Sara sighed while exiting the elevator, signaling the end of her shift on the bridge. She rubbed the base of her back where her spinal tap implant was, wishing the restrictions on her use of her implant attachment would end. She wasn't even allowed to use it during her off shifts, let alone her maintenance work shift that was about to begin, where it would be the most useful.
She checked the time on her wrist comm and sighed. No response from Selena about plans to hang out. She really needed a girl’s night or something to blow off steam tonight. Her thoughts went to Dribble and Creaky as a last-minute option if Selena didn't get back to her before Sara’s six-hour maintenance shift was over. Knowing Selena, if she hadn't made room in her schedule for Sara by now, then she likely already was making plans to fill her schedule with someone else, or multiple people filling more holes than just the ones in her schedule.
Selena's promiscuity never bothered her, but after the transfers and everything with Grimoire’s mission, Sara only had Selena and Dribble, maybe Creaky and Cable, their flight leader. She never really hit it off with the other Flight Defenders. If not for Dribble’s friendship with her since she was 11, there might have been no overlap with Sara's social life and the HDF Flight Defenders. There was always Canine, Nick. Sara paused mid-step at the cringed feeling of thinking of Nick by his adopted callsign name. She was okay with calling Dribble by his callsign, only because she never learned his name and was introduced to her for the first time as Drools. It wasn't a hard transition for her to refer to Dribble by his new first wing callsign.
Continuing towards the door at the end of the hallway, Sara mused about alternative evening plans. She would text Dribble and the other Flight Defenders when she was done. She would have to add Nick to that contact group. Sara entered the aft Damage Control Center, or DCC for short. Regular maintenance and upkeep of the ship was coordinated from here and used as a staging room. The rest of her shift's maintenance team was getting ready, most digging through their lockers or sitting with their tools and gear strapped to their suits. A familiar brown head of hair bobbed into his locker one last time before shutting it. Nick turned to leave, but stopped before he noticed Sara standing by the door.
“If, uh, y'all need anything just–” Nick began, awkwardly running his fingers through his hair while shouldering his bag.
“If I see you near any more maintenance tickets in the next 36 hours, then it better be because you filled out the ticket request. Good work today, Canine, but go home.” Head Chief Sander said. Nick immediately stood to attention.
“Yes sir,” Nick said in an acknowledgment that felt too uptight for Sara. More Human Defense Fleet brainwashing. She physically pinched herself for having that kind of nasty thought. She had noticed her bitterness and disdain for HDF had resurfaced over the last three days, right when she saw Nick for the first time in years. There was a healthy dislike for something, and then there was blinding hatred. Sara preferred to see clearly, especially when it came to HDF.
“Hey, Sara! Have a good shift. I–” Nick said to Sara, noticing her for the first time.
“Good night, Canine,” Chief Sander said firmly with a calm smile on his face. Nick nodded and left the room before Sara could muster a response.
“Uh…” Was all Sara could manage.
“Miss Michaelson, a word before you start making your rounds.” Chief Sander said, already stepping into a small office. Sara looked at the closed door where Nick had been and shrugged, following Chief Sander.
“What do you need, Chief?” Sara said with smooth confidence. She knew she was his go-to fixer for anything software-related on the ship.
“You are friends with that new Flight Defender Canine, aren't you?” Sanders said, crossing his arms while leaning on a desk. Head Chief Sanders was an unassuming man with a salt-and-pepper beard and big, hairy arms. His age was starting to show by his balding head, but in trade, the man had years of experience in all things engineering. In Sara’s opinion, his skills were wasted in managing the other engineers and maintenance personnel like her. Even so, why was he asking about Nick?
“Nick. I know him as Nick. It's the name he always had and always will.” Sara said.
“So you do know him?” Chief Sander asked.
“Sorry, yes, I know him, we grew up together. Why do you ask?” Sara replied. Chief Sanders fiddled with his beard before responding.
“He took a double shift the first day he arrived. Not bad at first, good for us actually. Most of the maintenance tickets left are for software troubleshooting. He's an efficient engineer, but on the second day, Chief Pikeman denied his request for extra shifts. Later, one of our maintenance workers found him at a job site, having already fixed the pipes in the maintenance request. Not how we do things, even if he correctly fixed the pipes.. Now I’ve talked to him about work, but frankly, Sara, I'm worried he's going to overwork himself some other way. He didn't look like he's been getting much sleep. As his friend, I thought you should know, and if you can, maybe talk to him?” Chief Sander said.
“I, uh, talk to him about what exactly?” Sara said, blinking rapidly from being overloaded by the dump of information about her friend.
“Nothing if you don’t want to, but maybe check on if he is sleeping okay. He's a phenomenal engineer, but he's no use to anyone if he burns himself out. Maintenance isn't the only department he's asking for extra shifts.” Chief Sander said. Sara nodded, a look of concern joining her confusion.
“Here's today's tickets. They are all that's left in the backlog. So if you and your team finish them before your shift is over, you can go home.” Chief Sander said, handing Sara a tablet before ushering her out the door.
Sara shook herself of anything to do with Nick for now and submerged herself in her work. Sure enough, the larger list of tickets that needed attention was completed in less than three hours. It should have taken more than that, but only software glitches and tickets in her specialty were left. Nick and the teams before her had blitzed through most of the tickets. Sara hadn't heard from Selena yet, so she sent a few messages to the Flight Defenders. She hesitated on Nick, though, instead opting to ask Dribble to check on him with her. Fingers crossed, Nick would be up for hanging out.
1 hour before Sara ended her shift, starboard habitat, Canine Jerik’s quarters
Canine had been able to fall asleep after hours of stubbornly pacing and thinking of anything else he could do other than sleep. When he finally stopped fighting and lay down to sleep, he was met with yet another nightmare as he had feared. There would be no point in journaling dates and places of the dream. Tonight's nightmares were another amalgamation of memories built from a handful of real events spread months and months apart from each other.
The dream was fuzzy visually, but in other senses distinct. The smell of acrid smoke and blood in his mouth tasted like he was chewing on copper. The dirty, sweaty, grimy sensations on his skin, the burns, the cuts, the bruises, as if he was experiencing them as severely as the original times. How many times had he experienced some of these for the first time again? He tried to answer that question by keeping a tally, but soon tore up the page and his journal.
Most of his dreams were different, but followed a similar pattern. Keeping each a similar flavor of hell with the same beat. The Tinman took center stage in his psyche tonight. The nightmare started with running. Cramped corridors littered with dangerous trip hazards, electrical wires sparked, and smoke inhibited his vision. Debris spilled in from damaged compartments, sharp protrusions of jagged metal. Canine got caught on a door. Wait, not caught, he had grabbed the door, his hand burning as he tried to open a latch. But the dream spurred him on, letting go of that fragment of the dream. He was still running from that Tinman. He couldn't remember why he was out here with it. His dream relieved his fears and bloodlust rather than any logic behind the original action. He was acutely aware of sensations like the pain from his bruised abdomen and the crunch of his bones breaking, cuts from countless hits, trips, and falls.
His dream shifted to something resembling hope as he neared an exit, only for the Tinman to burst through a wall, trapping Canine. Its body was made up of ribbon-like shreds of armor as if it were a metal humanoid woven of metal strips of hate. Was it hollow this time, or was there something, someone inside it? That didn't matter, only the Tinman’s clawed hand that suddenly pierced three of its pointed fingers into his chest, locking him in place. Canine struck it violently with a glowing, heated rod of rebar. The scene changed, no longer on a ship, he was on a planet adorned in a black and red cloak. He wielded a sparking shock baton, shoved ineffectively into the Tinman's chest. The blunt force blow of the heated rebar knocked the Tinman free of him.
The weapon Canine used to wield the heated rebar chunks was different from what he had jury-rigged on planet C32, but it functioned the same. He didn't have his HDF-issued power backpack, and neither was it feeding power to the hilt via the pack's cabling. Rarely were his dreams an accurate reliving of his past. The confusing aspects only contributed to his gaining lucidity within the dream. His subconscious fight for control was torn away when the dream Canine was flung across the ruins of a city. The Tinman charged after him. Canine had lost the stun baton and the rebar heater pike. Even so, with his bare hand, he grabbed a rebar rod from the rubble. It was already heated to a cherry red before he grasped it. His nose wrinkled at the smell of his own flesh, and he bared his teeth. The Tinman was upon him. He screamed at his approaching foe. He swung.
Canine woke up, grabbing his head, pulling his hair, and screaming. He rolled out of bed, a concerned baaaing sound from the SA Goat robot. His alarm clock began speaking at the perfect time. Trying to ground himself, he focused on it.
“The time is 31:26. HFS Grimore’s current flight plan shows no anomaly. Smooth sailing ahead.” The robotic default voice of Grimore’s said, although Canine doubted it was automated to say that for him. He was glad to have that thing talk to him when he woke up like this.
“I wasn't there, it wasn't then, I am now.” Canine told himself over and over as he shakily crawled to the wall and used it to stabilize his transition to a wobbly walk. He failed at tugging his shirt and underwear off, only managing his underpants and the ship suit he had fallen asleep in. The cold water splashed his body as he turned on the shower. In seconds, the water warmed. Canoe slipped, not caring how his ass and back felt as he hit the floor of the shower. He was too focused on the sensation of droplets hitting his face and trickling down his skin. His shirt was weighing him down as it waterlogged itself. Canine squinted through the downpour of water to see how much time he had left in the shower. Even if he had purchased more extra water rations like he thought he had, he still had limited time. He could see through the spray of the shower head and the steam obscuring the green LED numbers. The fog of fatigue rolled back over him. His tense body relaxing, Canine succumbed to the weight of the water falling, his dreams, and his past. Reluctantly, he fell back asleep.
Sometime later, about 30 minutes after Sara ended her shift.
Sara tapped her foot more out of a growing sense of concern than impatience. Dribble was dressed up in a clean uniform, the black fabric contrasted by the dark red piping of the Flight Defense Corps. Dribble sighed and knocked on the painted white lettering that spelled Canine Jerik on Nick's door. He looked disparagingly at Sara, who just shrugged. She didnt know what to do other than keep trying or see if she could get someone to ping Nick's location. Pinging him would be drastic and hard to justify just because they wanted to check on Nick. Sure, she was worried by extension of Head Chief Sander’s worry, but Sara wasn't ready to bring that up with anyone other than Dribble. When she had gotten Dribble up to speed on what she had been told, he surprised her with his reaction. A thoughtful sigh that spoke of tired concern being fed more confirmation of his already existing observations. Dribble seemed to know more than he was willing to share with her.
Sara sucked in a breath, ready to bring that up when the door made a click noise and slid open. The room was empty, the bed sheets splayed across the floor. The lights were dim, but a bright light shone under the bathroom door. Who had let them into the room?
Dribble clicked his tongue like she had seen some do with space cats trying to get them to come over. Only he looked hesitant and mildly on edge as he stepped across the threshold into Nick's room.
“Pssp pssp pssp.” He tried a different noise again, one she was more familiar with from Far-Gone Earth internet videos. He paused to look back at her. “Close the door behind you. We don't want it to get out?” Dribble said with a wave of his hand, gesturing for her to enter.
“It? What the hell has been going on, Dribble?” Sara snapped. Her patience had worn thin.
“I don’t know much. It’s supposed to be helping with a lot of it, but it's like it has a mind of its own.” Dribble said.
“I'm going to strangle you both if you don't start making sense. What it? Where is Nick anyway? Check the bathroom…please.” Sara huffed, genuinely resisting the urge to strike Dribble. She wasn't a little kid anymore, and Dribble hadn't done anything to deserve it, yet.
Dribble flicked his middle finger at her, already opening the bathroom door. Sara averted her eyes to avoid seeing anything indecent. He had opened the bathroom without knocking or any warning.
“Dude, are you good in there?” Dribble asked, presumably to Nick. No answer, was he in the shower? There weren't any shower noises. The solid bathroom door swung shut, leaving Sara alone with her thoughts and muffled voices through the door. She looked around for a place to sit, but only saw a chair by a desk built into the wall and his bed. She didn't see anyone or anything else that might have let them in. She reconsidered her restraint of not beating more information out of Dribble when the muffled talking got louder. Curiously, she pressed her ear against the door.
“Have you fallen asleep like that before?” Dribbles said.
“Not recently. I swear, Dribz I'm fine.” That sounded like Nick.
“Brother, you are a sopping wet mess. Do not try to feed me bull shit right now.” Dribble said.
“Man, it was just a bad dream. I hoped in the shower to shake it off, that's all, I swear I’m okay.” Nick said.
“Without taking off your shirt? Right. Look, the maintenance department is worried about you, and now they've got Sara worried. Convince her you're okay and you’ll convince me.” Dribble said. What kind of bad dream makes someone jump in a shower with clothes still on?
“I will,” Nick said.
“Listen to me, Canine, I know it's hard what happened to Pyre, but you can talk to me even if you can't talk to the others. Maybe that would help with the nightmares.” Dribbles said. He sounded as if he knew more about Pyre than she did. Other than snippets Nick had muttered, all that was publicly known was that Pyre had died, no cause of death or even where he had died.
“It’s hard to think about it, Dribz, let alone talk about things like that. Thanks, but I got it.” Nick said.
A few more things were said, but Sara pulled away from the door, sensing her window of snooping closing. She had only just sat in the chair when the bathroom door cracked open and Dribblze slipped out. He gave a thumbs-up and an okay gesture as he crossed the small room in two steps. He reached into a shallow closet and pulled an identical-looking HDF Fight Defense Corps uniform from the closet. It was covered in plastic and perfectly pressed. Sara wondered why the boys chose dress uniforms tonight instead of more comfortable civilian clothes. She hadn't seen Dribble dressed in his uniform off-duty in a long time. Something on the ceiling caught her eye, a black lump or something she hadn't noticed before. Dribble chose that moment to walk out again and wave at Sara.
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“He's getting ready, he's decent enough if you wanna say hi,” Dribble said. Sara didnt have time to point at the lump of black as it began to move, a limp or something, lowering to dangkebehing Dribble.
“Baaa.” The limb or head of the thing baaed.
“Ahh bejevis! Waa fuck shit!” Dribble yelled. Laughter came from the bathroom.
“It got you again. I don't know why it keeps fucking with you, buddy. I'm sorry.” Nick cackled. Sara stood up to peer at the thing. Was that a baby goat? Its black fur had streaks of white, and its hooves stuck to the ceiling. It started walking to the wall before making its way down the side. Did it have magnetic hooves? Whatever it was, Sara was resisting the urge to pick it up. It was so cute.
“Fucking fuck fucker!” Dribble yelled, swatting at the baby goat thing. It had to be an automaton, Sara assumed. No way a real goat existed anymore, and if they did, they couldn't walk on walls. Could they? Sara laughed, reaching out to try and pet it, but it clip-clopped away further down the wall and towards the front door. She huffed in disappointment and glanced into the bathroom. Nick was half dressed in pants and an undershirt, fiddling with a suspender for his sock. He met her eyes, but shied away from her gaze, refocusing on getting into his uniform. Sara looked away to give him more privacy, but her eyes locked onto the still sopping wet shirt hanging from the towel rack. He really had taken a shower with his clothes on.
Sara bit her lip, repressing the urge to start asking questions. Instead, she closed the bathroom door. She turned ready to grill Dribble, but he was saved by the Goat harassing him, and the scene that made her smile. Dribble had taken a seat on Nick's bed, and the goat was on the ground prancing away every time he shoed or reached out for it. It was already reapproaching him, its head low and feet lightly clicking against the cold metal floor. Without a doubt, it was purposely antagonizing Dribble by the way it pranced away every time it elicited a response from him. Sara was sure it was happily enjoying itself. At least it was imitating enjoyment, Sara told herself.
The goat paused to stare up at Sara, and it belated a cute little hello that melted her heart. It clip clopped over to her, nuzzling her leg. Stooping down to pet its course yet comforting fur, she completely forgot the verbal abuse she had been about to throw at Dribble. Everything could wait until after the hangout at the Witches Hat, or at least until Sara loosened her and the boys up with a few drinks. At that moment, all that mattered to her was the adorable baby goat.
15 minutes later, The Witches Hat bar and dance, Nick, “Canine” Jerik
Canine wasn't sure if he would have said yes to going out tonight or no. The fact that Dribble found him in the shower, asleep like that, and with Sara waiting just outside the bathroom, he didn’t feel like he had a choice. Any sleep he had managed to get hadn't felt very refreshing, but after a few minutes with his buddy, he felt far better than he had in weeks.
Soaking in the Jazz music, smelling what must be bar food, and cozily sinking into one of the corner booths, trusting his childhood friends to order for him from the bar. Sara sat down across from him, a tall flute of something yellow and glowing. Exotic and overcomplicated. Dribble knew him enough that he had two frosted mugs of a dark brown liquid that he hoped was what he thought it was. Thick foam topped the mug like a large hat of bubbles.
“Non-alcoholic option as you asked,” Dribble said with a grin.
“At least for tonight, thanks,” Canine said, sniffing the drink, a bit of foam latching onto his nose. He wiped it away, licking his lips. Tentatively, he took a sip. His eyes fluttered in pleasure from the taste of a classic root beer and the feel of a cold handle chilling his hand. Dribble knew exactly what he needed without Canine knowing he needed it. An old memory of Dribble and Pyre as kids sneaking root beer into their dorms. Sara and their other civilian friends conspired to help them smuggle the soda into the academy zone. The years after they got caught, every cold mug of root beer at the public cafeteria tasted ten times better. The recollection made the days of being the drill instructor’s special project, extra runs, extra early wake-ups, extra ass chewings, made how this drink made him feel now.
Canine glanced at Sara, who was glowering at Dribble over her tall neon blue beverage sitting in her lap. Canine thought about what Dribble had said of her coworkers or someone from the maintenance shift worrying Sara. He admitted to himself that making repairs to Grimoire before regular teams could respond was wrong of him. The head Chief of Grimore had been called up by Chief Pikeman to address Canine's mistake. He had given Canine a thorough lecture and stern warning, but surprisingly, he did not punish him. At least not this time. Canine knew he had overstepped, even if he felt like he should be allowed to work extra. Sometimes, anything was better than going to sleep. Rather, anything was better than waking up almost every time with those nightmares. The last few days, his nightmares had gone from occasional occurrences to a nightly hell. He would be lucky to get two hours of sleep every time. Admittedly, that was starting to affect his waking hours enough that he was skirting the line of sleep issues.
The thought was mentally kicked away almost as quickly as he acknowledged the problem he might have. He was not defective. He was able to perform, and he would get his sleep under control. At least that's what he told himself, even though he was more and more concerned at his own inability to handle whatever was going on with him, but in his mind, that would be admitting defeat. He had overcome far worse, he told himself.
“Nick, how much have you been sleeping the last two days?” Sara asked at the absurdly well-timed moment. Her question felt like a missile launched at point-blank range, no room to dodge, let alone register its launch. Coughing mid-sip, he snorted his root beer, and some of the bubbly drink went the wrong way into the back of his nostrils. The burning sensation knocked any lingering fatigue out of him. He sneezed, grateful that Sara shoved a napkin into his hand in time for him to cover his nose. Dribble’s struggle with his commitment to hold his laughter failed. What started as a soft snicker infected Sara, who leaned on Canine as her own laughter lost containment.
“I got root beer in my nose.” Canine tried to say, but fell apart with the rest of the table into fits of laughter.
“What is wrong with you, bro?” Dribble cried through tremors of laughter.
“Wrong with me? Nothing, I’m super solid, the fucks wrong with this root beer though?” Canine joked, his head on the table, trying to control himself. Sara, on the other hand, was losing it.
Don't blame the drink, it's not its fault you're such hahaha, such hahaha such…” Sara broke into more laughter. Whatever she was trying to say was lost in her mirth. The jovial moment passed around the table, the gaggle of old friends soaking in the random humor until their giggles were under control.
“Okay, okay, hehe, enough. Nick, you were saying?” Sara chuckled.
“Me? I didn't say shit!” Canine laughed. The trio successfully fought down another round of laughter before the table devolved into more hysteria.
“Sleep Canine, she asked you how you were sleeping,” Dribble said, wiping a tear from his eye.
“I know, and I didn't respond,” Canine said.
“Okay, well–” Sara began.
“I don't want to talk about it.” Canine said, cutting her off. He put his frosted mug down a little harder than he intended. The noise of the glass striking the hard composite plastic table destroyed the pleasant mood. Canine winced. He didn't mean to do that, but it didn't make him feel bad enough to second-guess himself. The look Sara gave him did.
Dribble may as well have disappeared from the conversation the way his shoulders slumped and he became hyper-fixated with his drink. Sara held Canine's gaze like an angry mother scolding a child. Actually, it was exactly like her mother used to scold him. The way her brow scrunched together, her eyebrows cocked, and simultaneously squinted with one eye, while the other held him captive with her gaze. She wasn’t angry, but the way she was looking at him made him furious. Whatever scolding, frustration, and concern that was conveyed by Sara was met with Canine’s stubborn resolve tempered by a fiery rage. Why, what about her in this moment made him so uncomfortably angry? He tried to cage the feeling, knowing it wasn’t her bullheaded nosiness alone that made him feel so strongly. Canine was locked in a silent conflict long enough for Dribble to conveniently drain his mug of root beer to need a refill at the bar. Not here, at the table, with Canine and Sara sparking proverbial lightning between each other.
“I’m going to go get some...” Dribble muttered, not staying long enough for them to hear his complete sentence. Neither Canine nor Sara gave any attention to the retreating friend, nor did they notice how much time passed.
At some point, Sara gave ground first. Her face softened, breaking the scolding mirror of her angry mother. She didn’t speak, not at first, wisely letting her shift in demeanor ebb back and forth between them. Breaking down and loosening their unintentional hostility towards each other like crashing waves on a beach. Canine, or rather Nick, the boy she grew up with, finally relaxed. His anger was doused by her cool, calm, steadfast presence. As much as he fought with her, he had missed her stubborn personality. He had missed her in general, things she did for him that others never seemed to be able to. A bruised hurt in his heart ached at the realization that he didn’t feel like he could talk endlessly about everything with her. He realized it wasn't because of their rough reunion or how she acted sometimes. It was him. Something about the years apart had changed him. She no longer felt like a safe place, but he knew she should still be.
“My, uh, drink tastes terrible. You mind trading?” Sara muttered, a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips. Canine chuckled, the leftover slag of rage that threatened him earlier falling away as if struck by a calm hammer blow.
“No, but I can share.” Canine said. He took one more sip from his defrosted but still cool mug of root beer. He set it down gently and began to slide it across the table to her, but stopped. He watched, confused, as she scooted out of her side of the booth to round the table and sit next to him. She squeezed tightly next to him, even though there was plenty of room on her end. Eagerly, she took the root beer and sipped it happily. Her affirming presence sandwiching him against the wall confused him. He had only to watch her drinking his root beer for a few more seconds, and his turmoil flowed away. Just in time for her to glance at him, their eyes met. She put down what was left of his drink and nudged his shoulder, smooshing him even more.
“How have you been?” She asked in a tone that was more sincere and concerned than the average use of the question. It wasn't just the way she said it, something about the familiarity of her deep grey eyes, the warmth of her pressed against him made him talk.
“I don't know.” He said in a pained tone, immediately mentally kicking himself for not responding more casually like he did to everyone else. Like ‘I've been okay,’ or ‘good, how about you?’ nothing serious, yet with Sara, she still managed to get more out of him.
Sara slid his drink away, grabbing his hands. It gave him goosebumps how her warm fingers gently covered his cold hands. She didn't say anything, yet he felt compelled to keep talking.
“Not great. I haven't been…like I'm okay. You know just…I don't know what I'm saying.” He said, more accurately, he didn't know how he was feeling. Part of him wanted to talk to her like he always had, but he couldn't. His conversation with Maria on the HFS Bread Basket sprang to mind. He remembered thinking there was one person he really wanted to talk to, even though he was limited by secrets he had to keep. Here she was sitting right next to him.
“May I give you a hug?” She asked, like she always did when she was really saying ‘you look like you need a hug’.
“Yes, but first you have to scoot over and stop pressing me against the wall.” He grinned. She obliged, giving him more room before leaning in to wrap her arms around him. Her cheek felt hot against his neck while she squeezed him tightly. Canine tried to hug her back, but his arms were trapped to his sides. After all these years, she could still hit him with a wave of calm. Stubbornly, he fought the soothing wave, knowing the sinkhole of fatigue he would be left with if she washed away his tension. Even so, he did not attempt to break from her embrace. Maybe he could trust that he could close his eyes for just a moment and enjoy the security of her presence. It felt almost like when they were young.
4 hours later, Sara
The Witches Hat didn’t have table service, but there were perks of being a regular at your favorite bar. You can get the bartender to bring you drinks if it's a slow night. Sara had more perks than just that, but tonight all she needed was drinks and food while she guarded Nick. He didn't need a guardian, but even without him admitting it, she knew he hadn't been sleeping well, and she wanted to safeguard the rest he was getting now. After she had hugged him, he had fallen asleep after only five minutes of casual conversation, plus a few more hugs and casual arm squeezes. He had looked so tired after he let his guard down.
Dribble had come back to their table to check if their fight had ended. He looked relieved to see Nick passed out. Sara smiled and put a finger to her lip. Dribble came back by the table a few times before he attached himself to another table of friends.
It felt a little embarrassing to be seen like that with Nick. Sure, when one or both of them would fall asleep in public like this, Nick would inevitably get so flustered when caught. At least compared to Nick, whatever Sara felt was tiny in comparison.
Despite the new feeling of embarrassment, a sense of relief grew with the passing of every hour. Nick's gentle breath and intermittent snoring were a constant reminder that he was getting the rest he needed. Even without Head Chief Sander’s prompting, she could tell how exhausted Nick was by his sunken eyes and the sluggish way he moved. Sluggish for him at least, it was obvious to her and Dribble when Nick wasn't his usual sharp and quick self. The fact that he had dozed off in such a public and unfamiliar place alone spoke volumes to how tired he was. The few times this kind of thing happened, she had always been the one to fall asleep in public. This was not one of those times they were both going to fall asleep.
Sara had drunk just enough to feel buzzed and eaten enough of the puffy baked pretzels to satisfy her hunger. She had unhooked a set of wired earphones attached to her wrist comm so she could quietly listen to audio files and videos. Although Grimoire was still in range of a net hub that she could ping, it was still an hour and a half away and would take three hours for it to respond to one query. Instead, she busied herself with Tim's hard drive. Most of what Tim had compiled wasn't new to her, except that the extra work of organizing his folders and descriptions made her jealous. Knowing Tim’s usual folder clutter, she was sure someone else must have helped organize it so it was more accessible to newbies or clients interested in purchasing his information. Every time Sara took a look at the drive he had left her, she couldn't help but think how much of a steal it was for him to give that to her for free.
It was approaching the fifth hour of Nick napping with her camping at the booth. After this long, she couldn’t call it a nap anymore, maybe an emergency shutdown sleep. She smiled at her little joke, a break from her serious contemplation. She had heard of the mercenary hunters; everyone had, even without the extensive snooping and net diving Tim and her friends had done. They had claimed responsibility for the “unprovoked attack to save indentured servants from poor living conditions,” as the media sometimes spun it. What was so unprovoked about saving an indentured servant? That makes the people saved during the Free Bird event sound like slaves. Sara found the idea of slavery in a civilized galaxy pretty provoking. Not like the idea of hostages was easier to swallow. Although if she were to wager money, she would put it on the truth being hostages. Only because she felt she had a better idea of the bigger picture, but even with educated guessing, the big picture of the Free Bird event was blurry and intentionally obfuscated. There was far too little information about what actually happened beneath the clouds of planet C32. Even the large number of space battles and skirmishes around C32 was hard to verify and understand, but there was plenty of information to dig up on those. Every network coverage had a different news title, a different spin, a different agenda, but no new perspective.
Since the Free Bird event, three more mercenary companies have been uncovered, only after the mercenary hunters were done with them. The wreckage and destruction that had been left behind from the mercenary hunter’s crusade were always total. Each time, there were few survivors, except the ones found in bondage next to every damning piece of evidence on their somehow legally justified business practices. Some media outlets and websites still choose to refer to them as a business. Sara couldn't wrap her head around how a profession dedicated to war could legally exist in a galaxy that supposedly had no open conflicts for thousands of years. The concept was an oxymoron that was still tearing apart certain sectors of society. Public opinion was like a wildfire that didn't know how to put itself out or even if it wanted to. The sheer audacity of the thousands of years of understanding being contradicted made it impossible for normal government or societal powers to quell the outcry.
One name she kept coming across associated with the mercenary hunters was the Razgriz. On the net, some people referred to the entire group as Razgriz’s. Others only used the name Razgriz in reference to their ships, even though each ship still had its original name. There were many references to Razgriz on planet C32 during the Free Bird event, even with only a handful of planet-side data. Still, those shreds were the earliest mention of the name, and Sara was still convinced there was more than just one group involved in that fiasco. There were many citations of the word Razgriz with contextual inconsistencies that didn't match up with the normal mercenary hunter equipment, physical appearances, or their modus operandi. There was just something about the name that kept scratching at the back of her head like she had heard it somewhere before. Like from a story, but there were no Earth Legends she could find. Although admittedly, searching for the word Razgriz flooded search results with current events. Anything before the Freebird event was obscure enough to be hard to find in all the results she could ping from any station or satellite databases. Maybe if she had tried a few years ago to search, it wouldn't be such a needle in a haystack to sort through. Still, even then, she was positive she had heard or read or seen that name somewhere many years ago.
Nick snored again, a little noise that could be called cute rather than annoying. His snoring repeated two more times before he shifted in his sleep, going back to his usual even breathing. However, his slumped sleeping position changed, leaning more towards her. She smiled at the pressure of his sleeping body pressed into her. It gave her a sense of reassurance rather than him feeling like a burden. She felt cozy and snug with him leaning on her. A sharp contrast of emotions compared to how physically uncomfortable his chin felt on her scalp, and how cold his skin felt on her. She was glad she decided to wear a cute green shirt and pants rather than one of her outfits that showed off more of her skin. She wouldn't have been able to ignore his chilly effect on her shoulder. That was the first time she even noticed the drawbacks of his changing positions toward her. Even with a conscious evaluation of Nick’s current sleeping arrangement, she still found delight with him right now. It was like when they were young, but now somehow even better.
What type of release schedule and process would be more enjoyable
