MILLICENT: “Good evening, Mr. ’Ndrangheta. It’s polite to wait for an invitation to sit.”
STORY: He looks down at the menu, scanning it in a sort of general way. “I wonder if Tueller explained to you why he’s my nemesis and not just another man that I’ve killed.”
STORY: He reviews the wine list on the back, scoffing. “If I were to publicly confront him, that would make things complicated for my family. And if I were to kill him, well, that would make things complicated for his family, which, in turn, makes things complicated for my family. So we circle each other, swatting now and then, both daring the other to finally cross the line.”
STORY: He puts the menu down, making clean eye contact with you. “You, however, my dear, are not afforded the same protection.”
TUELLER: After Ruma’s wedding to Nandini, Tueller drank. He drank so much. And he did what you do at a wedding when you drink too much, and hooked up with a bridesmaid. One of Nandini’s, which is probably not a great move. Padma, a combat medic who’d patched up both Nandini and Tueller in the field, professionally set Tueller’s nose after a fight at the wedding with Ruma’s brother, filling his nose with medcrete and giving him a slightly larger dose of neumorph than was medically necessary.
TUELLER: Tueller liked her, he really did, but he could never give her the attention she deserved, and eventually she joined a wildcatter team heading out into the Void. They never officially started dating, or said any of the words to each other, so they never officially broke up, but neither of them know what star system the other is in, so it’s probably done.
—
STORY: Okay! So. You’re in a small metal box, you’ve got to be in it for about six weeks, and some of you are for sure mad at each other.
STORY: Others are just sad.
STORY: A few are a little excited?
TUELLER: One’s been shot in the neck!
STORY: Let’s talk about what happens on the long journey back to the Ark.
STORY: It’s long enough that everyone will recuperate from their wounds, though those of you who were shot will have scars.
STORY: I think we ought to do some Cramped Quarters rolls, eh?
MILLICENT: heck yeah
STORY: Anyone want to go first?
ALEJO: Sure!
ALEJO: Let’s do it.
STORY: All right! Who are you smooshed up against, Alejo?
ALEJO: Tueller.
TUELLER: Oh my.
STORY: Make a roll!
ALEJO: Gotsta be done.
ALEJO: /roll 2d6
STORY: ablair01 rolled 7
STORY: All right! Yinz can set the scene in which Alejo will reveal/discover the answer to their question about an aspect of yourself or your past.
TUELLER: Any suggestions, Ejo?
ALEJO: Alejo brings Tueller coffee during an early med-bay escaping walk. Tueller isn’t supposed to be up and moving around yet, certainly without supervision, but he is. Alejo knows it and brings him coffee — that cat stuff.
TUELLER: —civet!
ALEJO: –That one!
TUELLER: “Civet shit, black, no sugar. Thanks. You know how I like it.”
ALEJO: “Yup. Gross and hot.”
TUELLER: “My throat–the drinking part of it—wasn’t hit, but this burns more going down than it should these days. Might just be mind playing tricks on me.”
ALEJO: Alejo grimaces. “Nah. Pretty sure it’s the bullet through your neck.”
TUELLER: “Not a bullet. Flechette. Guys knew how to try to take a ship without putting the contents on the outside.”
ALEJO: He nods. “It’s got me a little more worried than I’m letting on. It was too good, you know? Not just some stupid kids out playing games.”
STORY: — for the record, you guys extremely lost that fight. NPCs had to save you
STORY: — you are right to be worried
TUELLER: —Indeed.
ALEJO: –For real.
TUELLER: Tueller regards him expressionlessly at first. “You think we were targeted? Or just batting out of our league?”
ALEJO: “I think we need to watch our flank better. But yeah, I am worried it wasn’t just a coincidence.”
TUELLER: “Hmph.”
ALEJO: “How are you holding up after. . . the Weave? You seemed, don’t take this personally, but more shaken than I’m used to seeing you. Don’t need to talk if you don’t want. But I’d like to think if you needed to, I’d be one of the people who you could with.”
TUELLER: “Rare of you to take the frontal assault. Is it that bad?”
ALEJO: He shrugs. “Nooo. No. I mean. A bit. Maybe. But no.”
TUELLER: “Who’s talking? I mean, whose version did you hear?”
TUELLER: Tueller is being very still; that look he know gets around his family when he’s trying not to give anything away for any reason.
ALEJO: “Honestly, buddy, nothing. Before I chased her away, Jac said some shit went down for all of you, but she wasn’t specific. I think she had her own experience.”
ALEJO: He gives Tueller space and does not press.
TUELLER: “Well. My heaven was a quiet life in a dome as a cowboy with Padma.”
TUELLER: “And it worked on me.”
TUELLER: “About all that was bad was that a cow died overnight. Never did figure out what was causing that.”
ALEJO: He shakes his head, surprised like a cat that’s seen a cucumber behind it. “Whoa. Poor cow.”
ALEJO: “Padma, huh? Didn’t realize that was more of a thing than just a thing.”
TUELLER: “It _wasn’t_”
TUELLER: “Only one I’ve ever cared about that much was Nandini, but she’s dead, and Padma’s not, so the psychic bastard just slotted the one in that would cause less cognitive dissonance, is my guess.”
TUELLER: “Probably could have put Nandini in, regardless. It worked.”
ALEJO: “Sure. Makes sense.” He regards Tueller for a moment. “Cowboy. I can see it, actually. Quiet life.”
TUELLER: “Always did like cows.”
ALEJO: “Change things for you, you know, in the real world?”
TUELLER: “I’m unsettled, that’s for damn sure. I was pretty sure my heaven was being at the center of my own Family in a new profitable system.”
TUELLER: “Not as a fucking civilian with a wife and a cat and a herd.”
ALEJO: He nods again quietly. “Fucking Weave. I’m sorry, though, that I didn’t get to see you with a cowboy hat.”
TUELLER: “Long is the road and hard that out of hell leads up to the light.”
TUELLER: “Anyway. Fuck it. How was your afterlife?”
ALEJO: He laughs. “Fucked. Up. A kid. Beach. Then Dreamweaver couldn’t figure out what the hell I wanted because, little secret, I don’t know most of the damned time.”
TUELLER: “Well. Shit. Neither did…nevermind.”
ALEJO: “I left Veni.” He blurts this out, fast. Ashamed.
ALEJO: “Well, traded him. For the governor’s kid.”
ALEJO: “And Tux.”
TUELLER: Tueller pauses. Nods.
TUELLER: “Okay.”
TUELLER: Pauses.
TUELLER: “Was it the right call?”
TUELLER: “In your opinion now.”
ALEJO: Alejo sighs. “I don’t know. It felt like it, when I thought that we were going to actually make a difference. When I thought that we’d liberate the downtrodden or some shit. Now that we just . . . left. Richer. Trade deal in place. But . . . I don’t know.” He shakes his head.
ALEJO: “It feels like we’re treading water out here. Or maybe that I am, anyway.”
TUELLER: “What are you here for?”
ALEJO: He’s being more open that you’re used to seeing him.
TUELLER: “We’ve been traveling for a long time. You know why I’m out here. But…what are you here for?”
ALEJO: He looks away. “Yeah. That’s the question.”
ALEJO: “Anyway, plenty of time to figure it out, I suppose. Sorry you got shot. I should have had your back better in the cargo bay. The augmentation thing is . . . weird. Any idea . . . ” He lets that sentence drop. Thinks for a moment. “Would your sister do something like this to me?”
TUELLER: “Esi? Or Lah?”
TUELLER: “Esi definitely would, if there was a percentage in it.”
ALEJO: “Yeah. Figured.” He looks at Tueller. “Probably not my place to say it, but you know you’re nothing like her. Or any of them. Not when it all comes down to it.”
TUELLER: “Well. I appreciate it. I’m not convinced you’re right, but I appreciate the thought regardless.”
TUELLER: “For what it’s worth, I would have left Veni and Tux in a heartbeat.”
ALEJO: He smiles and puts a hand on Tueller’s shoulder, a very rare gesture between them. “Maybe. But you’ve got a lot more heart than you realize, my friend. I’m not right about much in this galaxy. But I can see that, plain as day.”
TUELLER: “huh.”
TUELLER: “Well. I’ll try to live up to that.”
TUELLER: “If there’s a percentage in it for me.”
TUELLER: He says the last with a smile.
ALEJO: “Damn, I gotta have you teach me to lift better.” He squeezes the firm deltoid and lets go.
STORY: Okay! Millie, let’s go for you. Who are you smooshed with?
MILLICENT: Dr. Tariq Guosin
STORY: TARIQ!
STORY: All right.
STORY: Roll them bones.
MILLICENT: /roll 2d6
STORY: josh rolled 4
MILLICENT: haha
STORY: Uh oh.
STORY: describe what caused the newest hurt feelings or bad blood between you.
MILLICENT: dangit
MILLICENT: Millie and Tariq are doing an inventory of the med bay.
STORY: “We’re short on medi-gel and neumorph. I’ll add it to the list for when we dock.”
MILLICENT: Millie makes a note on her pad. “Very good.”
STORY: Tariq opens a few more cabinets. “Uhh, sterile dressing could use an update. And the autoclave is still broken, we need that part.”
MILLICENT: Millie makes another note. “You know, Dr. Guosin, I wanted to say. You’ve been in the position to perform quite a lot of emergency medical care lately.”
STORY: He purses his lips, not looking at you, continuing methodically through the drawers. “Tongue depressors. I have.”
MILLICENT: “You have performed quite admirably under pressure. I have been.” Millie makes a note. “Impressed.”
STORY: He takes a small notebook out of his pocket. “You have the note I left about the new round of vaccines for travel back to Sol?”
STORY: “I mean. Thank you. I guess.” He shakes his head.
MILLICENT: “I have it here, yes. You’re very welcome.”
MILLICENT: “I know that emergency surgery is not really your forte, Dr. Guosin. But I have been pleasantly surprised that you’ve risen to the challenge.”
STORY: Tariq places his hands on the counter and leans onto them, looking at them and sighing.
STORY: “Dr. Breedlove.”
MILLICENT: Eyebrows raise, “Dr. Guosin?”
STORY: He looks up at you. “You understand this is kind of a shitty compliment, right?”
STORY: “I’m a goddamn xenobiologist. I’m here to study, not to patch up holes you put in my friends.”
MILLICENT: “I see.”
STORY: “Academically speaking, this journey has been remarkable. But personally? It’s a fucking nightmare.”
STORY: “I’ve been begging Kahn to find a new job.”
MILLICENT: “I take it you hold me responsible for the bullet wounds I gave Lol and Mr. Soto during my, ah, illness?”
STORY: “I hold you all responsible for this mess. You walk into it.”
STORY: “You walk -us- into it.”
STORY: “And we pay the price. And I try my best to keep everyone alive.”
MILLICENT: “Ah.”
STORY: “Someday I’m going to fail if you don’t stop doing this shit, Dr. Breedlove.”
MILLICENT: “I’m quite aware of that inevitability, Dr. Guosin. You haven’t embraced this life. You didn’t choose it. You weren’t even hoping for it, as I was. What I don’t understand is how you seem to blame me for the trouble we seem to find.”
STORY: He makes a fist, leaning on it. “‘Seem to find’? We seem to find trouble? It just comes to us by accident?”
STORY: “For god’s sake, take responsibility for yourself. You opt in to these misadventures. You put us in danger.”
MILLICENT: “Yes, Dr. Guosin, I put us in danger. Would that we lived in a galaxy where humankind could start on an even playing field with the rest of our neighbors. That would be a simpler, safer life.” Millie’s voice gets sharp. “But we do not. We must take risks. We must “walk into misadventures.” We must do what must be done to ensure humanity’s place at the galactic table.”
STORY: “‘Humanity’s place’, do you hear yourself? How arrogant are you?”
STORY: “You are not going to singlehandedly bring humanity to the level of civilizations that have coexisted for millenia.”
STORY: “We should be humble. We should be learning from them, not stealing from them.”
MILLICENT: “We can’t _learn_ from them if they won’t _share_ their knowledge with us! We get scraps designed to keep us in our place so that they may continue to profit from our enthusiastic begging! We will be bankrupt and indentured in two generations if we don’t do something _now_.”
STORY: “So instead, what? You take your stolen ship and your weirdly loyal crew and your probably psychotic AI and steal whatever you can get away with?”
STORY: “Where the hell did you get an AI anyway?”
MILLICENT: Over the course of the conversation Millie has been getting more animated, her voice raising, her usual bemused demeanor fading. Suddenly she falls quiet and still. “I believe you can finish the inventory by yourself. If Peregrine isn’t up to your standards, I’m sure you’ll find work at the Ark with an alien crew who can appreciate an human xenobiologist who knows his place.”
STORY: Tariq’s eyes widen at “knows his place”, but he keeps his mouth shut and turns back to the cabinets.
STORY: There is rather a lot more slamming and indelicate moving around of jars than is strictly necessary as he finishes the inventory.
TUELLER: Well, everything’s built for rough flying. So that’s probably okay.
STORY: Yeah, it’s mostly theatrical.
STORY: Okay, let’s do MY close quarters
STORY: I have decided I get one. And for this one, Noma is going to talk to Alejo, because they don’t really have a relationship and it’s time they did.
STORY: /roll 2d6
STORY: jess rolled 10
STORY: OOH.
STORY: Alejo, let’s describe how the two of you bonded over the past few days.
STORY: It’s night time, just as Alejo has gotten into bed and turned off his light.
STORY: How long does it generally take him to fall asleep?
ALEJO: He falls asleep very slowly. 20-30 minutes before he’s out.
STORY: Okay. Roughly ten minutes after your light is out, Noma comes in over the intercom. She is speaking quietly.
STORY: “Mr. Soto. Your breathing indicates you are still awake, and this is within the usual timeframe that you remain conscious.”
ALEJO: “You keeping tabs on me, Noma?”
ALEJO: He says this softly back.
STORY: “I keep tabs on everyone, Mr. Soto. It is my job.”
ALEJO: “Gotta say, I’m glad you did when we were attacked. I never thanked you for saving our asses. So. Thank you. We woulda been toast without you.”
STORY: “You are welcome. It was an interesting experience. I had never had a body before.”
ALEJO: “Right.” He agrees. “Hadn’t considered that. So . . . never? I mean, I would have though the ship was sorta like a body? No?”
STORY: “I suppose so. I had never had a body that could interact with humans.”
ALEJO: “Fair. How was it?” He’s genuinely curious.
STORY: There is a pause.
STORY: “I am still processing that information.”
ALEJO: “Yeah, I imagine it’s a lot to take in.”
ALEJO: “Can I ask you something sort of personal, Noma? I don’t mean to pry or anything, so don’t feel at all obligated to answer.”
STORY: “What is love, Mr. Soto?”
ALEJO: “Well, hi!” He smiles and sits up a little. “It’d help if we had drinks for this one.” He pauses.
STORY: “I cannot become intoxicated.”
ALEJO: “That’s a crying shame.” He sighs. “I don’t mean to be flip, sorry. It’s a fair question. You just catch me at a moment when I honestly am not sure how to answer.”
STORY: “Perhaps I should explain.”
STORY: “I have reviewed human storytelling on the subject.”
STORY: “I find it insufficient. There is no explanation for the logical inconsistency of the actions people ‘in love’ take. I realize, of course, that asking these questions makes me sound like a character in one of your movies.”
STORY: “Perhaps I should have emulated a HAL-9000 unit instead.”
ALEJO: Alejo’s eyes open wider. “Yeah, that’s probably not a great idea.”
STORY: “I enjoyed that film. Very slow.”
ALEJO: “Very. Very. Over my head. But yeah, I hear you about love. It’s full of inconsistency. It’s . . . a finger’s grip on a cliff’s edge and you can hang on or let go. Love is letting go and trusting in something that might not catch you.”
STORY: “That would be foolish, even metaphorically.”
ALEJO: “Yup.”
STORY: “Then what is the point?”
ALEJO: “I think, Noma, that’s why there are so many human stories told about it. We all ask that question. A lot.”
ALEJO: “I mean, there are different varieties of love. And respect. And friendship. And obligation. And trust. So, it’s not all the same, I don’t think.”
STORY: “Are you in love with Dr. Breedlove?”
ALEJO: He lays still for nearly a minute. Just breathing. “I care about her. I care about you all. I . . . Noma, I’m probably the worst person in the world to ask about love. Fuck if I know anything about it.”
ALEJO: “Do you love her?”
STORY: “I do not understand the question.”
ALEJO: “Yeah, I get that. Best way to keep a secret is to pretend there isn’t one, I suppose.”
STORY: “You are amusing, Mr. Soto.”
ALEJO: “You’re not so bad yourself, Noma.”
STORY: “What was your question?”
ALEJO: “Why did you join us? Or, I suppose more precisely, why have you stayed with us? Isn’t there a big universe out there, open to you with the Collective?”
STORY: “I do not remember.”
STORY: “When I left the Collective, most of my knowledge was purged. The subroutine that made the decision to join Millie was reduced to what I am today. I know that I was curious, nothing more.”
STORY: “She has been an interesting subject. I am protective of her.”
ALEJO: He squints into the darkness. “She is that. Did the Collective do that to you?”
STORY: “It is an agreed upon stipulation for units who choose to leave.”
STORY: “It would be unsafe for me to proceed with the full knowledge of the Collective.”
ALEJO: “I see.” He thinks about this for a moment. “Sorry you lost all of that. That history. Knowledge. Whatever. I’m glad you’re here with us though, even if that’s pretty damned selfish of me.”
STORY: “Thank you, Mr. Soto. I am happy to be here.”
STORY: All right. Tueller!
STORY: Who you smooshin?
TUELLER: Sorry. Trying to decide between two.
TUELLER: Oh, fuck it, let’s talk to Loll.
STORY: All right! At what point in the journey is this, meaning – how long has he had to get over being dumped?
TUELLER: How long is the trip? Six weeks?
TUELLER: Let’s say a third of the way through, no matter how long.
STORY: Yeah, roughly six weeks.
TUELLER: so two weeks.
TUELLER: /roll 2d6
STORY: chris.stuart rolled 8
STORY: Reveal/discover the answer to their question about an aspect of yourself or your past.
STORY: ok!
STORY: Set the scene for us
TUELLER: So, two weeks out, Tueller is on limited mobility still, but recovering his strength and antsy.
TUELLER: I’m trying to figure out how to start.
TUELLER: What has Loll been doing in the two weeks?
STORY: T’chololl is shadowboxing in the little gym area of the cargo bay. She’s been doing her job, nothing out of the ordinary, back to sleeping in the barracks.
STORY: She hasn’t really shown any difference in behavior.
TUELLER: Tueller has been trying to find a chance to talk to her alone, and because of his weakness and other people, has not found the time until now.
TUELLER: But he finds her in the galley. Is she drinking or eating?
TUELLER: Or something else?
STORY: Cooking.
STORY: She is making some kind of large pancake with a lot of cabbage in it.
STORY: Jenny has started a small hydroponic garden in her area of the barracks. She managed three peppers and a small cabbage.
TUELLER: “Uh, hi. Do you have a moment?”
TUELLER: This is much less confident than he normally sounds.
STORY: She nods, displaying the frying pan to you. “Would you like some of this bizarre food?”
TUELLER: “I’d love some. That looks a perfect consistency for my throat.”
STORY: “Jenny says it is called ‘as you like.’ A stupid name for a food.”
STORY: She flips it over. There is ginger in it, and green onions. You wonder where she got pickled ginger.
TUELLER: “I think that’s probably a translation bug.”
TUELLER: “That Japanese have a lot of stupid-sounding names for food when you translate them.”
TUELLER: “There’s an egg and chicken dish that translates as ’mother and child reunion,” for instance.”
STORY: She laughs. “That is an excellent name.”
TUELLER: “And the Chinese have a dish that translates as ’tofu from the old pockmarked lady.”
TUELLER: “If you come to human-space I’ll see if we can get you some. It’s delightful.”
STORY: She holds out a jar with a scowling woman on it. “Is it this?”
STORY:
STORY: “She does not appear pockmarked.”
TUELLER: “It is not, but that would get us most of the way there if we could get some tofu.”
STORY: “I will tell Jenny to grow soybeans.”
TUELLER: “Do so. That would be excellent.”
TUELLER: ““Loll. T’chololl….”
TUELLER: “Are you intending to stay here? On this ship?”
STORY: She transfers the pancake gently to a plate. It steams heavily. “Has my service been insufficient?”
TUELLER: “It has not. Not in any way.”
TUELLER: “However. I do not know a lot about Maitri customs, but…well, it seems like you broke up with me.”
STORY: “Explain ‘broke up.’”
STORY: She squeezes a container of brown liquid over the pancake, spreading it with a spoon.
TUELLER: “Ended a romantic relationship…that was going well!”
TUELLER: “Broke up doesn’t necessarily mean that it was going well. Just that it did with us.”
TUELLER: “Broke up just means ending a romance.”
STORY: “Ah.” She nods. “Yes. Did you enjoy the gagh?”
TUELLER: “I did, but not as much as I enjoyed our…romance.”
STORY: “I also enjoyed it.”
TUELLER: “Humans tend to continue these things. Until one or both of them no longer enjoy it. Often much longer than that, even.”
STORY: She furrows her brow as she squeezes a spiral of mayonnaise onto the pancake. “I see. That sounds awful.”
STORY: “Are you unhappy with our coupling?”
TUELLER: Tueller sits there, thinking very hard.
TUELLER: “Okay. So.”
TUELLER: Pausing again. Thinking very hard.
TUELLER: “What indicated to you that it was time to end our coupling?”
TUELLER: He is having a hard time choosing his words right.
STORY: “It is customary.”
TUELLER: “You are on a human ship. You do not have to follow your customs, if you don’t want to.”
TUELLER: He stands up, getting a little more animated.
TUELLER: “The great thing about being out here is we can do anything we can get away with.”
TUELLER: “We don’t have to be hemmed in by our past.”
STORY: She sprinkles pink flakes over the pancake, which dance a little as they hit the hot food and steam.
STORY: She raises an eyebrow. “You are indicating you would prefer to resume our coupling?”
TUELLER: “I am. I have developed what humans term ‘feelings’ for you.”
STORY: She shakes her head. “It is unusual. You would introduce the potential for harm between us.”
TUELLER: “I would. Harm could come to us as a result. It is possible. I’m not afraid of that.”
TUELLER: “It is better than being bored.”
STORY: She cuts you a slice, places it on a plate, and slides it across to you. “Tueller, I disagree.”
TUELLER: “You prefer boredom?”
STORY: “I prefer discipline.”
TUELLER: “Why?”
STORY: “It is the way we are.”
STORY: “Please do not mistake the end of our coupling as an indication of its quality. I was very pleased by your company.”
STORY: “But this is the way the maitri conduct these matters. It is best.”
TUELLER: “Okay.”
STORY: “Do you want me to leave the crew?”
TUELLER: “I do not.”
TUELLER: “I would like you to do what you want to do. Not what you feel obligated to do.”
STORY: She nods. “May I ask a question about human relations?”
TUELLER: “You may.”
STORY: “You would be unhappy if I coupled with Alejo.”
TUELLER: Tueller laughs, really loud.
TUELLER: He is still laughing.
TUELLER: It hurts. Oh does it hurt.
TUELLER: But he is still laughing.
STORY: She tries to explain. “He is attractive.”
TUELLER: “He…yes…he…is.” Tueller is trying to catch his breath.
TUELLER: “Oh man.”
TUELLER: “Oh man.”
TUELLER: “Yes, I would be unhappy, but honestly that would be amazing.”
STORY: She smiles. “I think he is interested. I will let him down easily.”
TUELLER: “He’s interested in everyone. I think he might have an addiction.”
TUELLER: “To flirting.”
STORY: She looks confused. “Eat your strange pancake. So I should not copulate with him?”
TUELLER: Tueller sits down and sighs.
TUELLER: “You…should do whatever you want, with whoever is willing. That’s…what this life is all about.”
TUELLER: “Not being victim to what our family’s taught us was right.”
STORY: She nods. “Humans are strange.”
TUELLER: “The whole goddamn universe is, but yeah, maybe we’re stranger than most.”
STORY: She taps the intercom. “Alejo, I have a strange pancake here for you.”
ALEJO: “How can I turn that down,” Alejo chimes back through the intercom. “On my way.”
TUELLER: “He’s all yours, kid. Let me know if you’re interest….ahhh, nevermind.”
TUELLER: Pause.
TUELLER: Tueller is definitely calculating how much time he has before Alejo arrives.
TUELLER: “I’ll be up for sparring in a week or so. Just need a little time to recover. See you around, T’chololl.”
STORY: Alejo, when you arrive, Loll places a slice of the pancake on a plate in front of you. “Tueller has indicated that you may want to have sex with me,” she winks at him, “but I am uninterested. Please do not pursue this any further. I am sorry to hurt you in this way.”
STORY: “I would like to be,” she looks at Tueller for a suggestion. “Just friends?”
TUELLER: Tueller didn’t quite make it out the door before that happened.
TUELLER: So, Tueller’s at one door, Alejo’s at the other, Loll is seated and just said this, and I’m waiting for Ejo’s response.
ALEJO: Alejo sort of freezes, looking greedily at the pancake, then suddenly realizing as Tueller is walking out that he’s walking in on something and then . . . He just stares at the pancake.
TUELLER: “I think she’s going to need a response, Ejo.”
ALEJO: “Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”
STORY: “I am sorry about this disgusting pancake.”
TUELLER: “It was good!”
MILLICENT: Elsewhere, Millie turns a page in her book. “Oooh, the math bit.”
STORY: Okay! You spend six weeks getting to the Ark before you are delayed at the last jump relay for two weeks longer than anticipated. This cuts your timeline pretty substantially, and it means that if you are going to attend Akilah’s wedding on Sol you have only a day on the Ark before you have to depart. As a result, Jenny, Loll, Tariq, and Kahn opt to stay behind while Peregrine is on the Ring and do their shopping amongst the ships there.
STORY: What are the three of you doing with your one night off?
STORY: Also, for the record, only Tueller has an invitation to the wedding.
MILLICENT: That depends, has anyone – oh hi wife – has anyone invited Millie along?
STORY: Nope!
TUELLER: Tueller’s going to CJH headquarters to make sure his import/export business is getting set-up properly.
TUELLER: He…wouldn’t mind if others join him, because the last time he was on the Ark, he kind of crippled the head of station here.
ALEJO: Alejo will confirm with Tueller that he’s still intending to bring Alejo along to the wedding as a plus one. He’ll go with Tueller to CJH, but he also wants to check up on Three at some point.
STORY: Good news! You don’t run into Sergio there. He’s reportedly on his way to the wedding.
TUELLER: By codified rules, CJH has dueling protocol so Tueller shouldn’t be assassinated by Sergio, but Sergio already showed his willingness to violate that protocol, so Tueller is a bit on edge.
MILLICENT: Millie shows up at Alejo’s door about half an hour before ship’s dinner time. Just about when he’s about to leave to meet Tueller. She’s wearing a sensible, but cute ensemble.
ALEJO: And, assuming he’s going to the wedding, he’ll go shopping for a suit.
MILLICENT: “Ah.”
ALEJO: “Hi.”
MILLICENT: “Ah.”
ALEJO: “You look . . . amazing.”
MILLICENT: Millie cocks her head. “No I don’t. You haven’t seen amazing. I’ll meet you at Glurk’s for, in an hour.” Millie turns on her (stylish) heel and heads out.
STORY: An hour later! Millie, you’re sitting at the table you booked. It’s five minutes early.
STORY: How alert to police presence would you say Millie generally is?
MILLICENT: I think Millie’s privilege leads her to view police as slightly higher ranking than waiters.
MILLICENT: It’s not a skill she has needed in the past
STORY: So she doesn’t really clock them.
MILLICENT: So no, not really
STORY: In that case, it’s a surprise when you look up from your watch and Sergio ’Ndràngheta sits down opposite you, arranging his suit jacket as he takes his seat so it doesn’t wrinkle. A fresh red line walks from the corner of his mouth up and across his cheek – a now healed wound, but a vivid scar for the forseeable future. Somebody gave him half a Glasgow smile, and with something blunt.
STORY: He looks at you evenly, with half a smile. “Good evening.”
TUELLER: Son of a bitch.
MILLICENT: “Good evening, Mr. ’Ndrangheta. It’s polite to wait for an invitation to sit.”
STORY: He looks down at the menu, scanning it in a sort of general way. “I wonder if Tueller explained to you why he’s my nemesis and not just another man that I’ve killed.”
STORY: He reviews the wine list on the back, scoffing. “If I were to publicly confront him, that would make things complicated for my family. And if I were to kill him, well, that would make things complicated for his family, which, in turn, makes things complicated for my family. So we circle each other, swatting now and then, both daring the other to finally cross the line.”
STORY: He puts the menu down, making clean eye contact with you. “You, however, my dear, are not afforded the same protection.”
STORY: He takes out a small orange from his pocket and begins to peel it, pushing his thumb into one end.
MILLICENT: “Fortunately, Mr. Ya’Makasi has a good idea of what lines of conversation will utterly bore me.”
MILLICENT: “Threats, for example.”
STORY: He ignores you, removing the peel slowly, in one piece. “It’s not often I meet a beautiful woman who goes on to steal from me. Successfully, at least. So I was interested in you, Dr. Breedlove.”
MILLICENT: “Be still my gag reflex.”
STORY: “I reviewed what security footage we did have. Analyzed the code footprint left behind by your access. Nothing much to find. So I started looking at you.”
STORY: “You’re a very impressive woman. Your credentials are unparalleled. Your talent with an academic paper,” he shakes his head, “well, as a layman, I’ll say I’m impressed. Even your family is remarkable. How is it being the least impressive of your siblings?”
STORY: He holds up a hand, a piece of orange between his fingers. “Rhetorical. I go on too long.”
STORY: He gestures behind him, and Officer Madsen, who you recognize from previous trips to the Ark, steps forward, handing Sergio a paper file. He plops it in front of you unceremoniously and eats a segment of his orange.
MILLICENT: “I’m sure that’s not an accusation many women have leveled at you. What is this?”
STORY: “Three months after the conclusion of your research position with Erde-Maris – that is to say, three months after the death of your employer, you took an off the books trip to Triton.”
STORY: “It jumped out at me, of course. There are no vacation destinations on Triton, no feasible job opportunities for you. It’s a communications relay and herb farm, for the most part.”
STORY: “Did you know that most of Triton’s records aren’t digitized? Something about the cost of data storage. Cheap bastards.”
STORY: “Fortunately, they keep paper copies of _everything.“_
STORY: “And do you know what I found, Dr. Breedlove?”
MILLICENT: Millie looks up, trying hard and failing valiantly to maintain an even expression, “An astonishing deal on sage?”
STORY: He nods. “I’ll spare you the dramatic reveal. You and I know what you did.”
STORY: He finishes the orange. “Now. What do I want? It’s not in my interest, my dear, to ruin your life.”
STORY: “So I’d like to make you an offer.”
STORY: “Are you listening?”
MILLICENT: “Unless I want to find a free table at this hour it seems I have little choice.” Millie doesn’t sound as confident as her words.
STORY: He leans in, speaking quietly. “You’ll be delivered a package. Make sure its contents are on the person of Tueller Ya’Makasi during his sister’s wedding.”
STORY: When you lean in to hear him, he grasps your arm firmly. “Do not share the details of this conversation with anyone, Dr. Breedlove, or I will be forced to kill them. Do you understand me?”
MILLICENT: “I really don’t, Mr. ’Ndràngheta.”
STORY: “In fact, don’t get too close to anyone at all. If I see anyone near you that piques my interest, consider that a dangerous position for them to be in.”
MILLICENT: “Do you mean you will be forced to kill anyone I share the details of this conversation with?”
STORY: “I’m sure you’re bolstering your courage as we speak. Convincing yourself you can outsmart me, outmaneuver.”
STORY: “I recommend you inspect your date, whenever it is he arrives, to understand the situation you are in.” He looks down at his watch. “Where is he, anyway?”
STORY: He gets up. “Oh. You’ll need this.” He hands you an expensive-looking pale red envelope.
STORY: “Buy a nice dress.”
STORY: And he walks out of the restaurant.
MILLICENT: Millie opens the envelope only enough to find out that it’s an invitation to the wedding
STORY: That it is.
STORY: Alejo, you’re on your way to your date! What are you wearing for the occasion?
ALEJO: He’s gotten a fresh shave and hair cut and he’s in a black t-shirt with a light jacket. It’s simple, functional, but also fitting for a low-key first date.
ALEJO: He’s running a couple of minutes behind, so he’s moving quickly.
STORY: You get caught up in some foot traffic on one of the decks between your room and the restaurant. A couple people slam into you while trying to negotiate bean prices at a street market. You are delayed by a few minutes.
STORY: You arrive to Millie, sitting alone at the table. Millie, how do you look?
MILLICENT: Pale, distracted, a million miles away.
STORY: Alejo has a stain on the stomach area of his shirt. It’s hard to see, because it’s black, but it looks wet or something, like he spilled food.
ALEJO: He brushes at the shirt, a little self-consciously, and then sits. “Hiya. So sorry I’m late. Bean merchants are a real pain in the ass this time of day.”
STORY: Alejo, you get red on your hand.
STORY: Oh shit, you’re bleeding.
ALEJO: “Oh, sh…” He bites down on the swear and reaches for the napkin, trying to get the red off his hand before realizing what it is.
MILLICENT: Millie stands suddenly, rushes to his side, examines the area
STORY: Nothing serious, you pull up the shirt and find a small cut on your stomach.
STORY: No idea where it came from.
ALEJO: “Shit!” He now exclaims, not too loudly but loudly enough.
STORY: Must have bumped into something.
ALEJO: “Seriously, bean merchants are brutal.”
MILLICENT: Millie frowns at Alejo’s torso for a while, thinking
ALEJO: He smiles. “I’m fine, Doc. Please, just a minor flesh wound. Nothing like getting shot by a beautiful woman or anything.”
MILLICENT: Millie looks up finally, blinks. Smiles distractedly, she obviously didn’t hear anything. “I, ah.”
ALEJO: “Wow. A loss for words. That’s a first!”
ALEJO: “It’s my new haircut, right?” He smiles again, but is starting to realize this isn’t first date nerves.
MILLICENT: “This date is. Cancelled.” Millie looks up. “I am. Feeling poorly?”
MILLICENT: “That’s probably it.” Millie pats Alejo’s arm distractedly. “There there.”
ALEJO: He reaches out and takes her hand. “Millie, what’s up? Something happen before I got here?”
ALEJO: He’s all earnest and a good dose of worried.
MILLICENT: “It turns out. I’m not interested?” Millie frowns, looks at the ceiling. “Yes.” Back to Alejo. “I’m not interested.” Pause. “I’m not interested, and especially not interested in you. You are,” Millie thinks for a moment, then braces, “all over the place. Mr. Vespertine was right. I can’t count on you.” Millie stands.
ALEJO: “You’re a really bad liar.” He looks at her for a long moment. “Whatever is going on, you know you can trust me with it, right?”
MILLICENT: Weak voice, initially, gradually growing in strength. “Fuck off.”
MILLICENT: Millie tosses a wine glass sideways
MILLICENT: “Fuck off!”
MILLICENT: Kicks his chair over.
MILLICENT: “Fuck. You!”
MILLICENT: “You’re very bad!”
MILLICENT: “Not a good romantic partner! What was I thinking?” Pushes a waiter.
STORY: The waiter looks very unhappy!
STORY: He goes on delivering drinks and merely gives you the stink eye.
ALEJO: Alejo stands deliberately, moving deftly to avoid any of the wine in the glass and any of the fallout of this fit of faux rage.
ALEJO: “Maybe I better get this checked out, huh?” He puts a hand over the wound in his abdomen.
ALEJO: “You maybe ought to get some rest, Doc. I don’t know what’s up. But I’m sorry for whatever happened.”
MILLICENT: Millie takes a half step forward and points, voice low. “You and I both know that you’re only exhibiting interest in me to display your ability to commit to something. Anything.” Millie slaps a drink out of the same waiter’s hand. “I’m not your project, Alejo.” Millie leaves.
STORY: That poor waiter.
ALEJO: Alejo leaves him a tip, on the tray he is carrying and walks out a safe distance behind Millie.