Words blended together, static rolled them into one another as they came through the intercom. Couldn’t make out the message unless you were paying attention. Glorified white noise bounced off the walls of the mess hall, drowned out by the sounds of clanking trays and boots stomping on the rubberized non-slip floors. 

Probably some announcement on something or another that would be announced again in a different way an hour from then. No wait it actually sounds lik- 

“Smith, smithhhh, smiii-“

A hand shot over to cover the mouth of one Pvt. Andrews. Who for some time had been waving a spoon in front of Smiths face trying to get his attention.

Smith took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“What” 

He said as flatly as possible, 

He’d never had a little brother but he assumed that Pvt. Andrews was as close as he’d ever get to one.

Pure Boot, just 19. Smith had gone on long rants about not being eligible for military service until you were at least 21 during his time in the Terran Cosmic fleet, though given the climate I guess they couldn’t really be choosy.  

He stood about a head under Smith, had to be around 5’5 maybe 5’6 at the absolute most. Light blond hair, green eyes, soft features. Nose was a little crooked from a nasty break he got just after enlisting. He told everyone he got in a fight with the drill instructor. “Bullshit” Smith thought. 

In reality he had rolled off the top bunk in his sleep and landed right on his face. Fucking dumbass.

They met a year ago during Smiths 7th rotation on the Hope. The ship was renamed the Defiance after very barely escaping the fallout of the Terran Defense War. It still sported some scars, not even from the Affini, took a few hits from friendly AA while rushing to leave orbit.    Total shit show. Either way they were rebels now, that still felt weird to say out loud. The name change was a reminder of that.

Smith was zoned out again and Andrews had that look in his eyes he so often did. Dead stare, mouth scrunched up into a tight smile, finger was on the metaphorical trigger. Yep, monkey brain. 

“Try to thump me with that spoon, and I will shove it so far up your ass that-“

“It’ll rival the stick you have up yours?” 

Andrews face was lit up with the most shit eaten grin as he tried not to giggle (he was a military man now after all.)

“Anyways, I saiiiid, what are you gonna do once we beat back the plants?” he perked up with his legs crossed on the bench. God he really was a kid.

Smith didn’t even think before responding. 

“We’re not going to beat them” 

Andrews grin faded and he looked a mixture of angry and a little bit scared. Like the first crack of thunder during a storm when you’re not expecting it. An anxious smile formed across his face, causing the break in his nose to be all the more apparent. He looked like a dog you’d come home to find had gotten into the trash. But he knew Smith was right.

Best they could hope for was playing cat and mouse until command had the better sense to fly as fucking far away as possible. Even that was a crapshoot. The Affini were not known for letting anything slip through their vines.

Smith noticed Andrews starting to sink in his seat, almost sliding under the table. His face still practically twisted into a knot. 

“Fuck uh, I mean, listen Kid…”

Andrews is practically under the table at this point. Is he fucking with me right now or is he actually about to hide under the table?

“Stop that shit, sit up and look at me” grunted smith not knowing whether to be annoyed or concerned. 

Andrews peeked up over the table with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Smith stared back from under his brows. Oh he’s definitely fucking with me.

Even so, from the color of his face obviously some of the act was genuine. 

Smith looked at Andrews and then at his hands. He tried to find something reassuring to say.

“I promise, I will not let anything bad happen to you, no matter what. When all this is over we’ll slip off to some ring world and stay so far off the radar those damn plants will never find us yeah?” 

The bond between him and Andrews was not immediate. It snuck up on him over the last year. When Andrews had arrived to fleet he was a scared kid, with no experience, who couldn’t find his ass with both hands. 

The memory made Smith smile. 

He would at least make sure he wasn’t scared.

Andrews slowly rose from under the table. The tight lipped grin made its way back onto his face. 

“Okay dad!” 

Well Andrews is back to normal at least.

   “Fuck you” smith grunted.

They both laugh for a bit but it trailed off into silence. Andrews looked down at his “lunch” and used a fork to push what is supposed to be a meatball from one side of his plate to the other. The meatball left a slime trail along its path. Andrews shuddered and looked up to his friend. He opened his mouth to say something then stopped obviously trying to find the words. Smith just tilted his head as if to say “out with it”

“Smith, why are we even here?” 

Fuck me already, with the existentials. 

Smith danced with the thousands of responses he had inside his head and tried to find the one that would most put the kid at ease. Regretting the line of conversation he started and wishing he chose his words better. 

He takes a deep breath and cranes his head to the side. His arms rested on their elbows, fingers interlaced, chin resting on his knuckles. He looks like he’s about to say something thoughtful.  Andrews leans in anxiously, expectantly. 

“Wellll you see, your mom loved your dad a whole lot and then-“

Andrews punched him hard in the shoulder, hard for Andrews anyways. “Stopppp, you know what I mean. If you think the war is pointless, why are we here?”

Smith scrunched up his face and dug for something meaningful. Before he could speak Captain Blowhard (Spears) of the Defiance slammed both of his hands down on the table between them. The suddenness of it all surprised both men. 

“SMITH, ANDREWS! If I hear even a whisper of that sentiment again from either of you I will throw you from the airlock myself, is that understood!?” The little man barked, gaze shifted back and forth avoiding any kind of real eye contact with Smith.

Spears was not the first to command the Defiance. The first captain was Sarah Densk. Smith had served under her up until her disappearance slightly over 3 months ago.

Sarah was a decisive and intense leader who cared immensely for the crew in her charge. Smith had been her “right hand” through some of the dodgiest fights of their military career. A seasoned leader well loved by everyone on her ship.

First she was assumed to be MIA. Kidnapping by an Affini spy, had to be. Or maybe even a small mutiny? Too many boxes left unchecked. Sarah had such a large personality it wouldn’t surprise Smith if that rubbed someone the wrong way. He could picture Spears the giant manchild finding a way to get rid of her. 

That was until she showed up on an Affini propaganda broadcast. Fuck, Smith didn’t want to think about it.

Spears on the other hand was far too green for a commission. He was not a small man physically but the temper tantrums he so often threw reminded Smith of an angry toddler. Mid 20s, tall and thin, outfit suspiciously clean. He had gone to some academy in blah blah blah apparently that meant something to the powers at be. Smith was not one of them. 

By the way he held himself it was obvious to Smith he had never had to back the fight in his voice. The faux confidence and bravado being a dead give away. He was acting like the other officers he saw at the academy, who themselves were acting like the officers they saw in the movies. 

   Calm Smith, calm…

In reality Smith was best qualified to captain the Defiance but years of (promoted - demoted - promoted - demoted) had held him back. 

Spears stood there, a constipated look on his face, arms behind his back waiting to be acknowledged. 

Andrews nodded aggressively, Smith just looked blankly at the thin mans eyes. Spears knew not to push it.

Spears was the first to break the silence. 

“Chow is almost over, eat up and then report back to your stations.” He barked before turning on his heels and walking away. The heels of his boots thudded on the rubberized tiles of the floor. He stopped and without turning around to face the man started speaking again. 

“And Smith, you're in munitions today” Spears said it  with a level of smugness in his words as he left the two men to their lunch. I guess he thought that was punishment. 

   Manchild

Andrews and Smith looked at eachother in unison knowing exactly what the other one was thinking “what a fucking tool” the realization that they shared a brain cell in that moment made Smith laugh under his breath. Both at how fond he’d grown of that kid in such a short amount of time and at the idea of Andrews sharing brain cells when he didn’t have too many to go around in the first place. 

Regardless of how they felt about their “Captain” they did have work to do. 

They shoveled the rest of their “lunch” down their throats. As much as they could anyways. The half thawed meats, and pasta that looked like it could start crawling off of the plate at any second tended to be hard to get down. 

Smith didn’t look up from his plate to start speaking. 

“Don’t let him give you shit Andrews. He’s an entitled child that went to school on daddy's money before the rebellion. His leadership is worth less than the paper his diploma is printed on”

“I know but he’s scared of you, it's different. I mean he wouldn’t even look you in the eyes.” Andrews said with a slight whine in his voice. 

It’s true Spears was afraid of him, ever since their first run in from, god had to be six and a half years ago now. Story for another time.

Andrews and Smith cleaned up the rest of their trays and stood up from the benches of the table. Boots peeling from the ground beneath them as they stood. 

They both filed between the line of densely packed tables to throw away their trash and move on with their day. Spears awaited them at the end of the line and didn't hold back a scoff as they shuffled by. 

“Never let another person make you feel small, no one gets to make you feel that way, I don’t care who they are.” Smith spoke again without turning around to look at Andrews. His toxic affirmations a cancer in his head poisoning his thoughts and words. 

Smith was talking to Andrews but really he was talking to himself. 

“I know. I’m trying, I’m just not like you.” Looking at the ground as he walked the kid spoke with a gentle sadness in his voice. 

Yet Smith was glad for the fact that he was nothing like him.

They make it to the wide doors that mark the exit of the mess hall. Andrews jumped up and high fived the exit sign just above the doors. The sign flickered with light just barely clinging to life at this point due to the kids' little tradition. 

With a subtle nod to each other they both broke for their respective stations. Smith went left and Andrews broke right, walking opposite ways down the halls of the Defiance. 

There was always the faintest amount of fog in the halls. The system that transported oxygen around the ship  was damaged during an emergency drop from light speed. The system akin to a rebreather in a spacesuit but large scale. Meaning they breathed stale air.

Without the support of a functioning government the ship slowly tore itself apart, losing more and more functionality each day. 

The Hope was once a jewel among the Terran Cosmic Navy. One of the most advanced frigates of its time. Part of a new light destroyer class developed just before the Terran Defense War. She was small in comparison to the other frigates; only around a quarter of a kilometer long, but god was she fast.

The ship was built around two things. It’s engines and its main armament. The engines themselves were not special. Its speed came from its power to weight ratio. She could out run and maneuver any human ship of its size before or since.

It wasn’t armed to the gills by any means. It was a breakthrough ship it didn’t have to be. However, the entire nose of the ship housed a state of the art XM-3200 mass driver. Nicknamed Gods revolver due to the massive cylinder located near the base of the weapon. As the weapon charged the coil in the cylinder would spin. Like a game of roulette but all the chambers were loaded. Smith had seen it fire solid-shot through the front of the most armored part of an enemy carrier and watched that same round fly out the back. Tearing out the ships guts as it did, sending hot liquid metal spilling out of its ass. Nasty thing. 

Get in, blow shit up, get out. A thing of beauty. 

But look at her now. The “Defiance” Fitting name given how the rebellion was going 

Light speed capabilities = gone. They were sitting ducks if shit were really to hit the fan. Escape shuttles = most were scrapped for parts months ago. Gun still works, for now. Crew is at 35% capacity. Half the ones who didn’t go missing during our initial run in (run from) with the Afinni, went AWOL first planet we stopped at to resupply. 

The “Defiance” Smith scoffed. What were we defying our better senses 

Smith regained his focus and looked back to find Andrews impersonating the captain to the passing crew as he walked down the hall on his way to Comms. Stomping his feet, and keeping his hands behind his back with his chin up high to mimic the way Spears walked 

“If I hear even a whisper of that sentiment again from either of you, I’ll beat off both your dicks myself understood!” he says in a voice obviously mocking Spears, loosely paraphrasing his speech from earlier. Paraphrase is a strong word for what Andrews was doing, but fuck did they hate Spears. 

“God help that kid,” he said to himself, shaking his head and turning around to make his way to munitions which was on the complete opposite side of the ship. Smith didn’t mind the walk.

He made his way through the halls of the Defiance trying not to pay too much attention to the god awful light blue color of the ceilings. Spears read in some fucking book how different colors affect the psyche. Light blue mimics the color of the sky and keeps a crew calm during long durations of space travel.

What the book didn’t tell him was that metal rusts especially in moist oxygen rich environments and the baby blue of the ceilings was now dotted with large orange stains. Great for morale you fucking dork

He took a left turn past the infirmary. Once he rounded the corner at the end of the hallway he saw his destination. A small backlit sign reading “munitions” marked the door. He made his way to the end of the hall and entered the room where he would no doubt spend the rest of his day zoning out.

Honestly he prefered it that way. Much better than whatever cancer came with being part of the Navigation or Communications teams. Those guys were practically radioactive at this point. Poor Andrews. 

Plus there’s just something about moving munitions from one part of the ship to another and up-keeping the complex weapon systems aboard the Defiance. Doesn’t take a whole lot of brainpower. It’s easy to turn off your mind for a bit. 

Smith was in no way a dumb man. He was extremely gifted when it came to small unit tactics, years of hand to hand and weapons training, could field strip and reassemble a rifle with his eyes closed. His knowledge wasn’t particularly scholarly but it was practical and it was specialized. You wouldn’t ask a surgeon to build a car and you wouldn’t ask an engineer to sew up a wound. Smith was purpose built. 

At his core Smith was a fighter. He always had been. There was never a choice.

The entirety of his bloodline was tied into war. As far back as his family tree went the pages were filled with General whoever, or Lieutenant such and such. He was sure you could pick a random conflict that took place on Terra and his ancestors would have been there.

Smith pulled his coveralls down to his waist in anticipation for the heavy work to come leaving only his tank top covering his well defined chest. He didn’t care much for looks, at all really, didn’t even have a mirror in his bathroom. “Gotta buzz cut, why do I need it? Not like I have hair to fix?”  Was the reasoning he gave himself. 

Regardless he tried to stay fit. Wasn’t much else to do in your free time on board The Defiance other than eat, sleep, or workout. Well and, uh actually never mind. 

Smith stood about 6’4, not quite bodybuilder toned but you could tell he was strong. He had quite a lean build up til he hit his mid 20s, now there was a healthy layer of fat to his body. Skinny face that didn't match the rest of him. Sometimes looked like a little guy in a strong man costume. He was handsome anyways, something about the duality of it

No gnarly scars, just some stretch marks on his thighs and back from where he grew way too fast as a kid. No tattoos or cybernetics. He was a stereotype but he was self aware at least. No piercings well minus his left nipple. Lost a bet to Sarah. Long story… 

He tied the arms of his coveralls around his waist and got to work. He started with his mental checklist. 

“Okay inventory of the remaining boxes of shells used to feed the auto cannons” Smith kicked a few boxes as he counted them.  

“Not enough. Great. Next let’s empty the spent casings easily done.”

The cannons are set up in such a way that the spent rounds eject into a receptacle that can be pulled out and placed onto a dolly and unloaded into a large shell dump that will eventually be recycled. One spent shell is the size of Smith's whole forearm. 

He unlatched the receptacle from the ammo feed then moved it onto the dolly. Taking great care not to let it topple over and spill spent shells on the floor. Once it was secure he rolled it over to the shell dump. The rest of the process was automatic. Two arms unfold from the wall, gripping both sides of the container, lifting it, then finally dumping the spent shells into the receptacle housed within the walls of the ship.

Andrews during his last station in munitions put big googly eyes right above the mouth that the arms feed the spent shells into. Smith would never admit it was his favorite part of the job and that he even named it. 

“Hungry today huh Steve” the machine didn’t say anything back. 

Smith felt embarrassed for just a moment realizing he had let himself be human. 

“Okay! Last we just have to load the new shells and be done with it” This was the hardest part. Shells had to be loaded individually into the drums that fed the auto loader. No machine assistance. I mean you could adorn an exo-suit to help with the weight. Each shell had to be 40 pounds at the least.

“Need to get in a workout today anyways.”

He popped open the lids to the drums that fed the autoloader one after the other. The machine thankfully could cycle the drums for him at least. So he didn’t have to manually remove each drum as well. A click of a switch would rotate the next drum to him.

Once they were all primed to be loaded he grabbed the dolly pulling it behind him as he walked his way over to where fresh shells were stored. 

“Three boxes should do it, ehhh maybe four. 

Smith slid the dolly under the crate housing the new rounds and taxied it back over to the weapons system. Repeating the process 3 more times. 

“Fuck me, okay, last part just load the rounds.”

Smith walked over to storage and rummaged around for a crowbar to pry open the ammo crates. Finding one settled right in the corner where he left it. 

He made his way back over to the ammo crates cracking open each one. He had a system. He then began the long and arduous process of hand loading each individual round into the drums.

Clink, clink, clink. This went on for well over an hour. 

He was nearly to the end of the last box. Clink, clink, clink, clink, “FUcking shit” his face puckered and he squinted his eyes. 

He had caught his thumb underneath one of the 40 pound shells. Smith, the 6’4 230 pound soldier was now sucking on his thumb and trying not to jump up and down which just resulted in him angrily squatting a few times until the pain wore off. 

“Fuck you!” not learning his lesson from before that the machines aboard the Defiance cannot in fact talk back.

Smith replaced the lid to the last ammo drum and clicked the button that cycled it back into feed. Finally done for the day he stepped down from the weapons system and pulled one of the empty munitions crates closer to the wall. Sitting down and leaning his back against the cold metal that supports the auto loading system and took his first break.

He looked around, really taking in the space. The orange lights spinning and illuminating the loading bay. Casting orange spots on the wall, blanketing everything in a near sepia filter. The hiss of the pipes running above his head. The nets that hung from the ceiling holding reserve supplies. 

For a second he imagined crawling into those nets and taking a nap. No, still work to do.

He lingered for a bit not yet wanting to get back to work. The exchange from the mess hall had him thinking about the captain of the Defiance. Not Spears. The true captain. 

Smith's expression became pained and he started to chew on the insides of his cheeks as he thought. 

It didn’t make sense. How had they got to Sarah? Their quarters were right next to each other. He should have heard something, he should have seen something!

He was with her the night before she vanished. They walked back to their quarters together at the end of the day. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. She was too, too… 

Contemplative, lost in thought, spacey. It was like she was struggling with a decision. He should have said something, anything other than:  

“Good night Sarah”

“Goodnight Chris” 

She was the only one he allowed to use his first name. 

   Fuck Smith, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! His head kept jerking from side to side as he wrestled with the memory. That walk playing on repeat in his head over and over. Forced to hear himself say goodnight and let her go back into her quarters unable to change anything. Knowing she’d be gone the next day. 

Guilt gripped his chest, he was torturing himself at this point he knew that. But how could he not. He owed everything to his captain.

He knew he was spiraling and needed to bring himself back up.

   Breath Smith, just breath. He tries to count backwards from 100. Breathing in on 100, out on 99, in on 98, out on 97, in on- The memory starts playing again. 

   Fuck it. His shaky hands started to empty the utility pockets of his coveralls looking for his data pad. He pulled out one pocket and the tablet came tumbling onto the floor, the side of the screen now slightly chipped from where it landed on its corner. He didn’t care, he just opened the encrypted file he hid in the device just like he had done so many times before. 

A pop up requesting a password appeared: S A R A H

The video of Sarah started playing…

She looked so weak. Not sickly, not scared, not even weak in comparison to the Affini. She looks vulnerable. Like her defenses were down. He never got to see her like that. It put a knot in his stomach, waves of nausea washed over him. 

“I am Sarah D… um Leavu, first floret of Rhyne Leavu 4th Bloom. I was the Captain of the rebellion frigate, Hope.”

Smith missed that name. 

“The Affini have been good to me. I am more fulfilled now than I knew was even possible. I am happy, healthy, and taken care of.”

“The Affini are not your enemies, I realize that now. We are our own enemies, and through the vicious cycles humanity throws ourselves ever willingly into, eventually humanity’s hunger would consume even itself. Snuffing the spark of our entire species”

Smith knew Sarah had an ouroboros tattoo starting on the back of her neck and running between her shoulder blades. The last part at least was not propaganda, it was Sarah. He didn’t even disagree; he had seen what humanity was capable of. Still her words left him conflicted.

“I beg you please lay down your arms and allow the Affini to help you. 

“To the crew of the Hope, I long to see each and every one of you again.”

She looked down for a moment and you could see a hint of sadness. Like she was about to break from script. There’s no way that was Sarah talking. 

“You can stop this madness at any time and the Affini will accept you with love and open arms. Please, please…” 

You can see her face scrunch up as tears formed in her eyes. Another voice speaks.

“That’s enough, petal. It’s okay you can stop” 

   Dont fucking touch her, plant. 

A tall leafy alien comes into view and wraps it’s vines under Sarah’s face cradling her chin and petting her on the head. The Affini helps her away from the comically large podium and off the stage. You can hear a faint “did I do a good job?” As the video fades out.

That’s it. There’s no stopping the spiral. He let the drum beats in his head take over, bass thudding away in his ears. 

“AUGHHH THOSE FUCKERS!” His voice is hoarse and guttural like wailing but filled with hate. 

He smashed his fist down into the crate he had been resting on, punching a hole through the top. Splinters embedding themselves into his calloused knuckles. The box broke in such a way it could no longer support his weight and he came crashing down onto his ass. His tailbone absorbs all of the fall.

Smith grits his teeth and slams the back of his head against the wall he was leaning against. “FUUUCK!” 

Without thinking he pivots onto his knees turning and picking up the remnants of the box as he does so. With full force and in one fluid motion he turns and slams the box into the wall sending shards of wood flying in every direction. 

Furiously he took his breaths. Shoulders rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. Blood from his knuckles now staining his undershirt. 

There he sat on his knees, his chest puffed out like the fur of a wolf making itself look bigger to a threat.

   What are you gonna do Smith, fight the wall, get your shit together 

He exhaled, relaxing his shoulders as the breath left his lungs. He leaned forward, his forehead pressed against the cold metal of the wall. He could feel the heartbeat of the machinery vibrate through his skull. He leaned back and lightly headbutted the wall. “Stupid aliens, stupid Sarah…”  his face was blank of all emotions except for one. Pain. 

Sweat dripped down his nose, drops splashed onto the floor, as the video of Sarah restarted in the background.

“I am Sara-“

Smith reached over without looking and repeatedly tapped the screen of the data pad until the video stopped. 

There was a loud pop and then suddenly the sound of steam whistled out from one of the overhead pipes that cooled the ships weapon systems, bringing him back to the real world. 

He thought back to A quote he kept close to his heart growing up. 

“Loss is nothing else but change, and change is nature’s delight.” 

   Fitting, fucking plants. He would find his captain.

Smith stomached his anger and hurt, rose off of his knees and headed back to supplies to grab the kit needed to repair the leak. Hopefully this day went by quickly, he was already over it.

Smith rounded the corner leaving munitions. His day sped up a bit after his episode. The pipe was easy to fix, picking the splinters out of his knuckles, well that, that took time. 

He’d thought about stopping at the infirmary on his way back from munitions. You know, talk to someone about it. His head, not his hands. Those would heal. But they were at war and there was no time for feelings. In fairness even if there was time he probably wouldn’t ever talk to anyo-

   Blah no pity parties 

They’d just put him on suppressants anyways. Not worth the trouble. Plus he heard somewhere they made your dick stop working. Not that he had anyone since… 

   Nope already opened that box once today (and then put my hand through it. Smith let out a small deflated chuckle. 

He was talking to himself again. The stress was really getting to him. He was so tired. His feet dragged under him, each step felt like work. He looked out of the window that framed the wall of the hallway in the connecting bridge that led from one wing of the Defiance to the other. A free standing structure that gave quick access to crossing the width of the ship. Along with incredible views of space.

It was the only part of the ship other than the mess hall, some of the crews personal quarters, and the command bridge that didn’t have that god awful fucking wretched blue paint on the ceilings. Just reinforced glass windows running the length of the walls and the ceiling. Great for observation as well as other things… 

In fact he had spent countless nights there together with Sarah. She had special access to the ship as the captain and could lock both of the mechanical sliding doors that were on either side of the bridge. It would be just them alone to enjoy the stars with no distractions. Aside from each other of course. The memory filled his chest with a familiar heat. 

Smith couldn’t help but get lost in the view. Space used to feel so vast and so beautiful when he was a kid. But now it doesn’t feel big enough. When he looked into the deep black of the galaxy all he saw was danger. 

He could practically hear the sound of shells fired from  low orbit smacking into the sides of planets. It was a sound that made your stomach sick, like a bone snapping followed by silence. Didn’t look like much from space but each round from the main armament of the Defiance could easily punch a crater in a planet a mile in diameter. 

The silence was the worst part.

Or ships ripping through space as they dropped out of light speed. It sounded like a thousand fog horns going off at once. He didn’t know the science but he imagined it was space tearing itself in half, mankind having achieved something they were never meant to “God I sound like Sarah now” he thought. 

   Smith stop 

He was shaking again. He stopped to grab the guardrail attached to the wall of the bridge and took a few deep breaths. A level of control slowly came back to him

That had been happening since before the Affini, not that their presence had done anything to soothe his nerves. Thankfully he wasn’t far from his room. 

   Just a bit further now 

Smith steadied himself and let go of the guardrail confident he had found his bearings. He made it to the end of the bridge with nothing else to note, or perhaps nothing else he wanted to acknowledge. Too many memories here, I’ll take the long way next time.

“Finally” Smith let out a relieved breath as the door to his quarters slid open.

His room aboard the Defiance was actually quite nice for a warship. It was Sarah’s old room. Maybe 500 sq ft give or take. A window facing out of the starboard side of the ship . Full-size bed was definitely an upgrade from the standard twin. A metal desk with a Couple very odd looking plants, some accolades from back when there was a legitimate navy, and a small wooden dog that was obviously well loved. Oils from Smiths skin having rubbed off the finish over time leaving little spots of bare wood.

The medals felt felt way less important the older he got. Less dragons to slay I suppose. That and Spears has a silver star, made his feel meaningless. 

“No way that Twit earned it” he said to himself.

His floor was covered in a rug from a market him and Sarah visited early into his career. She said she needed an escort for a highly important mission. Smith was honored.

It was shopping... Regardless It was one of his fondest memories. 

There’s a small bathroom, and the envy of even Spears, a non communal shower. Smith would consider himself a stoic and denied himself most excess comforts. Hot showers were not among those things. 

He walked inside his room, and kicked off his shoes taking time to enjoy the texture of the carpet on his feet. A pleasant change from the feeling of standard issue boots a whole rotation past needing to be replaced. You make due with what you have. 

Finally he flopped onto his bed, letting the stress from his day bleed out onto his pillow. He let his thoughts drift as he stared out of the window across from him. This time maybe his mind would be a bit kinder to him. He pushed his head down into his pillow and yawned. 

He thought back on the good days of the fleet. Where between him and Sarah their potential felt limitless. Hundreds of skirmishes, recon deep in enemy held space, shit even some political missions, though they were just glorified PR. Glass a planet then kiss some babies was practically the Terran Navy’s motto. 

Regardless he felt like you could have dropped them off in the middle of hell and they would have been able to fight their way out. It had always been that way. Always up until those fucking plants showed up.

Smith did his best to clear his mind, rolling onto his back, and reaching up to rub his eyes. “Guess I’ll try to sleep” he thinks. 

He actually felt tired after today, maybe could even get a few hours of shut eye. That would be nice. His eyes lazily bounced around the room as he tried to fall asleep finally focusing on the ceiling of his bunk. That was a mistake 

His eyes won’t shut, they are now glued to a note taped to his bed. His thoughts raced, he’s dipping again. The drumbeats are back pounding in his head, it’s deafening. Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum. Sweat started to form on his face as his mouth turned into a snarl.

“Chris, I have to do this, I’ll come back for you”

• Sarah 

Not tonight, not this shit again. He reached into the drawer built into the base of his bunk and pulled out an injector with a vial full of a dark blue liquid. His best friend ever since Sarah went “missing”. 

Neudiapine 50mg 

*warning may cause vivid dreams, hallucinations, sleep paralysis, paranoia, mania, depression, suicidal ideation, loss of app- the list went on. 

Smith put the injector against his neck and tried to find a spot that wasn’t already blown out from the countless injections he had done on previous nights like this. Once the needle found its mark he pulled the trigger. He felt a head rush and then weakness. It's not a natural sleep. You just start to feel things getting away from you. You can’t stay awake. Sleep is no longer a suggestion, it's a mandate. Your hearing gets muffled, you know you’re breathing but you can’t feel it. You feel empty, numb. But your thoughts, your thoughts don’t slow down, you're aware the whole time.

Smith had never died but he swore that’s what it felt like going under. He would never admit it but it was comforting to him.

He took a few slow blinks making peace with what was happening. Just before the lights went out the muscles in his neck turned limp. With no muscles to support it, his head rolled to the side now pointed towards the window. He helplessly looked outside, his vision settling on Canis Major. Wait, that can’t be right, there's one too many stars. Panic sets in.

No wait there’s too man-