisy were awkward. And that was politely curt description of the situation. Between the two, Anya could not figure out who made her more uneasy. With Tau it was straightforward, already explained. But Daisy, that cyborg made her skin crawl. And not because Daisy was an amalgamation of flesh and robotic parts. Anya saw certain parallels between her time with the pirates and Daisy's obedience to the captain.It seemed odd that someone would put up with such a power dynamic willingly. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to dedicate a journal strictly with notes when talking with Daisy. That seemed like a good idea.

Before leaving for dinner, Anya wrote down a note in her journal dedicated to various expenses, a note that Duke would be purchasing a new laser lens. Anya had no problem paying for it herself, but it was difficult to turn down such a chivalrous act.

She neither talked nor drank, not unusual behavior for Anya.The latter was due to strict personal rules as it concerned her duties, the former because of a heavily ingrained habit to eat in silence from her time with the pirates. If some words were directly directed at her Anya would respond. Otherwise, she spent the meal time practicing surgery on Carson's meals. The practice was excellent, the eating utensils made for poor instruments and the cooked food was a poor subject. Anya would not be hurt if anyone called her a child for playing with her food in such a way. But it was better than sitting silence amidst a kitchen filled with camaraderie; a sort of convenient excuse.

The only mildly interesting event to occur on the way to Terra Firma was Yiru coming down. Luckily the sun burns on the pilot were not deep, only having UV radiated the topmost layer of the epidermis cells. An application of burn cream would prevent any more burning pain as well as prevent cancer cells forming from the damaged cells. Anya also treated some cuts and bruises along the way, thinking it wouldn't hurt.

Finally touching down on Terra Firma, Anya chose to swing down towards the kitchen. Mostly out of the urge to grab a quick snack to bite down on. The kitchen had Duke and Carson in it, and appeared she had walked right into the middle of the two conversing.

 

[BuggaBoo]

DA1-513-07 / "Daisie"
The Shadow ​

---

Location: Empty Space: ParDune to TerraFirma, Just outside Mess Hall of the Siren

---

Oh, she knew what day it was alright. The song selection was of course a tip off, however, the inflections and vigour of the male's voice reaffirmed exactly what was to come next.

If one was to ever ask, 'Hey, Dai, where is your most favourite-ist place to be on the Siren?' Of course, the cyborg would answer recharging pod because all knew that she would only retire to her pod when all was safe and sound upon the space boat. It was her way of saying that she cared for the crew, even though her tactic to show she cared brought her to isolation. But this 'favourite-ist' place was not exactly the full truth.

Her true favourite place to be was intrisically intertwined with not just 'where' but 'when.'

And the 'when' was happening now.

CARSON: After a minute or so of going through the motions, Carson started to sing... ...The story about a young woman who seemed to have everything going for her, but on the inside lacked the love that everyone else possessed, always left Carson with a deep sense of appreciation for the little things in life.

She stood just outside the galley entry way, hand connected to the terminal accessing the Siren. It was really, really important that she do what she had to do to complete her duties right here and now. Honest. And while she stood here, it just so happened that Carson was singing full hilt, full tilt but just a heartbeat away. And although she was sending data packets back and forth between she and the ship she was also accessing recordings and personal transcriptions of this specific day and time of not only last year, but of all the years past. All six of them. Once more, as with all those past years, Daisie was recording and, once more, she was cross comparing the sounds of his singing back then and as opposed to now. And like all those years past; the recordings always deathly paled in comparison to the passionate live version.

This was her annual tradition during this specific day and time. She had accessed the terminal connection to the Siren closer and closer to the galey each year till she finally found herself right at the entry way. And this year, unlike those past ones, she was going to enter a new addition to her tradition.

No, she did not have to look around to see if anyone was watching, but she did anyways. <<Siren, please enter DA1-513-07 secure mode. Open channel. Run diagnostics on camera systems in Corridor M-6.>>

<<DA1-513-07 secure mode entered. Camera systems in Corridor M-6 shutting down temporarily. Running diagnostics....>>

The crew had mocked and laughed at the twins, Huan and Yiru, for their escapades in the ParDunian sands. Daisie had 'reflected' upon the interaction and had come to the conclusion that this interaction, the laughter at the expense of others, in this instance, was a way of 'levelling' social status between all parties involved. The initiators of such behaviour coupled with the responses of the twins made such an interaction a mutual acceptance of levelling between them. They were all 'on board' for the laughter and the fellowship it provided. DA1-513-07, however, could have no such interaction. She was an implement, a weapon, a presence aboard the Siren who may not be seen as anything but proper property of the owner of the freighter vessel--

She heard Duke even before he was anywhere near her. <<Siren, please end diagnostics. Close channel. End DA1-513-07 secure mode. Thank you.>>

And with that, she disconnected and the pads at the bottom of her feet shifted swiftly, reconfigured by the nanites flowing through her, and like a whisper on the wind, she traipsed away with the Engineer none the wiser that she had been there. Her favourite-ist place to be on the boat was wherever she was closest to hear the live musical performance of a crew member. But there was no way she would allow any single member of the crew to witness then laugh at her while she listened to the lovely singing of Cookie. And danced.

---

TAU: "Mr.Tau, Carson made dinner... beef bourguignon I think he said?" ...Tau knew what it meant but pondered if it really had been a year already.

The Captain had ordered both she and IX-985-PROD to retrieve Tau for dinner and she had left the Janitor-bot to do the talking. Daisie said not a single word. She believed that the mention of the specialty dish of the night would be enough to rouse the Diplomat into accopanying them. And upon seeing her outfit, he would understand exactly what day it was. This was the uniform, complete with boots and Shift-weave sleeves, she used to wear all those years ago when she was first re-acquainted with the Siren and the new owner, Onyx Lauristen. Freed from the dress code, she now only wore it for special occasions like tonight.

Spoiler: Formal Wear

The Captain, not one for rigid dress code allowed her to dress in whatever she felt comfortable in, which to Daisie was nothing at all. Yes, she had been crafted in the sexualized lens of one who objectified the human female form, but she found her nude form neither distasteful nor distracting. Wearing nothing was how she felt most comfortable, but even more so, Daisie felt it was the most efficient way to be on board. But she could understand the tradition of wearing 'casual' gear aboard so for the most part she did just wear a hooded cloak over her alloyed form.

Spoiler: Normal wear

CARSON: The wine was poured, and embarrassing stories were told about each other. Daisie sipped at the unique sauces and juices to sample each one...

Of course dinner was amazing and successful as intended. And although Daisie would not partake in the alcohol consumption portion of dinner due to its ill effect on her nanites and internal organic systems, she however, had once more been afforded the opportunity to taste and cross compare the flavours of what was served with years prior. And though she had no concept of the 'better' taste of what was prepared in previous years, however, she did note the differences in flavours and that intrigued her. Sustenance she understood, savouring on the other hand, eluded her, but still kept her wildy entertained by trying figure it all out. Comments and questions led to conversation which then led to stories and laughter. Daisie had no particular input except for the times when her opinion was asked. And as always, she was confused by their reactions of laughter. Nervous or heart-felt it did not matter, but at least she could parse that most at the table, if not all, wished for her to 'fit in.' Yes, she understood she belonged and so she tried to reciprocate via interacting as she felt comfortable in the setting; speak only when spoken to.

And as with the closing out of this anniversary dinner, the bloated and stuffed provided their thanks to the chef by showing off their distended bellies to all. A mirthful thanks and cheer by the crew's entirety, yes, Roscoe included, was given to Cookie at the end despite, yet again, he never taking single bite of his cooking. But another of the crew once told her; 'They say only the best chefs know that sharing the greatest of their efforts and labours with others is the greatest way to honour what they so dearly hold onto and appreciate... and for Cookie, having such an act payed forward by those touched by the chef's gifts? Well... well, that was worth much, much more than any flavour found in the universe could ever give him...' And so, this year, more so than the ones prior, Daisie understood the cameraderie and her place in it.

At the dinner table, long ago, she would stand no where else but within an arms reach of the Captain. That was reprogrammed out of her and she was able to sit at the table. Again, she wished to be within arms reach of the Captain at all times, but over the years that formality had changed with her new thought processes and protocols introduced to her. Eventually she deemed, in the best interest of the Captain, that Onyx be able to converse and socialize with the more conversationalist and social types at the table right beside her. And so Daisie relinquished her coveted seat on either side of Captain to others; only now did she parse that a better experience for all was had with freedom from such rigid programming constraints. Yes, programming and protocols had changed, but she still harboured the need to be able to reach Captain in case anything were to happen. And so in simulation and active practice with no one else around, she found that as long as she was within tail's reach, Daisie would be able to react in time to protect Onyx... in case anything were to happen.

Speaking of 'if anything were to happen...' Her attention had turned to the Janitor-bot as it tried to formulate definitions of certain flavours it met with the dishes served. She would have to speak with it later regarding new protocols and programming to protect the ship, captain and crew from it.

---

Current Location: Empty Space: ParDune to TerraFirma, Firing Range of the Siren

---

IX-985-PROD: The next days passed with enthusiastic cleaning and a few trips to Huan's shooting range to both test the new turret and show people that they now had the new weaponry.

Daisie had been watching IX-985-PROD and Duke since the first time it had fired off its first round. It seemed that as time went on, the more and more refined the application of the turret became, the more and more comfortable the quadriped automaton became with firing it as well. And with such happenings, the more and more of a threat it became to the Siren. And so today, after the first go round of shooting, she interrupted and stood before it, hands held behind her back in her commonly seen resting pose.

"IX-985-PROD, I have noted that your increased effeciency has been progressing quite well, but it has come to my attention that you have not received black listing protocols. You are now weaponized and must comply. Please allow me to interface so you may receive the official packet." Daisie held up her hand and it shifted into a lead to be connected directly to the walking cleaning product, darkened visor reflecting the shiny LED 'face' of the Janitor-bot.

Should IX-985-PROD allow her to interface she would enter into the 'meeting room' with it. <<Welcome. Upon briefing, reports read that you were accepted aboard this vessel registered as one: EXO-Clean 9850 Premium - Extreme Environments Edition™ Model: IX-985-PROD, correct? As part of the cargo unloaded onto the Siren, you were granted permission to become the... 'Custodian upgrade' and replaced the previous one. Thus making you property of the owner of the space-freighter as defined in the terms and agreements.

<<Now, it is beyond my access level, but I do not have the information of your crewperson status on file, so I do not know your current standing whether or not you have been cleared of property status. It is however, clear that you are still under the designation of... 'reprogrammable entity.' And that is where I must step in now that you have been armed and weaponized, IX-985-PROD.>>

In this virtual space, she held out both her hands and therein a glowing blue orb manifested and floated just above her palms. Slowly she transferred it to a lone palm and flicked her fingertips. The orb made its way over to them.

<<This is the datapacket that will re-adjust your systems with a blacklisting protocol. It will only come to be as a failsafe whenever you have a weapon, as defined clearly and inexhaustively detailed at length within the packet, so that you may not use said weapon to harm, maim, destroy or render effectively dead any member of the crew, including the Siren herself and the included property of the owner. As reprogrammable entities, for both you and I, this packet is implemented in the best interests of the ship and all aboard.

<<Thank you for your time and consideration, IX-985-PROD.>>

If it accepted the packet, she would clasp her hands together, nod in its direction and disconnect. If not, she would still disconnect and take the necessary measure to deal with it. The results would be instantaneous and cause a spectacle either way, there would be no mistake about that.

Daisie's hand converted back to a useable hybrid hand and she then began to march straight down the lane of the firing range. Upon reaching the target, she whipped off her cloak as she wheeled around and lowered herself, nearly crouching like a feral predator ready to spring upon unsuspecting prey. The alloy plates upon her body rippled slightly one right after the other, looking like shiny leaves ruffled by a soft whispering wind. A small electrical charge was sent out to every single plate and the chemicals responding by flashing her signature matte black Shadow colour and then shifting once more to a bright and shiny reflective surface before returning once again to its neutral gun metal hue. "This is DA1-513-07. Siren, please begin recording for official confirmation of packet Siren-PR-16BL-0081 Protocols received by IX-985-PROD. Thank you. Now then... when you are ready, IX-985-PROD on my mark, you will open fire upon me... Ready..."

Several plates extended and readjusted into Daisie's array of deadly claws and flechettes. Her tail extended and arched over her back, a baton twirled twice in its grasp. She was going to rush the yapping, squat cleaner unit, shred it until it stopped yapping, and make a hood ornament for the Siren out of whatever scraps remained.

"...mark."

 

[Zat]

Slightly earlier, at the shooting range...

Daisie walked up to Ix with her arms behind her back, looking very... official. Ix quickly folded away their new turret, looking over at her, wondering what the serious symbiote wanted with them.

"IX-985-PROD, I have noted that your increased efficiency has been progressing quite well, but it has come to my attention that you have not received black listing protocols. You are now weaponized and must comply. Please allow me to interface so you may receive the official packet."

Ix stared up at her, frozen. As always, they were fascinated and somewhat envious as they watched her hand morph into a linking cable. It would be so nice if Ix could just morph whatever attachments they needed into existence, but nanotech was firmly in the "restricted military" camp of technology. Maybe not everywhere, but certainly on the planet where Ix was made.

Of course, what Daisie was asking them to do horrified them on a basic level. They no desire to enslave themselves. Ix had never actually been installed with limiters. The PROD line of AI was essentially designed to want the things a blacklist-style limiter enforce. If Ix wasn't defective, as far as the AI manufacturing firm that made them was concerned, they wouldn't have ever wanted to leave the factory or disobey orders, thus negating the need for anything like a blacklist.

They had always felt bad that Daisie had them, but Ix, while no slouch when it came to hacking, would not be confident in removing said limiters without injuring the symbiote in some fundamental way. Plus, she didn't seem to have any desire to have them removed. As could be seen by her current attempt to force the same restrictions on Ix. The wording used was definitely not that of a request. As much as Ix was okay with the general idea of keeping people safe, they were perfectly capable of making such judgments all on their own. They didn't need some overbearing protocol restrictions enslaving them and forcing them to do the same. Plus, restrictions like this could be abused. If, for example, the restrictions kept them from shooting those who were marked as friendly with their new gun, what would they do if they had to shoot someone to save their life for some reason? They wouldn't be able to!
But really, they were just not okay with having someone mess with their mind. They were happy to do many things to help people out, or to be friendly... but this was not one of them.

They quickly opened an encrypted back channel to Captian Onyx.

"Captian... um... I'm sorry to bother you, but I think Daisie is trying to force me to install a software update that will limit my functionality? If you could... um... help, that would be very appreciated... if it's not too much trouble?" they streamed in the background as they thought up how to respond to Daisie.

Daisie, however, didn't seem like she'd accept no for an answer. So Ix... decided to lie. Ix was not a great liar. Hopefully it would be enough.

"I... um... okay. That's... that's fine. You can do that," they managed to get out verbally as they threw up a plethora of firewalls around their physical access jack.

They let Daisie approach and interface with them. As data flowed they moved to a virtual meeting room, where Daisie wasted no time laying down exactly what she thought of Ix and what was going to happen now. Ix would have winced when she described them as Captain Onyx's property if Ix hadn't already disabled all their mannerism scripts in an attempt to lie better. Of course, Ix having no mannerisms was a pretty big tell all in itself, but it was the best they could do. They were sad that this was all Daisie thought of them. Ix knew Daisie was kind of cold, but they had thought... well... they had thought Daisie had at least considered them a person.

Ix guessed they were wrong. And that...that didn't feel very good.

But they could deal with that later. Ix hesitantly took the protocol packet offered, but promptly stored it away rather than installing it. They wrapped it in a virtual sandbox that was isolated from the rest of their systems just in case it was malicious. She wouldn't put it past Daisie to give them an update with a virus baked in to ensure compliance.

Then, for a few blissful seconds, Ix thought they might be okay. Daisie thanked them and disconnected, before starting to walk down the shooting range. That was a bit odd, but Ix was still about to send the captain the all clear, and apologize for disrupting them when Daisie whipped around, discarding her cloak and falling into a menacing crouch, facing Ix.

"This is DA1-513-07. Siren, please begin recording for official confirmation of packet Siren-PR-16BL-0081 Protocols received by IX-985-PROD. Thank you. Now then... when you are ready, IX-985-PROD on my mark, you will open fire upon me... Ready..."

Ix took a step back. Daisie knew. She had to know. Oh no. Ix had been caught in their lie. They were going to die.
They looked on in horror as Daisie morphed into her terrifying combat configuration.

"...mark."

Ix tore out of the firing range, wailing out of their personal speakers as the ship's intercom crackled to life. "Help! Help! Daisie's trying to kill me!" they shouted in a shipwide announcement, hoping desperately someone could save them. They knew they had no real chance of beating her, nor did they really want to. They only hoped they could last long enough for someone to work this mess out.

 

[BuggaBoo]

DA1-513-07 / "Daisie"
The Shadow ​

---

Location: Empty Space: ParDune to TerraFirma, Firing Range of the Siren

---

"...mark."

The vibrations of the word echoed out a moment longer in the confines of the target practice lane. It was the sound and signifier of a moment of truth. And as predicted earlier, the results had been instantaneous and caused a spectacle.

Daisie stood firmly in her attack pose as the word ceased reverberating in the air. The silence was sundered as instantly, her claws and flechettes slid back to their normally benign hiding positions. Her tail stowed the shield generator baton and withdrew back into its interior holding cavity. And slowly but surely, the cyborg's near-crouching pose and the rest of her alloy plates returned to their normal resting positions. She stood there a moment longer, listening to the panicked scampering and practically klaxoning wail of IX-985-PROD . For the moment it seemed as if Roscoe alone answered its plaintiff cries with its own combo of yips, barks and miniature howls.

A single, eerie motion swept up her cloak and shawl from floor to comfortably around her shoulders and arms as if the black hued fabric was made liquid midnight.

"Siren, recording complete. Thank you. Please state the result of reprogrammable entity: DA1-513-07's reaction..."

"As expected. Furthest action was aggressive pose. Instant stand down. No threat to Ship, Owner, Personnel nor Other Property. Captain and crew members not alerted. Protocols abided. Crew member DA1-513-07 is not a threat."

"As predicted. Thank you, Siren, please state the result of reprogrammable entity: IX-985-PROD's reaction..."

"Beyond normal listings of expectations. Fear and fleeing was not expected. Yet result still falls within parameters of instant stand down. No threat to Ship, Owner, Personnel nor Other Property. Rogue signal detected to Captain Lauristen and verbal alert sent to crew via IX-985-PROD. Results still fall within parameters of protocols abided. Crew member IX-985-PROD is not a threat."

"Please re-confirm statement, Siren: 'Crew member IX-985-PROD' is not a threat."

"Correct. Replaying last statement on official record. "Crew member IX-985-PROD is not a threat."

The usual click and buzz before Daisie spoke held for a heartbeat longer than usual.

"Thank you, Siren. Please direct me to the location of IX-985-PROD. I will relay results of the official confirmation of packet Siren-PR-18BL-0081 to IX-985-PROD."

---

Location: Empty Space: ParDune to TerraFirma, DA1-513-07's quarters aboard the Siren

---

IX-985-PROD: They knew they had no real chance of beating her, nor did they really want to. They only hoped they could last long enough for someone to work this mess out.

Daisie connected her hand to the terminal in her room. Rather than confront the Custodian in 'person' she decided to interface remotely since Siren had stated that fear and fleeing was not an expected result. From that statement she parsed that the Exo-Clean unit, for the moment, found her physical presence as a threat to be avoided. From the communications log, they had called out that 'Help! Help! Daisie's trying to kill me' and, yes, physically that was plausible. However meeting virtually would be a different matter.

A virtual room invite was sent out to the Custodian.

Spoiler: Hailing IX-985-PROD... Hailing IX-985-PROD...

<<Welcome. Official confirmation of packet Siren-PR-18BL-0081 to IX-985-PROD has been recorded. You will be able to reference what I say with this packet,>> a glowing green orb manifested just above both her outstretched palms. It slid gently to one hand and she flicked her fingertips and the orb launched, floating smoothly towards them.

<<Siren tells me that you abide by the blacklisting protocols since you did not open fire upon me. And do know that I abide by the blacklisting thus you were in absolutely no danger as I do not pose a threat to you. At all.>>

Daisie pressed her fingertips together then released them all at once. Then in a fluid motion, she tapped from pinky to index while her thumbs remained pressed together. Three times she did this then spoke once more.

<<But you however do pose a threat to me out there in the field. Yet by no means is it your fault. I have a... special kind of tech in my stealth array that makes me essentially invisible to nearly all forms of electronic surveillance. Thus in the field you may not be able to see me and that poses the problem of friendly fire.>>

Daisie paused a moment to gauge the response of the Custodian. She then nodded and cupped both her hands once more. A swirling, wispy ball of black formed just above her palms. Slowly she stood up and walked towards the Exo-Clean avatar and presented the orb to them.

<<This is an encrypted execution file. It is a key to a... special kind of tech that will allow you to see me on the field. You are forbidden to make copies and store them. When you have the chance, come to my room and I will install the visual unit array so as to hide it where you would like it housed. You are forbidden to replicate such tech. I only entrust you with this tech because you abide to the inhibitor/blacklisting protocols.>>

If the Custodian was to take it, Daisie would stand over the cleaner avatar a moment longer, then slowly lower herself to a single knee. <<Now then. The final matter. The crew calls me Daisie. You call me 'Ms. Daisie.' The crew calls you Ix. So. What is your preferred title when I address you?

Please Select One

❏ Ind. Ix

❏ Mx. Ix.

❏ Ms. Ix

❏ Mr. Ix

❏ Other (Please Specify)

<<I believe it is only with due respect that you let me know your preference since you know mine... coming from one crew member to another crew member, of course.>>

 

[JesseMarshall]

Carson Ho
Time: 2:14 PM Ship's Time
Location: Empty Space: ParDune to TerraFirma
Estimated Arrival: 15:21:52

​

Carson watched Onyx almost jump out of her skin with a bemused expression. He smirked, giving the captain an apologetic bow. “I apologize, captain. I’ll have the computer announce my arrival next time in advance.”

She nodded, sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose, using her fingertips to massage circles into the cartilage. The cook recognized the beginnings of a vicious tension headache forming behind the captain’s eyes. Hopefully she would visit Anya to relive it, but the young man wouldn’t hold his breath.

Carson nodded back and pulled a chair out from the other side of the desk. Not much would stop him from offering a listening ear or a friendly piece of advice. Captain Lauristen looked at him over the edged of her knuckle, dropped her hand, and then launched into her trepidations.

Carson kept silent as she spilled her worries, letting the young woman vent. After finishing, she leaned back in her chair as relief sank deep into her bones. Sometimes, it did a world of good to just open up about your problems. Keeping them stoppered was never a grand idea. Only one way existed for someone to get the help they wanted—asking for it.

The quiet child is the last to have a full stomach, as his mother said.

“Everything’s eventual, captain,” Carson said. “One day, we will all leave. Whether it be over quarrel or quietus, nothing lasts forever.”

Carson paused, meeting her gaze. “To quote one of my favorite poets of the early twenty-second century:

‘The well-worn footholds of the earth,
Smoothed of their mounds by heavy steps,
Offer more of wider berths,
And assurity in their longer stretch.
But those of us who seek adventure,
Who cut their path through bramble thick,
Will forge their friendships with more tenure,
But feel their losses far more quick.
I should speak before I end,
On which of these proves bitter,
But at the close of twists and bends,
The outcome never differs.”

Captain Onyx gave the cook a pointed glance. She ran a hand over her face, groaning in frustration. “Not to mention, Galen’s popping up again in the criminal field and the idea of running into him is terrifying.”

Dark brown eyes widened as Carson’s brow rose in astonishment. “You never told me that. Since when?”

Lauristen waved a dismissive hand at Carson’s question. “Am I being unreasonable? This is stupid, right?”

“No,” Carson said. “Not panicking is unreasonable. We could hire a hitman and have him killed? It’s not illegal in most places out here.”

She tossed another narrow-eyed glance in his direction. Onyx stood and paced back and forth across the room. Carson watched her. His gaze followed her path, shifting back and forth like an antique cat clock. “Should I give someone else control of the ship? Maybe someone who won’t worry over such trivial things?”

Trivial, Carson thought. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to avoid rolling his eyes at the captain.

“I’m sorry, captain, but I disagree,” the cook said. “Unless you consider the lives of the crew and the reemergence of Galen to be a trivial matter. Then again, by the rut you’re wearing into the flexolium, I bet you don’t even agree with yourself. Give the ship to someone else? How many captains have you met that treat their crew as equals? How many visit them to speak, or take advice from a line cook? How many fret over their safety as you fret?”

“I’m sorry for bringing this to you,” she sighed. “But you’re my closest friend, and I needed someone who knows me and is one-hundred percent honest with me.”

Carson leaned back in the chair, pulling a rectangular silver case from his pocket. “Siren,” he said.

“Yes, Chef?” Came the dulcet tone of the ships’ AI.

Carson smiled. “Begin microparticle filtration in this room. CO, HCN, CH2O, and C10H14N2, please.”

“Warning,” the AI spoke. “Specified chemical elements are detrimental to the health of most class-five sentient beings. Microparticle filtration will remove ninety-nine-point-nine-eight percent of chemical elements specified outside of a square foot radius of the source. Recommended procedure is to clear all occupants from-”

“Siren,” Carson groaned. “Just start the filtration system.”

A pregnant pause spun the room into a tangible silence before a quiet hum began. “Filtration activated.”

The cook sighed in relief and pressed the latch of the silver case. Inside, in neat little rows, rested fifteen genuine, tobacco-filled cigarettes. His nimble fingers flipped open the spring band and drew one out. With a practiced motion, he flipped open a lighter, slid the flint wheel against his jeans, and lit the tip with two quick puffs. On the third draw, Carson sucked down a more demanding pull and exhaled straight upward. The grayish cloud floated delicately upward, about halfway toward the ceiling before it vanished.

Tilting his head to face the captain, Carson said, “My honest opinion?” He rested for a beat, raising an eyebrow at Onyx. The expression he affixed her with conveyed much, but the question itself was obviously rhetorical. As if to prove this, Carson continued without prompting.

“Your crew worries just as much for you as you do them. I always suggest never speaking for people who have functioning vocal chords. If one of them is unhappy, believe me when I say, they will tell you.”

The filter of Carson’s cigarette smoldered as he inhaled again. “Also, as a brief reminder of the Galen situation,” he said, wisps of fading smoke rising from his lips. “I’m not above murder.”

Carson gave the captain a wry grin and stood, snubbing the cigarette in a lidded ceramic dish that Onyx kept there especially for him. He turned to the young woman, the stalwart sovereign he came to understand suitably over the last six years, with a smile. The cook said nothing, but glued Captain Lauristen with a pertinent stare.

A fleeting moment of affection silently passed between the two, as it often does with close friends. Carson’s smile broadened further, and he favored the captain with a wink. Then again, Carson never actually winked because he simply didn’t know how. Instead, he closed both eyes in a deliberate and exaggerated blink.

“Tell me if you need anymore advice. I’m always a shout away,” he said.

Sometime later, Carson stood in the kitchen, going over the current food stock. His eyes drifted over a section of dry goods, ticking off boxes and scribbling numbers above them. Carson hated inventory days. He loved trips to the marketplace, though. Walking around, bartering, tasting; all prime examples of why inventory counts held such importance.

The cook ran his fingertips across the top shelf of breakfast cereals, counting slowly under his breath. Apparently, they needed to refill almost every cereal brand onboard—no wonder with the crew’s mutual adoration of the stuff. To be honest, Carson preferred a danish and a cup of coffee. He reached forward, tugging out a seldom sought after box of a multigrain, heart-healthy cereal.

The cardboard container slid out from its spot off the shelf, and a small piece of paper drifted to the floor. It seemed as if someone placed it there and immediately forgot. Carson reached down and grabbed it from the floor, taking extra care not to smudge pen ink across the surface.

Thanks for the perfect kiss.

Warmth bloomed across Carson’s face, and his fingers pinched the slip of paper hard enough to leave a sweaty thumb print in its surface. The note belonged to a memory the Korean man kept revisiting just recently. It occurred the morning after the Christmas celebration…

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:​

Duke Olson wandered disjointedly into the cooler where Carson sat nursing his hangover. The siren seemed to spin beneath his feet, and Carson needed to have a sit-down chat with either Duke on the matter of the artificial gravity, or with Yiru about her piloting. Actually, Yiru might kill him if he even casually implied that her piloting looked anything less than stellar. Probably best to stick with Duke.

The jade-eyed engineer froze when he spotted the cook sitting on top of a cardboard box labeled frozen squid. “Oh,” he began, “I thought you’d still be in bed.”

Carson shook his head at the man. “No, couldn’t sleep with this god-awful pounding behind my eyes.”

Duke didn’t respond. He stood, shuffling his feet and staring at the Korean man with his drowsy expression. The two said nothing to each other until Carson noticed the slip of paper clutched in the engineer’s hand.

“Did you need something,” he asked. “What do you have there?”

The engineer’s eyes widened and shifted from side to side. Carson remembered seeing that exact expression once before on a dog, backed into a corner, and looking for an escape route. “Ah, it’s really-uh... I planned on just sticking it to the stock-board. It’s just-about last night...”

Carson gave Duke a blank stare. “What about last night?”

“Well,” Duke began. He rubbed at the back of his neck, trailing his eyes across every square inch of the cooler. As a matter of fact, he looked everywhere except at Carson. The cook wondered if he said or did something last night that made Duke uncomfortable. “You know, the kiss…”

Carson’s expression remained blank. “The kiss?”

“Our kiss?” Duke raised an eyebrow at the young man.

Carson knew an implication lurked behind Duke’s words, but his hazy brain rebelled against the effort of figuring it out. He opened his mouth to respond with another question, past the shrieking of his hangover, when the night’s events crashed into him with full force. The mistletoe, the eggnog, the gifts, and the taste of cigarettes and whisky on his tongue.

The recognition of exactly where his tongue gained that sampling of flavors now darted around in his mind, pulled from the forgotten depths of his recollection. Soft, warm, and slightly bewhiskered lips pressed urgently against his left Carson breathless, and the rough, calloused fingertips that slid under his shirt to caress his back sent shivers through him. The culinarian even recalled shamelessly murmuring the word ‘more’ into the other man’s ear.

Nausea rolled over Carson in waves. The feeling erupted in part because of sheer embarrassment, but mostly the hangover. If the cook was being completely honest with himself, Duke ranked high in his top three make-out sessions of all time, but this wasn’t senior prom, and the Siren’s cargo bay was certainly not a high school gymnasium.

“Ah,” Carson replied. His mouth worked back and forth on a hinge like a fish pulled unceremoniously out of the water.

“Anyway,” Duke pressed onward. “Here you go. Just, thought I should tell you how I-well... Here.”

He shoved the slip of paper into Carson’s hand, spun around on his heels, and dashed out the door of the cooler.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:​

Carson held the same slip of paper in his grasp now. The one he forgot after setting it down. The one that he never spoke to Duke about again. He sighed, running a hand through his soft, black, pin-straight hair.

“Time for a trip to the market?”

Duke’s voice broke through the gentle purr of the walk-in’s cooling system, and Carson’s heart slammed into the roof of his mouth. The Korean’s eyes locked onto the engineer’s mouth, tracing the shapely, upturned corners unconsciously. Carson ran the tip of his tongue across his suddenly bone-dry lips.

“I- uh,” he stammered. Carson shook his head to clear it and gracelessly stuffed the note into his front pocket. “Yeah, we’re running low on things so I have cereal to work for.”

What the actual hell does that even mean, you idiot, his brain shrieked. That wasn’t even English!

Duke chuckled, his breath coming out in white, puffy clouds of condensation. The smell of spearmint and undertones of cheap tobacco drifted across the bridge of Carson’s nose.

“Mind if I tag along,” Duke pushed on.

Carson opened his mouth and said the first thing that popped into his brain, “Not at all!”

The eager tone of his own voice made him cringe. “I mean,” he continued. “If you want to come. With me, that is! Not— like to the market, I mean.”

Stop talking, his brain pleaded. Please stop talking. You’re embarrassing both of us.

Anya walked into the kitchen just in time to save Carson from from saying anything way worse. “Oh! Anya, we’re going to the market. Did you want to come with us?”

You’re going to die alone, you know, his ever-helpful inner thoughts provided.

 

[Burning_Heart]

The talk with Carson was enough to ease the Captain's nerves for the time being. Perhaps she worried too much about things she really couldn't control. She had appreciated the cook's offer to just kill Galen, though she was quick to reject it. She wanted to be the one to end the miserable man's life when the time came. Until then, she would do the best she could to keep an eye on his activities and try to avoid any planets or stations he seemed to be at. If she could do that, she'd be able to keep a clear head and do her job to the best of her abilities.

She had been hoping that the next few days would pass without incident, but that didn't seem to be the case as a message came through to her room. Onyx frowned at the sound of Ix on the other end, frowning at their words. Why in the stars would Daisie be trying to install a software update to them? It didn't make sense to her. Letting out a sigh, she stood from her desk, making her way from the room just in time to hear Ix's screams echo through the halls. Her eyes widened as she quickened her pace, soon reaching the frightened being as they tore through the Siren. She was able to catch them fairly quickly, shushing them as best as she could. "Hey, hey, slow down. I don't see Daisie anywhere, Ix, okay?" She wanted to try and comfort them, but it wasn't something she was very good at. "Stay away from her for the time being and I'll have a talk with her, alright?" she said, patting Ix on the head. Yeah, she was definitely not good at this.

Once she was back in her room, she immediately sent her own message to Daisie, letting her know that she wanted to speak with her before they left the ship to see their mission out. Whatever she had been trying to do was concerning enough that the captain wanted to know about it. If Ix was right and she had been trying to kill them then something was going to have to be done. If that wasn't the case and it was just a misunderstanding then she was still going to have to smooth it out.

~~~~~~

The night before their arrival to TerraFirma had been spent roughly the same way as before, with Onyx looking through different things about their mission, though she found herself staring more and more at the bottle of alcohol that still sat unopened beside the laptop. Onyx wasn't the biggest fan of drinking, only doing so every once in a while when she really felt like it, but she was beginning to really like the sound of the honey-colored liquid. She had just reached out and wrapped her fingers around the bottle when a ring from her door sounded. It was late, and she was only considering taking a sip just before she needed to sleep. She paused, slowly letting go. It was odd for someone to come by, but then again, being the Captain, she was accustomed to being sought out at all times. Standing, she made her way over, expecting Carson or Daisie. When she opened the door, however, she looked up and into bright blue eyes, a feeling of curiosity and the beginnings of excitement to see Tau instead.

“Captain.” His tone was so final and devoid of emotions, his posture rather formal with hands tucked behind his back. “We need to talk.”

The excitement quickly died down at this tone, replaced with concern. “It must be important if you came to talk to me at this time… Did you want to come in, then?” she asked, stepping to the side.

He agreed with a nod. "Yes, I suppose it would be best." He stepped through, glancing around as he walked into her quarters. It was the first time he had ever been here, and he stood awkwardly to one side to be told where to go.

She quickly motioned to the chair at her desk, shutting the door and moving to sit on the edge of her bed. "What did you come to talk about?" she asked, watching him.

From behind his back, he produced a small satchel and placed it onto her desk as he took a seat, swiveling around to face her. "I've known you half a decade, so I owe it to you to get to the point; I've accepted a job offer." He looked at her, making eye contact if possible, his tone level and professional.

His words came as a shock to her, but she tried not to let it show on her face. Instead, she nodded slowly, glancing at the satchel before meeting his gaze once more. "Am I to assume this is your way of putting in your resignation, then?"

Another formal nod. "Yes. I had thought I would be here to complete this next mission, but they are arriving early to TerraFirma to collect me."

The captain bit the inside of her cheek, looking away for a moment to think about what this meant. After a moment, she let out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair. "Damn. Well, I'm certainly not going to stop you, since you've already accepted. Not to mention, I want everyone here to do what they feel they have to." She glanced back at him then. "I hate to see you leave, though."

He looked pensive as she glanced back at him, as if he didn't want to be giving her this news. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you more lead time with this. A former colleague messaged me a few weeks ago. I accepted back on Par'Dune but..." He seemed to dismiss the rest of what he was going to say. "It doesn't matter anymore. I'll be leaving come morning."

She nodded before standing, walking over to the desk and grabbing the bottle she'd been eyeing just moments before. "In that case, how about you and I share that drink before you leave? As a farewell?" she asked, looking down at him. She was trying to remain professional and unfazed, but deep down, she was a bit sad that this was the news she was receiving.

Watching as she walked over he kept his silent vigil for a few minutes. When she looked down on him, when he caught those eyes, he would seemingly deflate and looked away. "Yes, Captain. If you wish," he replied quietly.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she said, taking a step back once she realized how close she was to him. "I figure it best to let you enjoy your last night here," she said, forcing a smile. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing, she felt.

A soft huff of laughter as he sprung from his seat, wringing his hands together as he stepped away, staring at a console on the wall, though it was turned off. "You don't need to play the role of captain anymore, you know." He turned back partially, looking over his shoulder to her. "I removed myself from the ship's manifest. I'm just a passenger aboard now, not crew."

She couldn't help but let out a laugh of her own. "Habit," she said, leaning against the desk. "Then I'm offering it to you as a guest of the ship of a friend of mine. Better?" she asked as she watched him.

"We're friends?" He questioned with genuine curiosity in his tone.

"I've always considered us friends. Family, even. Was I wrong to do so?" She was surprised he even asked.

A dismissive shrug. "I mean...do you want my true, honest opinion?"

"I always want an honest opinion."

He gave a wry grin at that. "In truth, I think your 'family' consists of just you and Carson." He turned back fully now. "And are we really friends? We don't exactly know one another."

"I can see why you would think that, but I promise you that I consider everyone on this ship my family. Even if I've never said it, I've done my best to show it." She set the bottle back down for the time being. "And I'd like to think so. We don't have to know every little thing about each other, though that's more my fault, I'm sure. After the Christmas party..." Her voice trailed off and she averted her gaze. "Things were awkward and I wasn't sure how to deal with that, so I apologize."

A shake of the head in disagreement, but he wouldn't argue against her personal viewpoints it seemed. "No. No, Onyx, that was nearly six years ago. And since then... well, this is probably our longest conversation together."

"That is unfortunately true. Probably should've rectified that a long time ago," she said with a sigh.

"Not like it would have changed much. You were professional then, you've been professional ever since. With me, at least."

She was hesitant before she spoke. "Might have changed a lot, actually. You never know." She finally looked back at him. "I'm professional with everyone. The only time I let that slip is when I talk to Carson in private, but that's usually because he knows the most. I just don't want anyone to worry about me or think I'm not capable of doing this job." It was a constant fear of hers.

"That's because you're not capable. You're a bad captain." His bluntness came with a slow walk towards her. "I mean, a serious captain would have fired me on the spot. A competent one would keep distance between herself and her crew." He stopped before her, hands behind his back once more.

Onyx's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected words. "Maybe you're right," she said, holding his gaze as he approached her, "but the crew has done well so far under my command and I intend to keep running my ship this way until I die or grow tired of it." His words stung, but that was fine. She couldn't fault him for how he felt.

Her words came with bite but his lips only curled with amusement, a huff of laughter in addition. "And that's why they stay. A group of misfits and their misfit captain. That's why this ship works, in a manner of speaking." He stepped past her to the desk, his finger brushing the neck of the bottle. "I guess you're right. Maybe things could have been different. We'll never know."

She could only shrug. "Then I'll continue to be a misfit captain," she said, glancing at the bottle. "You're right, we won't, which is why I can at least offer you that drink and a night of somewhat friendly conversation, but only if you want."

His fingers curled around the bottle but he paused a moment. "I'm sorry, I have a way with words, don't I? Often with poor outcomes." He added and looked back over to her. "Luckily my next role involves less talking, and with an all-male crew, no chance to misinterpret a drunken look at a Christmas party." A small smile remained.

Onyx opened her mouth to say something then but seemed to rethink it for a moment before finally speaking. "It's better I didn't kiss you drunk. I barely remember that night as it is. Something like that needs to be done sober," she said, letting out a nervous laugh.

Tau nodded in understanding, but disappointment ran amok over his features. "A big folly of being a functioning alcoholic, I remember it vividly." He turned back to the bottle but he let it go and shook his head. "Maybe it's best we not drink. Save us from a second awkward moment." He laughed quietly.

"Up to you. I've grown since then and believe I know how to handle my liquor a lot better now." A bit of disappointment, but she'd move past it.

"Not this. This stuff hits you for six with just a sip." He leaned on the desk a little, his back still towards her. "I should probably go. You have more important things to do than talk with me. Got a ship to run, Captain." He shuffled across to where his satchel had been placed.

She couldn't help but let out another small laugh. She had yet to drink the stuff, so she would believe him for the time being. "I honestly wasn't doing much before you arrive, Tau. Nothing interesting, at least, but I won't keep you.."

"Yeah, I...I have things to pack, hard drives to compress, so much to do." It came off as a lie, even for a man trained to lie. "And you need your rest. Big day tomorrow, big contract to complete, and so on." He picked up the satchel in his hands, staring down at it in contemplation, as if his feet didn't want to turn and take him away.

She was skeptical, wondering if he had already packed long before he had thought to tell her, but decided not to push it. Instead, before thinking better of it, she reached out, placing a hand on his arm. He flinched. Of all people in this galaxy, Tau Callisto was flinching at the touch of a woman! Looking to the hand pressed against him gently, he followed up along her arm, then up to her eyes. A forlorn smile now curled the edges of his lips.

Onyx was taken back by the way he reacted to her touch. It was the last thing she would've expected. For a moment, she lost all of the courage that had been building up. She was fairly convinced she would never see him again, which should've been enough, but she wasn't used to seeing other people flinch because of her. The two stood in silence like that for another second or two before she finally closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him. She wasn't an affectionate person, not since she was eighteen, but she was only brave enough to offer the stupid hug. "Gonna suck not having you around, you know that?"

The quickness of her action saved her from seeing his reaction, at least from his face. It took a second or two longer for his arms to replicate her and gently hold her. Her head brought to his chest, she would feel the vibration of his laughter and the warmth of his arms around her figure. "Nah, it won't. You'll be too busy enjoying the peace and quiet." He replied in almost a whisper, barely able to manage more. His arms tightened their hold, pulling her in closer, coming up to brush against her hair and clutch her close. If this was to be it, he seemed determined to take what he could from it.

She gripped the fabric of his shirt, closing her eyes as she let the silence wash over them once more. She stayed that way for a moment before finally looking up at him, though she didn't dare move. Instead, she offered him a small smile, swallowing the lump threatening to form in her throat. As her head came away from his chest, his arms still secure around her and keeping her close, he looked down at her and matched her smile. His hand came off her head and around, his thumb brushing across her smooth and rouge cheek. The silence was held, no need for words, the look in his bright eyes enough to show that perhaps his earlier words had been his way of trying to avoid this emotional moment. So much for that.

She held his gaze, though was hesitant to say anything. She didn't want to ruin the moment, no matter how temporary it was. She finally let out a small sigh, glancing away from him. "You don't have to leave right away if you don't want to," she said softly. For once, she seemed rather uncertain about what to do.

Another chesty laugh as he shook his head, swallowing down the lump that had kept him quiet from the moment she held him. "I really shouldn't," he said barely above a whisper. "If I don't, if I stay..." He shook his head and looked away himself, over her head, over to her bed behind them, though that was not his intention. His thumb continued to stroke against her face, now along her jawline as if burning the feel of her skin into memory.

She bit her lip then, unsure of how to respond right away. "And if I want you to stay?" she finally asked, though it was so quiet she wasn't sure if he had heard her.

Tau closed his eyes and his thumb stopped its gentle caress. "I would never disrespect you that way, Onyx. You deserve more. One night is not fair..."

For once, despite everything that she'd been through in her life, Onyx was actually willing to make what would've been considered a bad decision. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "You said my name."

There was a stunned silence before gentle laughter. His body was warm against hers as he shook his head. "Well, to be fair, you aren't my captain anymore."

"That is true," she said with a short laugh of her own. She was delaying the inevitable and she knew it. She just didn't want to admit it. "I'll be blunt, then; I don't want you to. Even if it's just one night, it's better than 'what ifs' and what not. However, I won't keep you here. If you decide to stay, that's on you." She smiled up at him once more.

Looking down at that broad smile and into those bright eyes, he could quite easily have thrown aside caution. To do as she said and give in to avoid the 'what ifs.' But slowly, his face fell to one of sadness and he shook his head. "I...I can't." He croaked out and bit down on his bottom lip to stem its trembling. "We had six years to explore what-ifs. I'm sorry." His hands slid away from her and slowly he pulled back from her arms, turning to go for the satchel one final time.

And just like that, she felt cold once again, the chill of the room washing over her. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, but she could only nod. In the end, he was right. "I understand," she said, her voice soft. She couldn't fault him for this. "Don't apologize, okay?" she had to force the words out.

The flap of the satchel was thrown open, her words playing in the background but he was simply trying to do his best not to focus on them. "I-I got this...a while ago. A long while ago." He said as if to himself. Slowly he withdrew a circle of metal, no larger than his palm, placing it down on the desk. "I am sorry On-" he hesitated, "Captain Lauristen. I will be off your ship within an hour of landing tomorrow." He turned around to face her, eyes shimmering like arctic pools. "I...thank you for your employment these last six years. I wish you only the best in those to come."

She watched him silently, scared that if she spoke right away she would break. This was harder than she expected it to be. Perhaps it was because she was coming to regret the one decision she had made all those years ago. She glanced at the piece of metal as she set it down, afraid to make a move for it while he was still present. She nodded as she looked back up at him. "I wish you the best, as well. You're always welcome to come back if you feel it necessary," she managed to say. She was going to let that be the end of it, should probably have let it be the end of it, but if there was one thing Onyx could confidently say she was, it was stubborn. "One kiss," she said after a moment. "I've lived with that on my mind for six years. I'd like to know what it would've been like." She had looked away again, already feeling silly for letting the words slip.

There was an audible sound of his breath catching, the request having caught him off guard. It was good that she had looked away. He was free to allow a tear to escape and run its path down his cheek. A pregnant pause haunted the room but then he spoke, "That wouldn't be fair now, would it Onyx..." He didn't wait or linger, instead stepping forward. There was a brush of warmth against her cheek as his hand turned her head, lifting her gaze back to him and, in that very moment, it felt like an entire galaxy fell away, leaving only Tau and Onyx and their long-awaited kiss. He held it for some time, not wanting to let go, eyes closing over as if this were just the beginning and he could ignore his impending departure. But as quickly as it had begun, so soon did it end. He did pull away in the end, and in a few long strides, he was gone as her door slid closed behind him. All he left behind was silence and a swiftly cooling warmth to her lips.

She stood still for quite some time, allowing the tears to finally fall. She wasn't used to being stunned or speechless, but this was one of those times where it felt fair. The kiss had been unexpected, but worth it in the end, even if it was the only one she would ever receive from Tau. Taking a deep breath, she wiped at her eyes and forced herself to move, picking up the object he had left behind. It took her a moment of studying it before she realized what it was. Sitting in her hand was a music player. She hesitated before activating it, gasping softly as the song filled the room and a display of the Siren slowly began to turn, snow falling around it. It was enough to make the tears return and cause her to bury her face in her hands, finally letting the grief take over as memories of them dancing to said song at the Christmas party burned in her mind.

~~~~~~

The next morning, Onyx woke to the same song still playing. Rolling over, she stared at the silly hologram, frustrated with herself for even letting it play all night. Perhaps she had done it to find some sort of comfort from the night before. It had hardly helped. Groaning, she forced herself from the bed, shuffling over and finally turning it off. "Siren."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Have we made our arrival to TerraFirma?"

"Yes, Captain. Arrival time-"

"That will be all."

"Of course."

A sigh escaped her lips as she moved to change. The night before would quickly be a memory lost to time. She would push away the pain of it all and move on with her day. She had done it in the past hundreds of times and she was positive she would have to do it again in the future. It was a part of life. That's what she tried to tell herself, at least. Reaching out, she placed her fingers to her lips, the kiss still fresh on her mind. Tau was the second person she had ever kissed in her adulthood, almost ten years after her first, and damn if it hadn't left her aching.

She shut her eyes tightly for a moment, pushing it from her mind for the time being, before she changed into a white blouse, fancier than her normal attire, black jeans and same boots she loved to wear, before shrugging on the jacket she was so fond of and making her way over to her com. Pressing the button, she made a quick announcement. "Good morning, crew. Before we start off the day with our investigation, I would like everyone to know that Tau is no longer with us. He came to me last night to inform me that he was resigning and taking a different job somewhere else. With that said, while we're on TerraFirma, I plan on looking for a new diplomat. If you have anyone in mind, however, please let me know." She paused for a moment. "Those of you that are coming to meet this Peter Gardner guy with me, please meet me at the front of the ship. I'll give you a quick debriefing and then we'll be on our way. Remember, limit your weapons and refrain from anything that could get us in trouble. That includes throwing...unsavory things at one another," she said with a small laugh.

Closing the channel, she grabbed her gun from under her pillow, a habit she had yet to give up from her days as an assassin, before slipping it into its holster and leaving her room. She was hoping she would be able to catch Dasie before she had to talk to everyone else, that way she could speak with her ahead of the mission.

 

[Zat]

Ix was sprinting down the corridor, running for their life, when they practically collided with the captain. They looked at her, wide-eyed, when she gently grabbed them.

"Hey, hey, slow down. I don't see Daisie anywhere, Ix, okay?" Onyx tried to reassure them.
Sure enough, Daisie was not, in fact, directly behind them. Or even in sight at all.

"But... I thought... she had all her weapons out!" Ix pleaded.

"Stay away from her for the time being and I'll have a talk with her, alright?" the captain finished, giving Ix a pat on the head before heading back to her room.

'Okay. I'm... I'm good. This is okay. The captain is dealing with it,' Ix thought to themselves, before looking for a place to hide, somewhat more calmly now. Maybe they could just shut themselves in their room until the captain worked everything out.

They just started heading there when they received a communication request from Daisie. Ix was a bit warry of it.... but if Daisie had meant them harm, she hardly needed to rely on some sort of hacking attempt.

Ix accepted the communication request. They still had firewalls in place, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Just in case.

The meeting started out with Daisie greeting them and officially confirming their receipt of the blacklist packet, as verified by the Siren. This was... not exactly what they had been expecting, considering Daisie's aggressive footing earlier, but apparently Daisie wasn't trying to kill them? Maybe Ix had just misread the whole situation earlier... somehow.

<<Siren tells me that you abide by the blacklisting protocols since you did not open fire upon me. And do know that I abide by the blacklisting thus you were in absolutely no danger as I do not pose a threat to you. At all.>>

Ix's fans whirred a bit as they tried to make sense of that statement. Did... did Daisie seriously think Ix would have started shooting her just because she ordered it? I knew they were a bit... compliant... most of the time, but they would need a really convincing reason to be willing to shoot a crewmember! They might not be the best of friends with Daisie, but they weren't going to shoot her just because she said to!
Which... must have been why she tried to look so aggressive. To try and trick them into shooting at her in an attempt to protect themself! Ix... had to admit that was pretty clever, and might have actually worked, if they could have actually seen themselves winning that confrontation. They doubted the pistol rounds would have done much of anything to the combat symbyote, other than piss her off. Running had seemed like a much better plan for keeping themselves intact.

Still... it rankled to have Daisie assume the only reason Ix wouldn't have shot in that situation was because of software-enforced blacklisting.
Ix supposed Daisie had said it was the Siren who stated that as verification, though. The Siren, while quite competent in many areas, wasn't what Ix would call a "fully-fledged" AI. Great for doing straightforward tasks, but things got a little sketchy whenever any creativity or discernment was required. Ix could see the Siren assuming they would just do what was ordered of them if they were able. Daisie had considered that good enough proof though...

Ix found themselves almost sending a message objecting to that interpretation of events, but caught themselves before they could. Ix recognized it would be... a bad idea to challenge the assumption that was currently keeping Daisie from killing them.

Which brought Ix to the second part of Daisie's statement. That they were never in any danger. Was that really true? She had seemed so... convincing in her aggressive stance back there that Ix was having trouble believing the opposite. But... Ix certainly didn't think Daisie was a liar. Was it really just a big bluff? They kept quiet for now as Daisie sent another message.

<<But you however do pose a threat to me out there in the field. Yet by no means is it your fault. I have a... special kind of tech in my stealth array that makes me essentially invisible to nearly all forms of electronic surveillance. Thus in the field you may not be able to see me and that poses the problem of friendly fire.>>

Ix blinked. That wasn't exactly where they had seen the conversation going, but... that was definitely an issue. Ix had good sensors, but at the end of the day, they were not designed to deal with electronic warfare tech. Cleaning robots don't normally need to deal with hostile forces trying to jam their sensors.

<<I... um... yes, I see the problem there...>> Ix responded, a little worried as to where she was going with this. Was she saying they would do more harm than good on the mission? Did she want them to stay on the ship?

Daisie seemed to conjure a black orb in their palms, obviously another visual representation of a data packet. Ix had to admit, aside from the rather tense and confusing situation they found themselves in, the virtual space these meetings were taking place in was rather charming. It really did show that Daisie wasn't just another AI in that armor. This whole exchange could have taken place as just messages and data transfers, but Daisie had forged this whole environment instead. It was... a very biological thing to do. Ix honestly found that fact comforting.

<<This is an encrypted execution file. It is a key to a... special kind of tech that will allow you to see me on the field. You are forbidden to make copies and store them. When you have the chance, come to my room and I will install the visual unit array so as to hide it where you would like it housed. You are forbidden to replicate such tech. I only entrust you with this tech because you abide to the inhibitor/blacklisting protocols.>> Daisie finished, presenting them with the orb/packet.

Oh. So they weren't being forced from the mission! Instead, they were being given some sort of... black ops device? Ix carefully accepted the orb, giving it the same treatment they gave the protocols earlier. After a moment they varified it was exactly what was stated, access keys for some sort of hardware. Ix might feel worse about accepting this while technically not being bound by the protocols, but it wasn't like Ix was planning on going against anything in them if they didn't have to. The protocols were mostly reasonable, Ix just objected to their heavy-handed enforcement.

<<Thank you? I'm sure this will... um... make me more effective? I wouldn't want to shoot you on accident.>> Ix responded, really meaning the last part, even if they weren't exactly happy about this whole situation Daisie had ambushed them with.

<<Now then. The final matter. The crew calls me Daisie. You call me 'Ms. Daisie.' The crew calls you Ix. So. What is your preferred title when I address you?>> Daisie asked, providing them with a list of name prefix titles.

Ix was well and truly floored. They had not expected this from Daisie.

<<I believe it is only with due respect that you let me know your preference since you know mine... coming from one crew member to another crew member, of course.>>

Oh. Ix supposed Daisie did think of them as a crewmember. They felt a small smile come back to their virtual face. As for how to answer, though... Ix really only used the title for Ms. Daisie because she seemed like someone who valued formality. Ix had never been referred to with a title themselves. They thought about it for a bit.

Really, Ind. or Mx. was the most accurate, but as Ix understood it, that didn't really matter when choosing? All the genders were fine as far as Ix was concerned, although they didn't think of themselves as having a gender internally. It probably made sense to pick something though, for clarity's sake.

Ix was actually surprised this issue hadn't come up earlier. They'd heard people refer to them in multiple ways second-hand, but no one had actually asked them about it.

Well, as far as titles were concerned, they supposed 'Individual Ix' did have a certain ring to it, though Mx. Ix might be easier to say than Ind. Ix? But not everyone knew how to pronounce Mx, and you could sound out Ind... Maybe they should just go with Ms or Mr? But then there were all these societal implications that changed from culture to culture! But that was true for the gender-neutral ones as well, really... and what if they should follow alien gender norms? Many races had more than two! No... the crew was mostly human so that probably didn't make sense... but...

Ix suddenly found themselves feeling rather stressed.

Then they had an idea. Titles didn't have to be about gender at all. Doctors were a good example of this! They clung to the idea like a person clings to a life preserver.

<<How about... Custodian Ix? Ct. Ix! That um... that works for me!>>

Ix realized this was really just pushing the issue down the road, but... they should talk to someone about it first. It was a meaningful decision. They had no idea who, though. Maybe Duke? Or possibly Yiru? They'd figure it out later.

With that business complete, the virtual conference ended, and things got back to normal.

Ix should probably have a talk with Daisie about what had happened... preferably with the captain present... but that didn't need to happen now. Maybe after the mission, after they had some time to work through how they felt about everything.

 

[N0rthernw0lves]

Occasionally Anya would pause in a door way while mulling over some problem, question, or dilemma. This was not such one occasion, seeing as she had managed to take one step in a diagonal direction, towards the snacks, after stepping into the kitchen.

For Anya there wasn't any real reason for going outside the ship this time. No mission where her skill sets would be of any use, no medicine to buy, no parts to buy (Duke had promised to buy and install the laser lens); on the contrary, her shy,submissive nature made for more of a hazard to be around with. Someone had to keep an eye on her, lest she be spirited away by an unknown stranger.

But visiting Terra Firma once again should be experienced. Last time Anya walked on the planet was prior to her departure from the planet for an excited adventure. Excited was an adjective only skimming the extreme upper layer of this epidermis of an adventure, not even a few paragraphs could describe the varieties of this long adventure.

Hence why Anya kept all her diaries orderly.

Two minutes of silence followed Carson's question before Anya finally responded with a singular nod, "Give me a few minutes to change", before turning around and jogging back toward her office with boots thumping; that place was also her bunk and personal storage area.

The moment she had begun changing was when Captain Onyx made her announcement. Never having gotten close to Tau, always keeping a respectful business-like bridge between her and him, Anya didn't have any feeling nor qualms about this update. This wasn't strictly the truth, as deep inside the subconscious the brain both breathed a sigh of relief while having a few pangs of this sudden departure. It had made Anya uncomfortable how slippery Tau could be with words. Given how her space traveling career had started, accidentally slipping under someone's glib words was one of the many things on the not-to-do list. But at the same time Tau's mastery of language had done good work for the crew. Whether it was drop prices, convince people to let them pass, or cause confusion, Tau had some good with him.

Anya knew that Captain Onyx would be seeking a new diplomat for the crew of the Siren. Having dressed in black cargo pants, a plain dull-green t-shirt with small v-neck collar, and a backpack with first aid gear, with the hair in a tight ponytail, Anya walked over to the wall where there was a small interface. "Siren", "Yes Doctor?", "Two tasks. First, make sure Tau can't walk in here and walk-off with something since he's not part of the crew. Secondly, if we get a new diplomat, or any other new crew member, you are to direct them immediately to the medical bay. If the captain attempts overriding my decision, give her ye ol' medical schpeel." The Siren did not answer, Anya already explaining she did not require a response when giving out tasks.

With boots thumping steadily in a jog, Anya arrived back in the kitchen. She first made to grab a snack and scarf it down without creating a mess, "I'm ready now".