“Njord to dock in five, I repeat, Njord to dock in five. Landing crew, please report to dock 7-b.” The loudspeaker announces, volume way up to compete with the wind, which, while no longer the sheers of a week ago, is still fierce. “Skaoi approaching, crew to dock 7-c.” It crackles once, and dies.

“Right,” Reefer says, straightening up carefully. “That’s our cue.”

“What are you talking about?” Atlas asks, settling the rope he’d been untangling on his knees. “We aren’t on landing duty.”

“No, but you were wondering about Luke’s friends?”

Galligher looked up from his own task of sorting various tools to raise an eyebrow at Atlas.

“My mother was wondering about Luke’s friends,” He says, and that doesn’t help his case.

“What, to make sure he’s good enough company for her little boy?” Galligher says, and he’s grinning, just a bit.

“She’s a Fleet psychiatrist. She’s wanted to get her hands on Luke ever since she visited the Academy at Dirsania for a seminar with future captains. She just about had kittens when she found out where I was Re-Organized to.”

“Well, here’s your chance to get a little dirt for Mummy,” Reefer says, and Atlas thinks probably he’d have to kill him if he weren’t a superior officer. “Come on.”

“Oo, me too, me too.” Galligher says, scrambling to his feet and somehow managing not to drop Herbert. “Maybe I can foist Herbie off on some poor unsuspecting bastard while we’re at it, hmm?”

“Only if you plan on hiding him under your shirt.” And Reefer has a point; being a neon yellow melon really doesn’t make for good camouflage. “Luke! Njord and Skaoi are on their way in!”

Luke clambers down Haast’s ramp, Fleet uniform in slight disarray, and is that an ink stain on his cheek?

“That report giving you a little trouble there?” Reefer asks, and, unsurprisingly, Luke scowls.

“You could say that.”

“That’s why I start mine before we even take off, helps with the whole not being rushed to finish it at the last second. And you have ink—” He gestures vaguely at the left side of Luke’s face.

Luke scrubs at his cheek with the back of his hand and Reefer doesn’t have the heart to tell him all he’s done is smear it. “We ready?”

Reefer bites his lip and discreetly steps on Galligher’s foot. “Yeah.”

Previous: Scene 6-I

Scene 6-II

Next: Scene 6-III