Work Text:
Begin Penrose-512 Status Report.
Mission Time: 03:02:13:04:28:55.12
Mission Status: First-phase
Cryogenics: OK
The chamber lays empty and shut. A thin layer of dust has accumulated on the control pad. The pilot has found other ways to pass the time.
Maintenance: OK
The room is silent, save the ever-present hum of the ship's life support systems. The LSTR unit hasn't used the calibration pod in nearly five hundred cycles.
Medical: OK
2 cycles ago, the pilot took it upon herself to perform a routine physical check on the ship's LSTR unit. In a breach of protocol, she neglected to wear gloves. The tip of her little finger was pinched by the LSTR unit's exoskeleton near the femur/hip joint, resulting in a minor laceration.
In another breach of protocol, the LSTR unit kissed the tip of the pilot's finger to 'make it better' before applying necessary medical care in the form of a small adhesive bandage.
Personnel: OK
The preceding 600 cycles (note: approximation) have seen a higher-than-expected presence of LSTR unit activity in the pilot's personal quarters. The LSTR unit is a bit of a poor dancer, and prolonged practice sessions have contributed to an accumulation of wear-and-tear on the floor paneling.
It should also be noted that the ship's projector system has been commandeered by the pilot for the purposes of personal entertainment.
Average films watched per 7 cycles: 2.3
Mess Hall: CHECK
Bweoop. Bweoop. Bweoop.
A weepy, muted chime sounds from the console array at the aft end of the hall. An indicator light pulses with a steady orange, denoting a minor electrical failure near the fore of the ship. Typically, the LSTR unit would report to the mess immediately to observe the specific details of the report. It would then resolve the issue in a timely, efficient manner.
By not doing this, the LSTR unit has breached protocol again. Typically, it would be the pilot's responsibility to initiate disciplinary action. But the pilot has found other ways to pass the time.
Flight Deck: CHECK
The pilot sits in her seat, elbow at the arm-rest, cheek against her palm. The LSTR unit is down on her knees, her head and shoulders buried deep beneath the flight deck's central control console. The pilot watches. No, admires. Watching Elster work always helps her relax, and for all the hard metal surfaces around her, she feels a sense of comfort.
"Any luck?" Ariane asks.
"Awmosht…" Elster's voice is muted by the sea of cables she's prodding through. It's further muffled by the little flashlight she has clasped between her teeth. Aside from a handful of tiny blinking status-lights, it's the only source of illumination beneath the console.
Clunk.
The overhead light shuts off. The flight deck finds itself lit only by glowing green monitors, each surrounded by a panoply of warm red buttons.
"Dhh jhh ih?" asks Elster.
Ariane raises an eyebrow. "Um. Can I get that one again?"
There's the soft click of teeth and a bit of shuffling as Elster takes the flashlight out of her mouth.
"That do it?"
"No… Just the main light. Can you get the rest?"
"You got it."
There's another click, a little bit of shuffling and fidgeting, and one of Elster's hands reaches out from the console to paw around at the floor. Ariane sees the voltimeter she's trying to grab and leans down to nudge it over. She declines at first, preferring to touch Ariane instead. Their fingers lace together, and Ariane gives her hand a little squeeze. Elster reciprocates.
A few seconds pass like that. Elster traces the synthetic, slightly-grippy pad of her thumb over the back of Ariane's hand. Once upon a time, Ariane had found the sensation of the Replika's touch a bit strange. That time had long since passed for her, and now she feels only affection for it.
All good things must come to an end, though. Elster's hand slips away, voltimeter in tow. She wishes she had a headlamp so she could chat more easily with Ari as she works. Or maybe another set of hands. But even without those things, she enjoys her work. Before she'd gotten to know Ari, it made her feel useful. Now, it makes her feel loved.
Elster prods around for a minute more, disconnecting lights without inhibiting functionality. It's a bit of an unorthodox application of her repair logic module, but it comes just as naturally to her as any other aspect of working on the ship. A bit of thinking, a bit of intuition, a bit of click — Elster disconnects a cable. Ariane gasps.
Elster spits out her flashlight and pulls out from beneath the console in but a second. She props herself up against Ariane's seat and peers through the dark for her.
"Ari — are you okay?" With every light off, it's black as pitch on the flight deck. Elster starts pawing around beneath the console to find her flashlight… and then she sees it.
Just as much as oxygen, gravity, or temperature control, lights on a space-faring vessel are considered an essential part of life support. In the dark, the enclosed box of a spaceship becomes as dangerous as any terrestrial cave or mine. As such, there's not a single space on the Penrose-512 that isn't lit at all hours by, at a minimum, a set of hazard lights. Unless, of course, the ship's Replika tampers with them.
Elster kneels at Ariane's side in darkness. Pitch darkness, pure darkness. Her eyes adjust, her pupils dilate to pick up every last mote of light they possibly can. There's not a photon to be found, save through the glass of the flight-deck window. And now that her eyes have adapted, her vision is overwhelmed by an endless, truly endless, sea of stars.
"I never knew it could look like this…" Elster murmurs. She hears Ariane shift in her seat. Hands reach out into the dark. Warm fingers trace over plastic, rubber, and nylon. Palm to palm, they lock together. They linger there for a time, listening to the gentle hum of the ship's reactor and the sound of each others' breathing.
"It's beautiful," Ariane whispers. "How many worlds do you think are out there? Waiting?"
"More than we can count. It'd take an eternity to visit them all."
Ariane leans in. The top of her head nudges against Elster's cheek.
"It's a little daunting when you put it like that…"
Ellie turns to lay a kiss atop her head.
"Then I'll stay by your side," she says. "For an eternity, and more."