Chapter Text
They were sitting in the mess hall, chewing slowly on their meals and exchanging contemplative glances. Nobody was talking. Well, nobody was talking for a decent moment of four minutes and seventeen seconds when One suddenly erupted with a disbelieving whine:
- He calls himself Lazarus?!
Three shrugged. Two looked downwards, carefully avoiding eye-contact. Five choked on her protein bar. Four and Six didn't stop eating.
- Really, people?! - demanded One. - LAZARUS? Do I have to spell it to you?!
The question sounded a tiny bit too high-pitched for his liking. Lacked its intended irony, and dangerously resembled panic. Just perfect. One huffed and glared in the general direction of his crew-mates. General direction occurred to be uncooperative, and quickly turned into a more specific one.
- What?! - barked Three - I didn't give him the idea!
- Are we going to discuss tastes now? - Two interrupted.
One felt the need to explain himself.
- It's just a bit... ummmm, unsettling? Pretentious, too? Like, a really, really bad joke?
- Don't ya worry, babe... - a deep drawl disturbed One's little speech – Daddy's gonna take care of you.
One clenched his fists, and gulped. He could feel a hot wave of humiliating flush creeping up his neck and cheeks. And ears. Just perfect. He sat down, giving Three a scornful look. Two delicately pinched the ridge of her nose. Five elbowed the Android, mouthing a silent 'shut up' to her. Four and Six said nothing.
- Let's return to business... - Two started, staring icily at Three – if you are done with your fun.
- Obviously, ma'am. - he replied dutifully – Done. I mean...Let's.
Three coughed. Counting to ten and backwards in his head, he somehow managed to keep all his cocky retorts to himself. Reckless he was, but he wasn't suicidal. He eyed One, who now looked as if he was radiating heat. The corner of Three's mouth twitched.
- A quick recapitulation. Doctor Timothy Spencer, a once-renowned specialist on cells regeneration, is currently residing in the Ceres4 Deep Space Station.
Three nodded. No need to state the obvious.
- We have questions, he knows the answers. The most sensible solution to this problem is to have a friendly chat with the man. A good thing, then that we've got someone who actually is his friend, isn't it?
Three nodded. One looked at him, and hastily went back to contemplating his fingernails. All the remaining crew members were listening. Two continued her briefing in a dangerously calm tone.
- Apart from having a poor choice in nicknames, our good doctor also is a connoisseur, and does not stoop to common whores, but seeks his pleasures in more sophisticated places.
Three nodded. He wouldn't call all the wonders of Ceres4 DSS 'sophisticated', but he agreed that everyone could find their something there.
- He either looks for teenage girls or fragile men in their first years of adulthood. Innocent, yet spoiled. Strong, but easily destroyed.
Three felt tired of nodding. His neck started to hurt.
- Which leaves us with either Five or One if he is to catch the bait. - he summarized.
- Five isn't going anywhere. - Two's voice was firm. Girls were out of question then.
- One? - an inquiring look from the captain made One snap out of his thoughts.
- Do I have a choice?
Three shrugged. He couldn't recall meeting Lazarus, but the CCTV archives they managed to discover in the vast database of Ceres4 proved they were quite well-acquainted. So, he might have all his memories wiped out clear, but he had a feeling about the guy. A bad one.
- You don't. It's the only way to get to him without getting your guts ripped out and decorating all the nearby walls in the process.
- Why not Two?
- Too scary, too old. No offence, ma'am.
This time it was Two who shrugged. No offence taken. Lazarus liked young girls, not women.
- Six?
- Too big. Not my type. - Three grinned.
- Four? - offered One weakly. He was running out of options.
Three and Two shook their heads simultaneously.
- Can you imagine him cross-dressed and looking authentic? - Two asked.
One felt a tidal wave of desperation rising in him.
- Are you saying that I will look perfectly authentic wearing a silky gown and clinging to him?! - he pointed to Three with an accusing look.
- What I am saying is that you... - Two tried, then hesitated.
- Your face... - she started again.
- Four ain't his type! - interrupted Three. - Now, shut up and take your shirt off. We're going shopping.