Chapter Text
You get used to the clanging and the groaning metal. You stop noticing the hundreds of footfalls changing in volume, or stopping altogether, as the gravity module adjusts itself. The muttering of the computer system asking itself questions and calculating solutions during Sleep Cycle Hours is soothing after a while, you know? The kinda noise that lets you know the ship is sleeping. But there's no fucking noise in all of space like the way every internal comms speaker in the whole great flying sardine can that was Home, screamed itself (and every crew member aboard) awake with the shrill feedback whine of the Captain's mic turning on. Bane, half-asleep (which is half more awake than he'd like to be), dug a finger into his ear and groaned. "Havta fix that fuckin' mic…" he said, to no one, face full of pillow.
Good morning crew!! It's 0600 hours ship time, which means!!! It's the start of a brand new Day Cycle!! Yay!!
"Mornin' Cap'n," Bane muttered, as if the comms for ship radio went two ways, which, for all the days when Bane's Day Cycle began in less cheerier spirits than this, he was deeply thankful for. He lay motionless, listening to the Captain's voice bounce around the ship, and the corresponding first, weary noises of the crew waking up. He closed his eyes and thought about muting the comms, and was just drifting off into a garbled stream of images, where all the Ship Suggestions the Captain read out were real mechanical items that Bane was expected to build, except every single one of them needed copper wire and he hadn't seen any of that since two shore leaves back. Then one of the Reserves nudged Bane's exposed skin with the cold metal of its faceplate and shocked him awake. "Alright, alright, jeez. I'm up," Bane heaved himself out of bed and sat on the edge of the bed frame, looking down at the Reserve that had woken him. It tilted its head with a small whir and its rear antenna swished expectantly. Bane put his hand out and patted it on its motion sensor, which it 'enjoyed' or whatever. Lotsa folk get uncomfortable when Bane tells them the Reserves are happy or sad about this-or-that, whatever, next time say 'it works better if you do that', 'the Reserve Squad Robots work better when I'm nice to them,' whatever.
Okay! So we're all bright and ready for work on this wonderful Day Cycle, let's get moving with some stretches for today!! Alright, all together!! One, two!!
Bane got to his feet, and moved in time to the Captain's voice, letting his muscles feel that soft subtle ache and the fizz of blood flowing back as he relaxed them. Probably no one else ever did the stretches, 'cept Bane, but probably no one else spends the day hauling around scraps of metal even in Hi-Grav. The Captain finished his morning radio exercises with a cheer and a round of applause, and Bane moved on to his own sets of push-ups and pull-ups and crunches, and he asked the computer to heat up his shower, and he asked the printer for a black coffee, and the Reserves brought him the document capsules that rattled their way into his cabin down the Pneumatic Tube. Official Repair Request, quantity four, Credit Balance Statement, Notification of Personnel Reassignment, yeah yeah. Bane sipped his coffee and consulted the computer about his schedule for repairs.
He wrote out his Request Acknowledged receipts and fed them into capsules, and fed the capsules into the waiting mouths of Reserves, who one-by-one in sequence took each capsule back to the Pneumatic Tube and nudged the contact to seal the vacuum. Right. Then shower, then morning drill. Bane liked his shower on classic, water hitting his face and the soap activating only when you manually scrub your hair or skin. He let the water run for a while -- today's drill is the first with the new Wingman -- Bane had no intention of rushing to the hangar bay. Sure, he toasted and drank his farewell to Spades, the last night before his reassignment. Hell, he even piloted the shuttle to the space station drop-off, where Spades could get back to ISEF for his new placement. There are worse ways to leave Deep Space Six, and there's also a reason why the System Failures -- the losers chained to the ""civilised universe"", known to Deep Spacers everywhere as ISEF-SFs-- like to call the mission Deep Six. So far gone out there in space, might as well be dead! Yeah, and plenty of Sixers have ended up that way. Well, Bane scrubbed at his hair and the bubbles started foaming up around his fingertips, not Spades, he's just another ISEF-SF now. But getting used to a new Wingman? Bane sighed out the phrase, "Ball-ache!" and the computer apologised for not hearing his command.
He dressed and took the gravity lift down to the hangar bay. There they were, and Bane always grinned when he saw them, his pride and joy, the birds. Bane had arrived on the gangway that fed out from the gravity lift: an elevated platform that gave an overhead view of every fighter-plane in the hangar, and he stood for a while, as he did every morning, leaning with his elbows on the barricade and looking down at the scene below. Bane had the birds laid out in a way that was particularly fucking spectacular to look at, sayin' so himself: a ring of six with the 7th in the middle, each one falling under a heavy-duty lamp, so they looked like pieces of art in a museum. And they were, really, because most of them were out of commission, propped up by rusty traction vehicles or just cubes of compressed recyclables that hadn't been repurposed or jettisoned yet. Some had partial wings, others shattered optics glass, and two looked fine, not showing the scars of the mission that had left them flightless. One of Bane's deputies came down in the cargo lift, and stopped it at the gangway to let Bane get on.
"Mornin' Chief!" the deputy said, but Bane sneered his displeasure at being called by his rank, and the deputy laughed at him. "All ready for the big test!" he gestured to the large traction cart he was handling. In it, it had the standard engine and cockpit software diagnostic tools, plus spare cables, oil, and even the automatic buffer wand -- Guaranteed To Get Your Metallics Shiny! From Structure Beams To Printing Machines! Point And Click For A Clean That's Quick! -- and Bane made a face when he saw that. "Well, I don't want any of our birds to go out not looking their best! Y'know, for Spades' sake."
"Spades kept his bird shiny alright," Bane said, his voice made weary by the memory, "I just, y'know. Every time I see one o'those I'm just disappointed it can't make people buffer!" and Bane cackled and slapped his deputy's shoulder. Bane couldn't hear the deputy's tongue clicking for the sound of the cargo lift, but that didn't mean it wasn't there.
And when the lift reached the bottom of the hangar bay, they walked along the aisles with the birds looming above them, until they reached the foremost two -- that is, the two nearest to the flight deck, ready with gravity-cranes poised above, to move them onto the launch pad -- and they set about tuning up Spades' bird. It was still Spades' bird, even though Spades was Space-knows-where, because it still had his emblem, a stylised 7-of-Spades from the archaic deck of cards, painted on the side. Well, not for much longer, and Bane rooted around in the crate for the paint dissolver.
"Know anything about your new Wingman, Bane?" the deputy yelled down from the cockpit, where he was running software checks on the OS.
"He'll be a Flyboy," Bane called back, with a shrug, "us Flyboys are all the same." Bane ducked under the nose of the plane to take a look at the engine compartment, but he'd already cleared it for flight a week ago, and the bird hadn't been out since. He made his way back over to the crate and leaned against it, looking up at the cockpit. "Though Spades said he'll send all his prayers to the Universe that I get some eye-candy this time!" He laughed, and the deputy grinned down at him with some mischief.
"Hey, what if it's a chick?" And Bane's face set the deputy into hysterics.
"Space, I don't have a fuckin' deathwish! There's a reason why it's FlyBOY and WingMAN, someone oughtta get that clear!" But Bane laughed in his usual good-natured way, and so did the deputy.
"I REALLY hope it's a chick now, Chief," he said, and Bane tutted at him.
"First ya wish chicks on me, then ya call me Chief, get outta here! Ya wanna undo all Spades' thoughtful prayers? Gimme a break!" The little chime that signalled an internal comms message broke out over his complaint.
Bridge to Hangar Bay. Are preparations for this morning's drill complete?
"Sae!" Bane yelled, his face tilted up to the distant roof of the hangar bay, as if he expected his voice to carry all the way up to the bridge without the use of comms, "You wouldn't give me a chick for a Wingman, now would ya?" There was a pause.
Wouldn't I? Gosh I just don't know!
Bane made a noise of panic and frustration.
Are preparations complete, Bane?
"Yeah, yeah. We're ready to go. No sign of--"
Good, patching you through to the Helm.
Bane bit the inside of his cheek and listened to the tapping noise of the comms line, waiting for the helmsman to pick up. It clicked open.
Morning Bane! Let's do some mapping!
"Ryoh, I'm ready to get suited up but the newbie's not here at all?" Bane turned in a full circle, but from the bottom level he could see nothing but the mechanics crew and bits of fighter plane.
Oh right, Joker will be late. That's the callsign you're gonna need to remember -- Joker.
Bane grumbled, and Ryoh picked up on it.
Just like everyone else on the ship Joker's got another job! Don't worry, I'll ping your bird when Joker's launch-ready.
But it's impossible to stay mad when you're out in your bird. There wasn't a whole lot out in this particular part of the universe. Today's mission is determining the scope of this newly-discovered asteroid belt, and whether or not the asteroids indicate any kind of orbital plane. Ryoh and Icchan looked over the navs data and declared all the signs are good for a nearby planet, but there hasn't been a planet discovery in a long time, and, Bane sent a radar pulse into the universe about his plane, they probably just wanted to pick up everyone's spirits. Still, even when sweeping the great nothing like some glorified searchlight, Bane felt best out in his bird. Really, the headspace was good, though apparently perfectly talented pilots failed their deep space aptitude tests because they can't stand the Nothing. They say the Nothing gets inside of you, 'til you don't even know there's a whole plane between you and Space. Not that there's a lot of plane, Bane checked his lateral optics, then he keyed over the dashboard touchscreen to check the black box was recording properly, not a lot of plane between a Flyboy and Nothing anyway. He'd broken birds down to their shells and wires enough time to know precisely how much plane there is. And it's not lots. The radar pulses weren't picking up any gravity fields. Nearby planet, bullshit.
ISEF Rokkaku to Feathers, do you copy?
That was Ryoh again, and Bane pressed the contact on his helmet to connect the mic up to the plane's comms. "Loud and clear, Rokkaku."
Joker has launched and is awaiting drilling instructions. Comms will be opening a channel for you now. Play nice!
Ryoh had this weird laugh, probably a Symbiont thing, and it fizzed up the comms every time he did it. Bane reached for his ear on instinct, but his fingers hit the side of his helmet, of course. And the tapping of the line stopped with a click, and Bane heard Saeki saying, "Channel open, go ahead, Feathers," and Bane had that weird feeling that someone was listening, waiting for him, expecting him to speak. Probably because they literally were. Bane cleared his throat with the awkwardness of addressing a stranger without benefit of any information about them.
"Feathers to Joker, do you copy?" Bane felt like there was a whole fucking Earth year in the static silence before Joker replied.
"This is Joker." A soothing, deep voice near nose-dived Bane into a tailspin of relief. Figuratively. Bane's a damn good pilot. "I read you, Feathers." There was a pause, "And no, I write all my own material. Pfft!"
Bane narrowed his eyes, "Um. Say again, Joker?" But Ryoh's voice interrupted,
Oh Feathers, you're gonna have such a good time with this guy!
Practically all of Ryoh's sentences were sarcastic -- whoever made up the stereotype that Symbionts are a serious species never met this guy -- but, Bane frowned and shrugged for no one out in his cockpit, he couldn't get the bent of this one. "Hey, what can I say?" Bane said this, because he really wondered what to follow up with, "It's my aim in life to have a good time with as many guys as I can. Joker, do ya know how to put your radar into mapping mode?"
There was static on the comms line, and it seemed to Bane like Ryoh was stifling a laugh at his expense. Then Joker's smooth voice started again, "I don't know how to do that… I haven't been a pilot for long-itude,"
"What," the word dropped from Bane's mouth before he could stop it.
"If you could explain the process, you'd have my latitude. Pfft! …You know. Like gratitude."
This time the static was from Bane's end of the line. He scrunched his face so hard he felt the blood in his face tingling. "Sorry Joker but, what the fuck," he said, and Ryoh's fizzy laughter filled up the line. When he stopped, he just said,
Oh, Feathers. Oh my Stars. Feathers.
"I think I know why your callsign is Joker now. Wow. Christ." Bane said, and Ryoh laughed again.
Feathers you don't even know the half of it. This is great.
But Joker's voice flowed through space like he'd never heard their digs at him, "Feathers, I don't know about mapping mode. I'm LOST. I need DIRECTIONS. I'm yet to find my BEARINGS with this plane."
He'd barely finished speaking before Bane broke out into an incredulous cackle, "Oh shit, what the fuck?" Bane's eyes were stinging with laughter, but he couldn't wipe his eyes thanks to his helmet, "Shit dude, I'll give you a good bearing alright," and he took a moment to open the console on his dashboard touchscreen, to give himself a chance to compose himself.
Oh, already? I knew you guys'd love each other.
Bane held his middle finger aloft, as if he thought Ryoh could see it, while knowing he couldn't. "Okay, Joker, see the settings menu on your dashboard screen?" He ran through the rest of the drill, and Joker picked it up fast, the only delays they had were when he paused to think of more shit jokes to answer with. They never stopped. The jokes, the jokes never stopped. Minutes before Bane was meditating on the vastness of the Nothing out in space, but now he'd met something far more infinite and it was this fucker's dedication to shit jokes. At first Bane had been off guard, he'd laughed, he swore, he complained, and still they came, and Bane found himself suddenly frantic, looking to outdo each reaction so the next was more extreme than the one that preceded it. He'd gone past, "I hope a meteorite clips you for that," onto, "Dude, if the Universe has any justice in it your engines will fail ya," through to, "Fuck man, I fix these birds for a living, don't make me down you!" And suddenly Ryoh was saying,
It's ten-hundred hours in ship time, boys, time to wrap it up for today. Bring the birds back home.
And Bane was the one to say, "Is it really that time already?" There were a few moments of silence. "Err, roger that, Rokkaku. Joker, follow me back to base."
The birds landed safely in the landing beams which guided them through to the air-locked hangar. Both birds were safe and accounted for, and Saeki cheerily let them know he was closing the comms channel. Once the ship was closed behind them, the green signal light in the hangar let them know they could now disembark from the birds and make their way to the personnel airlock and decompression chamber. Bane glided out to the airlock, aided by the zero-G, and pressed the contact to start decompression. He turned to see Joker emerging from his plane and crossing the hangar with a sort of natural grace. The blinking of the green light in the hangar wasn't the best for seeing past the visor of the pilot suit helmets they were both wearing, but the pilot suit itself didn't like to leave much of the bodyline to the imagination. And Bane found out while he waited on the airlock, that Joker had the kind of body he'd like to get to know. Bane raised his eyebrows and made the slightest nod of approval, mostly knowing and partly hoping, his helmet would obscure it from Joker's knowledge.
The panel on the airlock flashed its soft green, and Bane opened it. The two of them proceeded into the chamber, and Bane closed them in again from the controls on the inner side of the door. The personnel airlock was, as expected, much smaller than the hangar, and considering that Bane, and as it turned out, Joker, were both big guys, the space was almost uncomfortable in how intimate it was. Especially in these skin-tight pilot suits. Especially with comms switched off, and Bane was unable to crack any jokes about how awkward it was. But Bane took full advantage of the knowledge that Joker could not see his facial expression, any more than he could see Joker's: he watched Joker holding the lower part of his helmet -- a substitute for holding his chin -- and with his head tilted to one side. And Bane felt the hairs prick up on his arms when he realised Joker was watching him right back. Bane's ears popped, and the way Joker's hand reached for the side of his helmet gave away that he felt it, too, and soon the latch on the lock clicked, and the computer's voice told them they could now safely exit the chamber and remove their helmets.
So they did. They stepped out into the corridor that would take them to Decontamination And Quarantine, a standard part of boarding procedure on a Deep Space Exploratory mission, and Bane touched the fastening modules on the neck of his pilot suit. And even as it was releasing, he thought, Shit what if Joker thinks I've got a face like smashed spanners? -- and more troubling, What if Joker's got a face like smashed spanners? But the suspense was gone in an instant, because he tugged off his helmet, and when he looked over his shoulder he was just in time to see it. Joker's helmet releasing from its catches with the 'pop' sound Bane couldn't stop himself imagining from years of flying, but off it went with a flourish of red fire just behind it, as Joker shook himself free, and a stunning cascade of red hot waves, gathered in a ponytail, showered itself back down Joker's neck. And now he had access to it, Joker swept his gloved hand over his hair and under his ponytail, and his distracted face, with its heavy eyelids and plump, pouting lips, glanced away and all around, and would not have noticed Bane's jaw dropping open. He wouldn't have noticed Bane's jaw dropping right open, that is, if the words "Oh shit, thank you, Spades," hadn't dropped out with it.
Joker's cold, blue eyes met Bane's, and it was the kind of stare that said, Ya done fucked up, boy!, and it was also the kind of stare that sent a shiver down Bane's spine -- but like, a GOOD shiver, yikes. At the same time, in the hard crease in Joker's forehead, there was a kind of interrogation waiting to happen, and it made Bane uneasy, and thrilled him all at once. But Bane realised he had to roll his tongue up from the floor and pick up for his faux-pas under the sharpness of that stare, so he said, "I mean, Joker! Space, it's tough gettin' used to a new wingman all of a sudden, my bad!" He paused and put his arm out, a certain portion of his brain already firing out action-station signals at the thought of being touched by this guy, and when they shook hands, he barely steeled himself away from making an excited yelp. But he said, "Good work out there! Nice to see ya in the flesh," as he spoke, he gave Joker a very obvious and approving look over, and then flushed up to his ears with regret.
Joker glanced down at his own pilot suit. Then he just said, "Oh. Likewise." with the slightest bow of his head. Then there was silence, and in it, Bane could just hear the fabric of Joker's pilot suit-gloves creaking as he fidgeted his hands into fists and out again, while he glanced around the corridor as if he were looking for an excuse to leave.
"Er… Ready for Decontamandtine?" Bane said, with a little grin. The way Joker looked up, a little wide-eyed, his lips parted by the smallest degree, curious and caught off guard all at once, was definitely bad for Bane's health. "Aah, that's what I call it, I gotta have nicknames for everythin'" Bane swept the sweat of the back of his neck and laughed, "I mean Decontam And Quarantine -- don't worry it's just sterile rays, it's not like showering together or whatever," he laughed, and as he laughed he winced at his own betraying bastard of a mouth.
"Okay… Feathers…" Joker said it like he was tasting the word in his mouth.
"Oh! Nah, out of the birds, you can call me Bane!" Joker watched and listened with a serious set to his stony face. Bane put his hand out again, firmly willing his brain to behave. "Kurobane Harukaze. But seriously, Bane is fine!"
They shook again, and Joker sounded kind of relieved when he said, "Amane Hikaru." Then he paused. He said, "Bane-san, okay." Bane made a dismissive hiss that blew his lips out.
"Space, ya don't hafta add -san or whatever!" And Amane started, glancing about in his furtive way again.
"But you're my senior," he said, "I just got my wings."
Bane massaged his forehead and groaned, "I don't remember pullin' rank on ya, now did I? Gotta hit me with this senior stuff. Ah, but whatever, s'better than Chief," he said this last mostly under his breath, to himself. But Amane nodded.
"Chief Kurobane," he said, and when Bane yelled and stamped his foot on impulse, Amane's lips just started to pucker with mischief, like he was barely holding back a laugh. Come to think of it, this was the first time Joker -- Amane -- showed any kind of emotion that resembled what he'd been like over the comms. Bane frowned, and sort-of smiled, at this strange, beautiful creature.
"Oh, whatever, call me watcha want. You better be ready for the nickname I come up with for ya, though," Bane waved a dismissive finger in Amane's direction, "Surnames just don't work for me!"
They moved on through to Decontamandtine, where Saeki was kind enough to reappear via comms and explain to Amane how the sterile ray works (while Bane yelled, Duh, He's Not Stupid, Sae!) and then they shuffled through the pipeline to the quarantine bay. Routine Quarantine -- Quaroutine!! Bane announced with a puffed out chest and a wink in Amane's direction -- was mainly sitting on the cots until Doc Icchan patched through his Video Comm and went through a standard visual diagnostic.
Then, when they were cleared, Bane got to his feet, stretched his arms out above his head and groaned with it, and he said, "Welp, that's it for today. S'pose I'll see ya in Six Forward later?" Amane stood beside him just in front of the door, waiting for it to unlock, and he tilted his head at Bane and asked him what he meant without actually asking. Bane nudged Amane with his elbow, "Gotta break in a new pilot, it's practically pilot law! Yer not fit to fly til we've toasted yer maiden voyage! Y'know, knock back some Akazu -- then yer REALLY not fit to fly! -- but good old Akazu, takes the edge off the great towering void of the nothingness out in space!" Bane really said all this while laughing his regular, good-natured laugh, but Amane narrowed his eyes suddenly. For some reason, Bane thought the best idea would be to talk his way through whatever fresh awkwardness this was. "I mean, yeah, bein' a Flyboy's not so bad, sure we're always staring how insignificant we all are right in the face, but when we get back on ship -- assuming we survive," this last he said dryly, "-- we get to fill our own blank with Akazu, fucktons of it, s'like what credits were invented for, right?"
His laugh faded off, watching the furrows in Amane's brow grow deeper. Amane said, in a measured voice, "When was your last psyche eval?"
It caught him off guard, and because he'd just been in the mood to laugh, anyway, he laughed, first blowing air out of his closed lips, and then with a sharp and forceful, Ha!, and he practically reeled from it and held his side with his hand. "Oh PLEASE. As if anyone ever goes to them! Shit, space is spooky but I don't needta sit in front o'some… some… peppy yoga chick and be told 'It's Okay To Cry!' in order'ta do my job right!" Bane smirked and frowned at the same time and waited on Amane's reaction. But Amane didn't react. He tilted his head to the side, and was watching, full of thought. Bane sensed danger, but the blood rising up in the veins of his temples wouldn't let him back down from this, so he said, "You really wanna know the last time I sat around crying about my feelings, braiding hair and talkin' about boys? Tell ya now, I'm not that dude!" Bane puffed his chest out, but Amane said nothing, and the awkwardness was starting to churn at the pit of Bane's stomach, so he said, "Actually, I do talk about boys," and he laughed self-consciously and patted Amane's shoulder. Still nothing. "A-anyway, I was just jokin' around, alright? I'm not Space-Crazed, I'm just another Flyboy who likes a drink at the end of the night!"
There was a pause, but Amane said, "Right, of course," and he apologised, but Bane didn't really feel vindicated by it.
"So? We on for tonight?" Bane said, beyond ready to change the subject.
"Oh… I can't," Amane looked around him, pointing, as if there was something concrete nearby to represent the plans he had recalled to his mind, "I have, um… I have some things…" By now, they were both frowning at each other, and Bane was ready to chalk this partnership up to a loss, and it'd only been an hour since they finished their first drill. "T-tomorrow! I can, I'm free… then?"
Bane shook his head and shrugged, "It's pilot tradition to get bladdered after your first day! But, tomorrow's cool, I guess, since you Have A Thing." They stood around, nodding slightly at each other, waiting for the chance to part ways without making it awkward. "So, I'll… see you at drill tomorrow?" Bane offered, and Amane nodded, taking his cue with grace and scurrying out of Quarantine before circumstances required them to interact more.
When the Acclimatisation Module had put its slight dim over the ship's lights and computer screen interfaces, and Bane was back in his cabin, eating his printed dinner between tweaking the Reserves and watching old videos of ancient sporting rites, a capsule clanked its way down the tube. Bane wiped his hands on his pants and uncased the letter.
FOA: Chief Mechanic, Flight Officer -- Kurobane, H.
URGENT APPOINTMENT NOTIFICATION
Dear crewman, I am writing to inform you that you have been scheduled for an urgent appointment with a member of the ISEF Rokkaku counselling team. Your appointment will take place tomorrow at 1600 Ship Time, at the Counsellor's Office [Please see attached notice for directions]. If you will be unable to attend, please return the slip below, detailing your availability for a rescheduled appointment.
The note was signed with an illegible flourish, under which the words Chief Counsellor were printed, and dated with the code for today's Day Cycle. Bane's face grew so hot as his eyes flickered over the letter that he couldn't process it. He snarled down at it, gripping at it so hard that the paper was becoming crumpled and damp under his touch. He examined the 'Unable To Attend' slip for a loophole, an escape route, anything! But, just as the main body of the letter implied, it demanded an official (co-signed by Chief of Staff, Saeki) reason not to attend, and a date for reschedule. Bane growled at the letter with such energy, two Reserves got up from their charging docks, swishing their rear antennas and flashing question marks on their faceplates.
"Alright, I'm alright, just pissed off! I don't need assistance, back to yer docks!" Bane flicked his hand and dismissed them. Well, how about the letter got lost in the tube? And, satisfied with this reasoning, he smashed the letter into a ball in his hands-- wait. Wait. What was that part at the bottom?-- before quickly flattening it out against the smooth casing of the Reserve he'd been fixing. There was a printed post statement, in maliciously bold type:
PLEASE NOTE: PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATIONS ARE MANDATORY FOR ALL DEEP SPACE PERSONNEL. THE CHIEF COUNSELLOR HAS THE ABILITY TO RELIEVE ANY ACTIVE CREWMEMBER OF DUTY IF THEY ARE DEEMED PSYCHOLOGICALLY UNFIT FOR WORK UNDER SECTION F OF ISEF ORDER 66-7. FAILURE TO ATTEND MANDATORY PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATIONS WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE DISMISSAL.
Bane's stomach felt empty like he'd just had the wind kicked right out of him -- and then his windpipe remembered viscerally that he HAD been eating, and suddenly the contents of his stomach made itself known by trying to start an uprising. Bane put his hand out to trigger a cup to dispense in the printer, and punched the dial for iced water, then swallowed the whole thing down. He steadied himself, gasping up air bubbles and clutching his stomach. But sickness gave way to the burning hot flames of anger and betrayal -- that bastard, Amane!! How the fuck can anyone fly with a grass on the wing?! -- and those, too, decided on an uprising in the form of roaring out a single phrase:
"BALL-ACHE!!"
All the Reserves beeped awake, with question marks on their faceplates, and not even a minute passed before there was a buzz on his cabin's intercom. Bane strode over robots to the panel by the door, and the door's camera showed a wide-eyed crewman in Ops Division uniform looking up into it. Bane steadied his breathing and hit the mic.
"Yeah? What is it?"
The crewman's eyes were darting about, "I was just passing and I heard screaming, are you okay in there? Need me to get you to sickbay? -- Or the Counsellor's Office?" Bane's face scrunched up at the sound of his new nemesis, the Counsellor's Office.
"I'm FINE thank you! I can get to the friggin' shrink's office without being friggin' frogmarched there, alright?!" The camera showed the crewman wincing in response to Bane's voice, but he hesitated.
"E-even so, I--"
"Get lost!!" Bane shut out the transmission with a great thud of his fist at the contact. That Sleep Cycle, with its creaking and clanking and questioning computers, was long. Very, very long.