Sara had crept away from Nick's resting spot, quietly cringing at the noise that the airlock to his ship made when she left. Praying that it wouldn't wake him. It had been hard to tear herself away from his sleeping visage, the most peaceful and recognizable she had seen him since he came to Grimoire. Nothing like the tired, angry, and unyielding expressions that always cloaked his face, hiding the boy she knew. She couldn't help but feel like it was a privilege to see him like that, calm, peaceful, and vulnerable. But then, even when they were kids, that was always her privilege that no one else but a few had ever earned.
Before she got home to her room, her mind swam with some of the things he spoke about. None of it really answered her most pressing questions, but then again, the most important thing a moment ago was calming him down. As frustrating as her questions were, she couldn't imagine them being anything but more difficult for Nick to think about.
She believed he would tell her everything she wanted to know in time. If not, she would find answers on her own. After all, that's what she excelled at as a net diver. Under her online moniker of Tasmanian Pixie, she was well-renowned for her presence within the net diver groups, not only for her work on rebuilding games and their codes from scratch off of old Earth games and media, aka DRing, but also for her uncharacteristically aggressive personality and pursuit of whatever truths she fixated on. A certain degree of anonymity and distance between her real-life introverted tendencies allowed for a disparity between the real her and her online persona. If overwhelmed, she could walk away until she was ready to reengage. Very few knew there was a commonality between Tasmanian Pixie and Sara. Being perpetually online wasn't as instantaneous as old Earth Media made the internet out to be. Most often, especially on a ship like Grimoire, there is always a considerable time lag from a simple query on the net to receive a response from the targeted data center. A time lag that would give old school dial-up Internet a faster reputation in speed than what a ship like Sara’s had to deal with, light days from any real civilization.
There were always the nearby ships, and Sara decided to capitalize on the gratuity that they had earned from saving the Long Walks, although she was sure a freighter such as that probably didn't have much in the way of information. If she had a couple of questions, and if she were lucky, somebody might be able to help her. Even if it didn't have to do with her burning questions about the Free Bird event, Nick's past, and his connections, along with Jacket Klem, to obscure names and groups such as the Queen of all the Dust system syndicates known by many names, like ‘the ghost’. Nick had talked with such familiarity as if he knew the pirate Queen on a first-name basis. And although there was no real love for the so-called rebel movement that had been carrying out piracy for the past decade in the name of humanity, even with no actual affiliation with humans or The Fleets, disdain and hatred seem to transcend simple disgust for the phony movement. The way he talked to that Chirp woman on the pirate ship and incited the mutiny, so he had a personal connection and, in the very least, he knew those particular pirates more than just in passing.
Finally, there was The Roost. While the fate of The Den was speculation, all assumed the worst for the disappearance of The Roost. The Revelation that not only did people survive the disappearance or the massacre, as Jacket had called it, but nobody knew details or anything about the Dust system and the Tumbleweed Galaxy after the connection the mega ships provided was cut. There was fundamentally something wrong with the universe if sources existed such as that, and yet nobody knew about anything that should be common knowledge with that many sources and attempts to disseminate information. This went far beyond any kind of information psyop or cover-up. The implications of what must have been done to silence or even kill to keep things suppressed.
Sara felt a pit in her stomach as she looked at the hard drive she had yet to connect to her home computer. Tim had given her that, and suddenly she felt worried for her friend as if he might be caught up in a conspiracy simply for wanting to know more about C32 and the freebird event. Where Sara was always careful about keeping her online identity, purchases, and selling of products separate from her real life, Tim was the opposite, proudly broadcasting who he was and what he was doing all the time. He was always excited, and now she worried that might get him in trouble. She pushed the thought away from her as she plugged in the hard drive he had left her. It likely had more information than anything directly on Grimoire’s data servers. Net diving, whether through local archives or a systems data center, always distracted her, and this time she was looking for answers to things that had personal importance to not just her, but in some ways to her best friend in the entire galaxy, who seemed to be wrapped up in every part of the mystery. What had Nick done to have so many red feather kill tallys? She thought as she set to work
It took her less than an hour to send information queries, messages, and sift through Tim's hard drive that compiled any scrap of the Free Bird event. She never had a particular interest in the obscure conspiracies about what really happened on C32 and the space around it that day. However, now with the context of other events, maybe even bigger than the infamous Free Bird event, she started to see connections to greater goings-on than just a brushfire war. The theories and truth pulled at her mind, willing her to stay awake, but she knew better. She finished sending information requests to far-off data centers and composing her last message to a friend of hers who might have insight. She imagined herself casting many fishing lines into the sea of space, knowing from experience that only time would see any of her bait catch prizes. Prizes that would be there for her in the morning when she woke up, there was no use staying awake waiting for them.
As she was getting dressed for bed, she eyeballed her implant attachment in its box, still sitting unused in the closet. She hadn't used it for a long time and felt the urge to try it on just to play around with it. But for net diving like this so far away from everything she knew, it wouldn't give her any advantage. It was better to take an hour to do work rather than a couple of minutes. She would end up waiting just that extra bit longer if she used that implant. Although she figured she'd be super cute.
I wonder what Nick would think about it. Not if I was cute with it, but how cool it is. My mind is wandering to weird places. I must be getting tired. Sara thought, shaking the image of Nick's peaceful face asleep inches from hers. The faint smell of rain haunted her every time she was close to him. She smacked her cheeks to clear her mind before crawling into bed.
Of course, she couldn’t sleep, not immediately. She turned over in her mind some of the things Nick had spoken about. The 404’s weres not a new concept to her. The idea that a page not found error could take away someone's ability to spend their own credits, get a job, and use a litany of other essential services to get by, well, it was nauseating. It should have brought her hope at the thought that the two mega ships had become a sort of bastion for 404s. Their entire internship economy revolved around bartering and supporting those who weren't able to be in the system anymore. That hope was broken and dashed as soon as she learned about it. The Roost was gone, and The Den was assumed missing in action or destroyed. How many people, not just 404’s, had died during the massacre of The Roost? Why did they die? How did Nick survive? The thought that The Roost hadn't been the only horror he had lived through made Sara shiver despite her warm blankets. That and whatever else he hadn't told her about before and after that massacre, she couldn't imagine what it was like, but it gave some idea of why he was the way he was now, and maybe his breakdown in the hangar wasn't just about the reminder of his kills. What kind of weights pulled on him more than the lives he took, maybe the lives he lost, or the things he blamed himself for, whether deserved or not.
Like Sara had tried to do with him, she pushed her thoughts away from the dark and depressing. Focusing on the happiness not just from the smile he had when he spoke of it, but the pure-heartedness of his stories about the children he had fostered. She couldn't recall the names he listed so quickly but fondly. Every name was not just a name, but real people whom he cared so deeply about. Even the adults he named, like Whisper and Asha, had a sense of familiarity that was like how he used to refer to her parents, the closest thing to family he had since he was 10.
He never spoke about Sara like others. A blush crept into her cheeks as she thought about that realization. She didn't mean less, but she wasn't the same. They were never the same, always unique compared to other friendships and relationships they ever had. Similarly, Nick was special to her, and for the first time in her life, she was starting to wonder if she needed to put a name to that. They didn't need a definition, she resolved. He was the best kind of family that didn't need a familial title. The two of them were the best, just the best.
The next day, 1st shift, during Sara's bridge watch, Nick
The next day, Nick sulked in his ship, but not from depression as much as embarrassment. He counted the hours until the first shift when he knew Sara would be at work. He was terrified of running into her, embarrassed by the state he was in last night. Thankful that she had stepped in to take care of him, but finding it hard to believe a lot of the encouragement and compassion she showed him last night. Regardless, he needed time to think, and he would do anything to avoid speaking to her for now.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
When his comm device chimed, he tensed, looking over at it on the wall desk. The goat automaton was resting with its head on its hooves on top of the special container he was tasked to protect until it reached its destination. The goat raised its head and bleated a comforting little hello before tilting its head expectantly at his comm device. Reluctantly, he walked over and fastened it to his wrist, checking the message that just came in. His shoulders relaxed, and a good deal of tension released its hold on him when he saw it was from Captain Abrams.
‘I still have paperwork, but I'm in my office for the rest of this shift if you want to come by for coffee still. I promise not to ask too many questions, but if you can help me with some of these forms you indirectly created for me, that would be good.’ the text read. Nick didn't waste any time getting dressed, making sure his hair was presentable in the tiny bathroom that was more like a closet. As he made his way to the captain's office, he contemplated for the third time since he arrived on Grimoire about getting his haircut to a buzz cut again, but for now, he managed it well enough with a comb and a wet towel.
There was something to be said about real coffee over imitation Kaf. That and the captain's office and the few times he had had coffee with the man had a certain familiarity of order and discipline he never thought he would crave growing up. But it turned out that after years away from the uniformed repetitive lifestyle, it became one of the first things he began to miss. Even when he eventually found some sort of stability and consistency aboard The Roost, taking care of the kids and all the other extracurricular activities he kept getting assigned to. He craved the structure that Captain Abrams exuded in his domicile. Not for the first time, Canine wondered how common knowledge it was about Captain Abrams’s career before his governmental appointment on HFS Grimoire. He had no doubt that the captain's exploits during the Kessler syndrome event around the Chirp home world had paved the way for such a cushy assignment.
With greetings in line with HDF traditions, Canine stood at attention when he entered, until a head nod from Captain Abrams acknowledged his presence. The habitual process of making Captain Abram’s coffee the way he liked it was a soothing process for Canine that he continued in his habitual method of making his own bulb of coffee. When Canine sat down, he felt silly for sitting with his back straight, not leaning on the chair back, waiting for the captain to speak first, as if Canine hadn't been the one who requested the meeting. How much of this was habit, and how much of this was just ingrained in him? Regardless, it made Canine feel more at home, more in control, oddly enough. Someone giving him orders, him going through the motions he had been taught since he was a kid. The coffee was certainly not the only thing about drinks with the Captain that centered him. Having an HDF Navy humanitarian hero across from him had as much to settle his nerves as the coffee.
“Maverick Canine, formally codenamed Apollo. Involved with the gamma ring incident, HDF liaison to the Roost mega ship, and most recently came to my attention, you operated during the Freebird event on planet C32.” Captain Abrams said in a casual tone that he always seemed to use it even when he was talking about serious things or giving orders on his bridge.
“Recently, sir?” Canine asked. Much of what the captain had just said should have been common knowledge, given what other sealed orders he had received upon his arrival. But very few people knew about his temporary Apollo code name or, for that matter, that he was on C32. Clearly, the captain had better Intel than Canine originally thought. A welcome realization if he was to be honest with himself. Working for so long, detached from a direct chain of command and committed to secrets, didn't sit well with his propensity to never lie, which had pinned him into a very dark, silent place and left his thoughts dangerously bottled up in the isolation of his mind.
“Being War Dog 1-2 and liberator of C32 might have gone a little bit to your head, son. I have given you a Long leash, but you're very close to hanging yourself with it. Do not take my complacency as negligence. While I don't disapprove of the results in saving the Long Walks, you are not going to take any further action about my ship without communicating it through the proper channels. The amount of disarray you threw my bridge into was both unnecessary and insulting. Why, even your friend, a brilliant bridge officer in the making, nearly fell apart along with the rest of the bridge. If Jean hadn't done such a good job of training and instilling discipline in that lot, I would have had chaos on my bridge. All because you decided to act without informing me or anyone in this ship's chain of command.”
“Yes, sir, it won't happen again.”
“Good, and I told you to drop that HDF formality, but it seems to be the only thing that works for you. I understand what's going on here, including your secret little package you're ferrying on my ship. Do not take me for a fool or ignorant of what's going on.”
“Yes, sir.” Canine said, quietly waiting for the captain to continue, but when he didn't, Canine found himself breaking eye contact and the uncomfortable silence.
“There's only one thing I don't know about you, son.”
“Sir?”
“Who the hell told you how I like my coffee? No one on this ship knows how to make my coffee the way you did. Only I make it that way. And for the love of god, drop the formality, son. I'm done chewing your ass out.”
“Sir…Captain, an old Maverick by the name of Hawkins messaged me your preferences when he heard I was going to be aboard your ship.” Canine said. The smile that spread across Captain Abrams's lips was infectious, and Canine had to struggle to remember that he was allowed to be more emotive in this Captain's presence. Canine smiled at the low chuckle emanating from across the table.
“I thought that old coot would be dead by now. Tell me, did he give up drinking?”
“Yes, but not for special occasions. I suppose you already know that he was the one flying my Prontroma in the space conflicts during the Free Bird event. Since you knew I was actually on the planet's surface, I assume.”
“You assume too much, although obviously you weren't in your ship, but did not know that Hawkins was flying your Prontroma. I worried that his ship's absence spelled the death of an old friend. The only reason those two old geezers would fly without him was if he was long gone.” Captain Abrams said, still chuckling.
“Funny, sir, I mean Captain, sorry.” Canine stumbled over his words, but the captain waved for him to continue. “Hawkins kept referring to you as an old geezer in his correspondence with me.”
“Damn right he does, as he should. Not that I should ever hear anyone else pointing out how old I am. However, you get up to enough shenanigans and live as long as we do to tell about it, it becomes more of an honorific than something I should be insulted by. Although I dare you to call Hawkins an old geezer next time you see him.”
“Oh no, I'll avoid that word with Grey flight. I saw what Hawkinss did to Groundhog.”
“Is Groundhog the other Maverick that was flying War Dog 1-1?”
“Yes sss… yeah.” Canine said. Without realizing it, he leaned back in his chair and let his posture relax. As the conversation went on and the coffee bulbs got emptier, the story passed between the two men, generations apart.
The next day, end of 4th shift, Sara's room, Sara.
Two days had passed since Sara had stumbled across the red wing on Nick's ship. He had moved back to sleeping in his quarters on Grimoire, and although she wanted to see him, she was busy with her shifts and spending a lot of her free time going through seas of information and sifting through the database Tim had compiled on the Free Bird event. She has only received messages half a day away at most so far. She had some luck, surprisingly, with the Long Walks. One of the daughters of a human crew member was visiting family while simultaneously getting a free ride to her destination. Galactic medical law practitioners were able to suggest diagnoses as well as other small things, but with eventual oversight from more well-trained individuals. Sara's contact wasn't the equivalent of a doctor, but had enough certifications and experience that she could at least consult with Nick. She refused to do anything else until that happened. Sara didn't think she could get him medication or that he necessarily even needed medication. But it was something, and the practitioner assured her she didn't need to go into specific details to get a psychiatric assessment. Nick had coffee with the captain yesterday and, hopefully, again today after Nick's first shift back in the engine room since the pirate attack on the Long Walks.
Tonight, Sara was going to try to grab dinner with Nick and see if he had reached out to the practitioner, as well as just hang out and talk like normal. She wasn't sure how helpful or unhelpful it would be to try to get him to talk about what happened over the past year. He seemed like he wanted to talk about it, but it was like he couldn't find the words to try. Sara didn't understand, and that frustrated her. Sympathy and hurt were the main ingredients of how it made her feel, balled into a mess of other feelings every time he tried to talk about it, but couldn't. If anything, she was frustrated with herself, not him or anything else. Her gnawing need to do something more, but was unable to.
She was almost ready to go to her bridge watch when a clang rang out from her door, followed by her doorbell. She opened the door, and someone she didn't recognize was holding a box and a clipboard.
“I got an order I actually need you to sign.” The man said. It was unusual to have to sign for anything. If she had ordered something from cargo, they would just give it to her. The thing was, she hadn't even ordered anything.
“Why? Who ordered these? Double-check this is the right place.” She said,
“Sara Michalson, ordered by Canine Jerik. One bottle of whisky, one bottle of rum, 20 boxes of chocolate Pocky sticks, and all the cheese curds.” He said, looking at his clipboard, gesturing to a second box by his feet.
“All?” Sara asked.
“Yes, as in all the cheese curds in Grimoire's stock. You have to go collect those yourself in smaller batches. Even if I could have brought them up, you wouldn't have room here.” He said, pushing the data pad into her arms to sign. Bewildered, she signed, accepting the smaller of the two boxes. The man was already halfway down the hall when she got the boxes inside, reading the note along with them.
“Hope this chips away at my IOU, and tonight, maybe I can tell you more about the last couple of years to chip away at it more. Thanks for being there. I finally feel less trapped, less alone. Thanks,” signed Canine Jerik. Sara was smiling until she read how he signed, then she scoffed. She finished getting ready and made for the bridge.
