Archive of Our Own

There were times when it almost seemed like there was an unspoken competition among the crewmembers of the Prism of Thought. What prize they might have been competing for was impossible to say, perhaps only for the achievement of the honor for its own sake, but ultimately each and every one of them seemed to be vying for the title of most perplexing being in the galaxy.

Whether it was Virgil and his penchant for hoarding rations and medical supplies in his quarters—not a common Narach'iid trait, no matter what he tried to insist—or the twins' constant cycle of endlessly lapsing and hastily re-brokered truces in the, supposedly, unbreakable blood vendetta between them—the reason for which neither of them had seen fit to divulge. Though the longer their time on board continued, the more convinced Logan became that even the two Muusen themselves didn't remember. And Patton had a tendency to want to take in strays, despite the very specific rules that the Initiative had laid out for what was permissible on board the ship. The Pathi had rather strong herding instincts, and Patton's were normally appeased through interaction with their crew, and yet it seemed that he and Logan kept on having the same conversation every time they wound up with an animal on board—be it an unfortunate stowaway or a rescue from one of their missions. They were not required to euthanize the animal, and were allowed to maintain it long enough to relinquish it to be released or re-homed at their next stop, but the Prism of Thought was a rescue vessel, and they could not keep non-sapient beings on board, for their own safety and that of those who might need their help.

And then there was Janus, who, if someone were to ask Logan to make the accounting, was currently, unmistakably, in the lead.

To start with, Janus belonged to an undocumented species from an uncharted world—which was rare to run into, but not altogether unheard of. Normally it wouldn't even have posed a problem if Janus hadn't been so frustratingly circumspect about every aspect of his origins. For one, he kept himself covered from head to foot—with a knit cloth hat on his head and a scarf over the lower half of his face and a vertical half-mask covering the rest—so that only one corner of his face was exposed. And even that was frequently obscured by the half-visor whose assistive display he used for help with various tasks about the ship. When that piece of equipment was absent only a single dark eye was ever visible—one with an alarmingly narrow iris that made it unmistakable when one was the focus of Janus's attention—and a ring of mid-toned, starkly dappled skin that surrounded it, often creased by fleeting hints at the hidden expressions that it frustrated Logan not to be able to see.

It would have been impossible for Logan not to speculate. There were too many species participating in galactic civilization to even begin to learn their habits, but Logan had made it a habit of his own to take time to study, at least broadly, the cultures and mannerisms of the crewmen he would be responsible for. It had helped him defuse a misunderstanding between Virgil and the twins on the definition of "personal space" that might have otherwise ended in violence, and Logan doubted that he and Patton would have learned to properly communicate at all if he hadn't put an effort into investigating just how differently their peoples defined the obligations one had towards another's emotional well-being.

But for Janus there was no database for him to consult, no outside source to investigate, and no one more experienced that he might appeal to. And with Janus himself unwilling to answer his questions, Logan was left with no recourse but to observe, closely, and try to infer from there.

He was fairly certain that Janus's species normally had at least two eyes—or so Logan had chosen to assume, based upon both the apparent symmetry of the rest of his form and from a few figures of speech that Janus favored. Automated translation could be difficult to rely on where idiom was concerned, especially with languages not commonly found in the database, but it was still very obvious that whatever language Janus spoke definitely used some form of plurality whenever concepts of sight were evoked. All but the loosest suggestion of his form was obscured beneath a long and nearly shapeless garment, but he could estimate that Janus was at least primarily bipedal from his gait. Unless he had more than the two visible upper-limbs, then his overall body-type was not wholly dissimilar from that of Logan's people—if somewhat shorter, and significantly denser in build.

The only other discernible detail of his anatomy were his hands. Even those were covered, though at least the material was fitted closely enough to actually make out the shape. Though even those were...largely unremarkable: five simple digits which, despite the lesser number, were angled in a configuration not wholly dissimilar to Logan's—though they were certainly much stubbier and possessed fewer joints than any Cogiri.

When Janus had first come on board, Logan had, of course, asked him which of these habits of dress were cultural requirements and which were of medical, anatomical (or other functional) necessity. It had seemed a reasonable enough question to ask, and one that he would have asked similar questions of any of his crew had they engaged in such conspicuous practices. (More specifically, certain members of his crew were known to take it upon themselves to engage in the unfortunate hazing of newcomers, and any mischief that might be medically dangerous or pose a grievous transgression to cultural boundaries would most likely require a stern talk in order to be properly prevented).

Unfortunately, reasonable or otherwise, these questions had clearly resulted in a poor first impression on his newest crewmate. Though his attire left little room for the interpretation of facial language—familiar or otherwise—Logan had nonetheless been able to read an increase in both the tension within Janus's obscured frame and the timbre of his voice. And this had been the first instance, but the way that Janus often rubbed his hands together as if seeking friction to warm them in times of stress was something that had quickly become difficult to miss. Logan had eventually taken a step back and left the issue for Patton to handle. After all, as chief of medical personnel aboard the Prism of Thought, the Pathi was in a much better position to ask those kinds of questions without causing further offense. In fact, Patton was the only member of the crew likely to have any solid notion of what Janus even looked like, and that only because regular medical assessments were a non-negotiable part of any Initiative contract. And while Patton was often terrible at keeping secrets, he was very serious when it came to protecting the crew's privacy.

(Even then, if Logan were to discover that Janus had somehow found a way to circumvent even Patton's examinations, he doubted he would be very surprised.)

The official information on file for Janus was just as frustratingly sparse. There was hardly much to it beyond the names for his planet and species—to which Logan could find no other references in any database for which he had access—and the date of his first encounters with the Sanctuary and Salvage Initiative. Though what information was available did unfortunately go a long way toward explaining the lack. After all, the Prism of Thought was far from the only rescue vessel operating with the Initiative's support. And the first queriable mention of Janus on file was his rescue from a derelict vessel by an SASI ship registered as the Slumbering Song. The remaining information held his existing medical records related to the rescue (sealed to Logan, as he did not have clearance to access his crew's confidential medical files) and the paperwork recording Janus's registration of refugee status under the work-aid program that the Initiative provided.

Whatever life Janus had led before his rescue, it was seemingly his wish to leave it behind him, and that appeared to include any discussion of where he had come from. And though it frustrated him to no end to leave questions unanswered, in the end Logan had been forced to accept those wishes and move on...

Logan could at least take solace in the knowledge that having no information was still preferable to having false information. Certain other crewmates were not always so accepting of having their enthusiastically curious questions turned away, and though Logan had not been present, he was nonetheless aware that Janus had managed to convince both of the twins that he suffered from amnesia, to the point of possessing almost no memory of his past. Logan had only ever learned of this claim third hand, through Virgil who had heard it from the twins. The Narach'iid had been skeptical, and while he did not technically possess any information that would refute that story, Logan was inclined to agree with his doubts...

After all, Patton could take the confidentiality of his patients' information as seriously as he liked, but the tight-lipped and quiet expression of disapproval that Logan had read on his face upon relating the story had told him all that he needed to know about its veracity.

As frustrating as the mystery surrounding Janus continued to be, at least it could not be said to impede daily operations on board the ship. Or perhaps it might have been more accurate to say that the impediment created was no greater than that posed by any of the other numerous eccentricities among the crew. Certainly fewer than the twins, either individually or combined. His secrecy often made Virgil nervous, and unfortunately encouraged further acting out from the two Muusen brothers from time to time, and his general standoffishness and the distance at which he kept the remainder of the crew afflicted Patton with a faint but unmistakable sadness that even Logan couldn't help but find distracting. And while all of that was less than ideal it was hardly the most disruptive behavior one might have to deal with in a crewmate. Vexing, certainly, but still tolerable for the most part.

Or at least, it had been until the twins began to fixate on their most recent obsession: Human sightings in nearby inhabited systems.

There wasn't much concrete information available on the elusive beings, and what was out there was largely unconfirmed, to the point where many in the wider galaxy were skeptical that they existed at all. The species had supposedly evolved on an uncharted planet out in the blackout zone—or, to the more dramatic minded, the deadzone—a region of space subject to exotic physics which rendered current hyperspace technology unstable. Those sectors could only be explored safely through the use of older sub-light drives, making ventures both dangerous and costly in terms of fuel, time and resources.

The region was largely unexplored, and it was forbidden by most galactic polities for merchant or civilian traffic to pass too deeply beyond the borders of charted space. The unknown was unknown, and the universe too vast to guess what might exist in regions left still unexplored. There was far too great a risk of encountering other civilizations or species, unknown diseases or unfamiliar tech, or unnameable other dangers that might put the galactic community at large at risk. There had been too many incidents in the history of the known galaxy where unchecked greed or lust for conquest—or even, tragically, the simple and innocent crime of uninhibited curiosity—had turned around to burn, not just those ships and planets and civilizations directly involved, but any who enjoyed the misfortune of maintaining contact with them.

As vast and as varied as it was, the web of communication and mutual contact that kept the galactic community functioning as a loose collective was remarkably fragile, and for better or worse, those tasked with maintaining the balance had become tremendously averse to risk. And, as a natural consequence, it meant that those regions where they feared to hazard intervention were effectively lawless.

And while it certainly wasn't impossible for life to have developed on one of the planets within the blackout zone—or a "deathworld" as some people would call it—several factors pointed toward its likelihood being extremely low, and the chance that intelligent life might have evolved there was even lower. Still, again, the unknown was unknown, and the blackout zone provided the perfect climate for breeding rampant speculation, horror-mongering and other such nonsense. People given to that sort of fantasy liked to imagine that, if life did manage to evolve in such an improbable place, under unknowable conditions, that it might be capable of almost anything...

Logan didn't have a lot of patience for Human tales, certainly no more than he did other sorts of spacer superstition. Whether the species ultimately existed or not was immaterial given the amount of varied and improbable lore that had come to exist despite the rarity of even rumored encounters. Logan had too many other concerns to worry about—he had a vessel to run and a crew to maintain, and the harsh realities of space rescue meant that their duties always held the potential of placing them in harm's way. He couldn't afford to get distracted by rumors and ghost stories. And while Patton certainly wasn't squeamish in the execution of their job, their medic definitely didn't enjoy hearing those sorts of stories either. The twins, on the other hand, devoured that sort of nonsense like confectionery, and though he often tried to hide his interest even Virgil seemed to find the macabre stories deeply fascinating...

And Janus, at first, had seemed to share his and Patton's indifference, so that Logan had even, briefly, hoped the metaphorical scales might finally tip in their favor.

But then, at the end of one cycle while they were gathered in the mess readying for their last meal before lights out, Remus had decided to regale them all with the latest horrific Human tale that had reached his ears... Or possibly the newest that he had invented. While Roman at least typically strove for some level of fidelity with his tale-telling, with Remus the chance was about fifty-fifty that he had made them up whole-cloth, no doubt with the specific goal of disturbing the rest of the crew.

"...but they didn't get much of a chance to celebrate the success of their hunt," Remus said, leaning forward dramatically in his seat and fanning his wings out behind him. "You see, they'd made a big old blunder in translating the description. Just an easy mistake in converting the measurements, but what they thought read 'between five to seven units tall' was actually closer to 'seven to nine' units. And they realized soon enough that they'd caught the wrong specimen...when the hatchling Human's mother burst through the door in a rage and started tearing them limb from limb!"

Logan hadn't bothered to waste any of his focus on the story itself, more attentive to the others in case there was a need to quickly change the topic—always a risk, when Remus dominated the conversation. So far, Roman and Virgil had both been listening with obviously skeptical but still interested attention. Patton's expression was a little tight, but the polite smile he tried to maintain when Remus was having his fun hadn't yet turned into anything visibly pained. And it was difficult to tell, but he hadn't thought that Janus was paying much attention to the story either, except...

Except they were all spared the continuing, gory description of carnage that Remus had no doubt been ramping up toward when Janus...laughed.

He laughed, and suddenly everyone's attention had shifted. Because it wasn't the sharp, mocking scoff they most often heard. It wasn't even the restrained chuckle he offered on occasion, almost like a consolation prize for whatever the listener might have been hoping for. No... It was that abrupt, sincere snort of disarmed amusement, the one that was so rare and startling on its own that the twins had once spent an entire week trying to see which one of them could get him to make it the most—and which had been neither of them, in the end, because even trying they had both managed to lose that honor to Patton.

And 'startling' really was the word, because for a long moment no one spoke, though never one to be silenced for long, naturally it was Roman who spoke first.

"I know you often share my brother's deplorable and twisted sense of humor," Roman managed, affronted, "but I fail to see whats so funny about that."

Janus seemed somewhat perplexed at finding himself the center of everyone's attention so suddenly. Logan watched him attempt to defuse it with one of his dismissive gestures.

"It wasn't anything terribly funny," Janus insisted, "just the odd image it struck in my head."

He had clearly been hoping that this answer would be sufficient, but both of the twins were now looking at him in morbid curiosity—or 'baseline curiosity' in Remus's case. And Janus must have realized just as surely as any of them that trying not to engage further would no doubt bring him more trouble than simply answering the question properly.

"Just imagine any of your mothers tearing through an airlock and rending poachers into gristle," Janus said. "Then try to tell me that isn't an amusing thought."

Remus let out a shrill cackle, pounding on the table with his fist, and even Patton gave something of a nervous chuckle. Virgil watched the exchange in confusion, no doubt due to the fact that Narach'iid did not typically rear their young in the same, direct fashion that many sapient species did. Nor did Cogiri, for that matter, but Logan had been working alongside Patton for years now, and for better or worse that was enough to grasp the cultural significance that such species typically attached to the concept of a singly devoted nurturative parent.

Roman, meanwhile, seemed confused on different grounds...

"Cute, but it's hardly the same thing," Roman said. "Everyone knows that Humans are almost suicidally territorial, especially when it comes to defending their young."

And Janus's one visible eye drifted upward and to the side in that way that they had all learned, by now, expressed some manner of exasperation.

"Oh, yes," Janus said. "And they're also definitely nine whole units tall and covered in razor-sharp scales the way that Remus describes them in his stories."

"He's just too lazy to do any real math..." Virgil muttered unquietly.

"Or maybe whole numbers are just scarier!" Roman defended.

Though, knowing him, it was more likely defensive on his own behalf than on his brother's...Remus only laughed harder.

"At any rate," Janus continued, forcefully pushing their argument aside, "it's not as if the monsters you're so fond of describing aren't plenty territorial enough when there isn't some convenient little grub involved to give them a reason to be."

And it was faint, but though Janus clearly intended for his tone to be playful, Logan thought he detected a rather subtle edge of disdain that had nonetheless crept into his voice.

Unfortunately, he also wasn't the only one who noticed.

"And what made you such an expert on Humans all of a sudden?" Virgil challenged sharply. "You've never even brought them up before today. Do you even read the reports? The sightings forums? The newslists?"

And Janus did let out that other laugh of his, then—the common one that was audibly mocking.

"Why would I ever bother?" Janus asked. "They're just as likely to be truthful as any other sensationalist attempt at pulling currency out of the hands of the credulous and gullible by peddling lurid drivel."

Which...certainly wasn't an opinion that Logan could have claimed he didn't share, but he could at least claim to have the tact to have never said it so plainly out loud. Already, Virgil had hunched forward in his chair in offense—he and Janus had never gotten along, the undeniable awareness that the man was hiding something always seeming to weigh too greatly on Virgil's mind to ever properly relax in his presence. Janus, meanwhile, had seemed to take his defensiveness personally in some way that clearly offended him, which also hadn't helped.

Unfortunately, whether he agreed with Janus's sentiments or not, it was Logan's duty as chief of this vessel to head off the greater disagreement that was surely coming if he didn't choose to intervene.

"Janus," Logan inquired cautiously, "am I correct in my impression that Humans are...something of a contentious topic for whatever reason?"

The response Logan received in answer to his question was...simultaneously both a surprise and exactly what he should have come to expect at this point. He had been more than prepared for Janus to take offense to his prying and deny it, perhaps even storming off in a huff. Instead, Logan watched Janus stiffen, an undeniable tension stealing into his form. His shoulders drew taut and even the concealed mouthparts beneath his scarf could be seen shifting tightly beneath the fabric. For a moment he looked away, and normally that was enough of a hint for Logan that he was correct, and that he would be best served giving their crewmate some space...

Unfortunately, Logan was neither the only one present, nor among the number who had become invested in the topic beforehand. Both of the twins were staring at their crewmate with sudden interest, and even Virgil's earlier ire had seemingly been forgotten in favor of cautious curiosity.

"Wait- No- How?" Roman stumbled over his questions.

"I-"

The word was hardly spoken before it choked off and Janus stood abruptly, turning toward the door. Unfortunately Roman's twin had already found his way there first and was standing there with his wings thrown out dramatically to block the doorway, his mandibles vibrating in what Logan knew to be barely restrained excitement. Meanwhile Virgil had stood up as well, and though he kept his distance—clearly wary of cornering their crewmate—he didn't seem willing to let Janus dodge the question either.

"No, come on," Virgil pleaded...and at least gave him the courtesy to do it softly. "You cannot just drop something like that into the conversation and then just say nothing."

"Technically I haven't dropped anything," Janus insisted somewhat harshly. "Our captain has made an assumption and you've all apparently decided it's the correct one."

And Logan knew that this was another place in which he should intervene—he should step forward and defend Janus's right to privacy. Unfortunately Logan was curious—he still had so many questions that Janus had failed to answer—and curiosity had always been such a difficult temptation for him to resist.

Logan said nothing. Even when Patton cast him a disapproving look he still said nothing. And Patton, always so uncomfortable stepping into a disagreement between crewmates just...froze, like he so often did. And Janus's eye passed over each of them for a moment—a darting glance, almost as if panicked—though at last they watched it narrow as Janus let out a sigh. That slow rush of breath seemed to take some of his tension with it, though the relaxed posture that returned to replace it struck Logan as...wrong, somehow.

Forced. False.

"Fine then," Janus said, looking pointedly at each of the others before taking a seat at the table. "If we're going to be telling tales then we should at least sit back down."

Logan saw him brush his hands together briefly before folding them carefully in front of him.

Roman and his brother each followed suit eagerly—though Remus, in his excitement, remained standing, all but bounding over to loom over the back of his brother's stool. Virgil followed somewhat more reluctantly, sitting down once more beside Patton who had remained awkwardly seated throughout the whole scene. Logan, who had remained seated as well, merely sat back, attempting to find ease as he waited for...whatever it was they were about to hear.

Janus sat silently for a moment, taking another few short beats, seemingly, to assess his audience before finally he spoke.

"My planet is located just past the edge of the blackout sectors," Janus began slowly. "It's...it's located along one of the more nefarious...trade routes that breach their way into that territory, in spite of the dangers and the regulations outlawing unsanctioned exploration and travel. And it must be...close to the Human homeworld, at least relatively speaking, because I can easily say we've had a lot more...Human interaction than most others could claim. And it's not hard to see why galactic civilization doesn't usually see them at their best..."

Logan's brows lowered unhappily and he saw his own unease mirrored amongst the rest of the crew as they listened. It was plain, even to him, that Janus had to be speaking euphemistically—that the 'trade' he spoke of would be that of smugglers at best. In fact pirates—or even slavers—wouldn't be the very worst of what was undoubtedly operating beyond the fringes, and beyond the reach of those interested in the strictures of law or even basic decency.

"Humans don't leave their planet as a rule, you see," Janus continued. "Not willingly. Almost universally, those encountered amongst galactic civilization have been trafficked against their will. And they're often rather unsurprisingly unhappy about that."

"Are they sapient?" Virgil blurted out suddenly, seeming almost shocked when he did. "I mean- That's- People disagree on- Do you know?"

Janus's hesitation was almost imperceptible, and if Logan hadn't been watching his hands already for his usual tells of stress he wouldn't have noticed the sudden twitch of his fingers before he spoke.

"Oh, absolutely," Janus said. "After all, those ships certainly aren't landing themselves..."

"What ships?" Virgil asked, leaning forward slightly.

"The ones that land on our planet, empty of any crew," Janus said. "Being taken from your home and thrown into a cage doesn't tend to make anyone a very well behaved guest. And Humans haven't quite mastered space travel on their own, nor have they been given the benefits of a spacer's education, but they can still be very quick learners given the right motivation. And given the sort of people who tend to have an interest in acquiring sapients from planets with no means to seek recourse from the galaxy at large, I'd say they tend to be quite motivated..."

By now, Janus had the twins and Virgil entirely captivated by his words, and Janus himself had shifted to rest the joints of his arms on the table, hands poised before him in an intriguing posture Logan had never seen before where his fingertips all met.

"It's not exactly an uncommon occurrence for them to break free from their captors," Janus continued, "and there aren't many avenues for escape available out in space. And if you're trapped on a ship filled with enemies that view you as merchandise or worse, surely the safest solution is to kill everyone on board and hope to figure out how to land the ship. And due to our proximity to those shipping lanes, we've had so many ships full of corpses show up on our doorstep..."

Beside him, Logan felt Patton shudder. Remus was leaning so far forward over top of his brother that he had come to rest his chin between Roman's antennules. Roman, meanwhile, while still engrossed, seemed to have his doubts.

"So, what, you just have a bunch of Humans on your planet?" Roman asked.

"Oh, they're hardly going to stick around," Janus said dismissively. "I can't imagine they trust the intentions of any species they've encountered out here. Why should they?"

"But then...how do they make it off-planet?" Roman asked.

"Well, I couldn't really say for sure," Janus admitted, "but I'd assume the same way as anyone else. After all, if they're smart enough to figure out how to land an unfamiliar ship, then they're certainly smart enough to hide on one, aren't they?"

Janus seemed to study Roman for a moment as well as his brother, eye flickering sharply between the two of them before tilting his head slightly, as if in thought.

"I'd imagine that's the only way they'd have of getting around unnoticed, wouldn't you?" Janus continued. "Just...stowing away on whatever vessel they can find, hopping from ship to ship hoping for one that takes them home. Or one that they might hijack to take themselves home. And in the short term they're surprisingly hardy compared to some other species when it comes to surviving extremes in temperature, so they're able to tuck themselves away into areas of a ship most sapients would never risk hiding in. Atmospheric circulation ducts, impact compartments in the inner-hull, probably even underneath the floor-plating on some models of ship..."

And Janus dropped his hands down to brace against the surface of the table once more as he leaned forward, staring directly into Roman's eyes...

"In fact..." Janus continued slowly, "it hasn't been all that long since we last docked, has it? It might even be possible that there's a Human on board this ship...right...NOW!"

And there wasn't a single crewmate at the table that wasn't jolted as Janus raised his voice, slamming both of his hands down on the table. The noise was somewhat muffled, due to his gloves, but then it hardly made much difference, because at some point during the telling of his tale, Janus must have managed some kind of signal to Remus. The Muusen shrieked loudly and alarmingly in his brother's ear, shaking his shoulders violently, and Roman let out a screech of his own that made even Logan's quills stand on end. But of course, the greatest reaction was Virgil's, who, accompanied by a savage hiss, wound up all the way on the other side of the room within moments, fur raised along his tail and all six of his arms clutched around his rapidly heaving torso.

Though, he was also fairly quick to recover from his fright, lobbing the nearest unattended object—an empty drinking vessel—directly at Remus's head.

"I hate you guys," Virgil growled. "I hate you so much. You're both the worst..."

"Well there's a very cute saying about curiosity on my homeworld that I feel would be rather apt right now," Janus said, "but I think you all earned a bit of a fright for coercing me into telling you horror stories..."

"Yeah, and it was great," Remus interrupted gleefully. "Funny thing, though... I thought you didn't remember your homeworld?"

A sudden silence filled the room, but the feelings that occupied it were palpable. Roman's wings rustled in annoyance as he clearly processed the fact that—one way or another—he had been lied to. Remus simply seemed amused, while Virgil watched the moment unfold with a renewed level of interest. Janus, meanwhile, seemed less interested in any of their reactions than he did in Logan's—which he supposed made sense, because it was the first time those claims had been brought up within ear-shot. Once it became clear that Logan was neither surprised by this reveal, nor moved to hand out consequences for the deception, Janus recovered his composure quickly. A moment passed where Logan thought he might have been balancing the worth of continuing his original lie directly to his captain's face, or doubling down on his new—and just as equally dubious—claim. Finally, he hitched his shoulders in that way he commonly did to express his—usually feigned—indifference.

"I might have said something to that effect," Janus admitted, spreading his hands as if showing them empty. "So I guess it's up to all of you to decide what you want to believe."

If there was any contrition to be found in his tone it was very slight indeed, though despite his words, there wasn't much of actual hostility to be heard in them either, so perhaps he did consider his scare repayment enough. Which was rather petty, but it at least gave Logan some hope that Janus wouldn't be holding a grudge over the confrontation.

(Roman and Virgil, unfortunately, he was probably going to be keeping an eye on for a while...)

The meal was finished soon after that and Janus took his plate and left for his room—not unusual, he normally only lingered at the start of the meal for conversation before going off to eat in private—and Virgil and Roman at least kept their irritated discussion of the whole thing mostly to themselves. Remus slammed his food down with his usual quickness and then wandered off to do something else, and Logan and Patton enjoyed the rest of their meal in relative peace. It wasn't the most satisfying end they might have managed for that moment of conflict, but it certainly wasn't the most difficult ending that they had ever endured either. But that had seemed to be the end of it.

And it was, for the most part.

Later, when Logan woke for the first interruption period of his sleep cycle, he took a walk through the ship, as he normally did. Virgil would be taking his watch at the helm—for while his species' nocturnal habits were typically far more flexible in space, he still preferred having the quiet of the rest cycle to himself when the rest of the crew were sleeping, and everyone else was more than willing to let him. Remus would have tucked himself away in some improbable place to sleep and nothing was likely to wake him until the lights were increased for the work cycle, and Roman would be sleeping in his room, equally unlikely to wake until conditions demanded otherwise. And it was Logan's typical habit, during the break in his own rest, to check on a few of the most crucial systems before returning to his bed where Patton would no doubt still be waiting.

(The medic, of course, had his own room, but Pathi typically slept communally on their homeworld, and Patton often had trouble resting properly if he was forced to sleep alone.)

He found Janus awake at one of the observation ports. At first glance, Logan had thought he was asleep, curled up in one corner of the viewport frame in a way he usually only saw from Virgil during the intermittent naps the Narach'iid took so very frequently. Blankets from his bedding had been brought with him, bunched up around his shoulders and tucked around him, almost like a nest. But as Logan approached he saw the bundled form shift, its occupant turning to look at him, and he realized that Janus had likely seen his approach in the reflection of the transparent pane.

"Captain," Janus acknowledged quietly, before returning his watch to the void beyond the viewport.

Perhaps he had been looking at the stars.

Logan debated a moment on leaving him to his peace, but the way that Janus had delivered his greeting wouldn't let him walk away. Because that wasn't how Janus typically greeted him. The Initiative didn't require its personnel to address one another by rank outside of formalized reports, and Logan himself had always considered needless formality a greater impediment to team cohesion than he had an asset. Janus knew that—Logan had told him as much when the crewman had first come on board. Whether the change was a conscious and pointed choice on Janus's part or an unconscious one—and either seemed equally likely—it felt like something that he needed to address.

"I owe you an apology," Logan found himself saying suddenly.

Janus almost seemed startled by the statement—though whether it was the words themselves or if he had, perhaps, assumed that Logan had already moved on, it was difficult to say. But it obviously got his attention, because Janus turned around properly to look at him, one leg falling off it's perch on the frame of the viewport, dangling from the blankets bunched around him. If anything could be read in the eye that was visible he seemed curious—though, from the shift in tension, also wary.

"I'm listening."

"I should have intervened, earlier, during meal time," Logan explained. "While I...haven't always been the most respectful of those boundaries myself, you have made it plain by now that your privacy is of great importance to you. As your captain it was on me to support you in enforcing those boundaries. My failure to do so was both unprofessional and unacceptable."

He paused for a moment, taking in the other's reaction. If anything, his startlement seemed to have grown, as if Janus were taken aback. And Logan could not help the way his quills shifted in discontent at the thought, because something as simple as a superior acknowledging his failings should not be so surprising.

"And I won't interrogate whether or not you were truly being forthcoming in your early accounts," Logan continued. "If you really do hail from within the blackout zone—and so close to frequent trafficking routes—then it is entirely understandable why you would want to keep information about your people closely guarded. But regardless of where your motivation for secrecy comes from, know that from now on I will try to refrain from pressing you for information that you haven't chosen to divulge fully on your own. And if any of the others begin to pressure you for information in a way that makes you uncomfortable, please do not hesitate to tell me. I promise that I won't fail you again."

For a few moments, Janus just stood there, still half-perched by the viewport, looking back at him with a rapidly blinking stare.

"I- Thank you," Janus managed finally. He sounded perhaps a little breathless. "I...I do appreciate that. And..."

He took a breath before letting out a faint sound...a sort of hum halfway between the snort and his usual, guarded chuckle, that may have been some other version of his laugh.

"Well, you were hardly any worse than the others," he said, "and...it is also understandable why you were determined to ask in the beginning. It's as you said, you are the captain of this ship, and you can hardly look out for the needs of your crew if you don't understand them. Or at least, I understand that now..."

If Logan were to put a name to it, he thought what he heard in Janus's voice might have been somewhat rueful, as if he were looking back on those early encounters now with something akin to embarrassment. And now it was his turn to seem pensive—some hint of expression evident in the creasing around his eye that brought the thin line of fur or down that was normally hidden beneath the band of his cap briefly into view.

"It's not...strictly necessary that I cover myself," Janus said at last, slowly as if still in the process of deciding what—or how much—to say. "I have...scars, that I'd rather not have people see. But more than that..."

He stood properly, then, reaching out to gather the blankets that had fallen away from him. He drew them tightly around himself as he turned back to glance at the viewport. Tightly enough, in fact, that he almost hunched.

"It's the cold," he said quietly, his voice shaking just a bit. "I-"

He paused, taking a slow breath.

"The ship I was traveling on before this one," Janus said, "the one I was rescued from—their climate control...failed mid-passage. The crew weren't able to repair it. They took whatever measures they could think of to try to slow the decline, circulating the ambient heat from the reactor, burning nonessential cargo for warmth, but... Nothing worked. No matter what they did, no matter how closely they packed themselves or what they burned trying to stay warm, it wasn't enough to keep the temperature from falling..."

Janus shuddered.

"By the time Remy and Emile were able to respond to the emergency signal and pull me out of there," he said, "I was the only one left alive, and I had been for...what must have been several days. And ever since, I just..."

He cut off, pulling the blankets closely around him once more.

"I just can't handle it," he said with a shaking breath. "It hardly takes more than a draft on my skin to set me on edge sometimes. And then of course there's the fact that there's nothing but darkness and cold around the ship at all times..."

And Logan couldn't help himself, just then, despite his promise...

"Then why work onboard a ship?" Logan asked, confused and at this point almost alarmed. "I understand that someone in your position must be short on choices, but even if the Initiative was somehow your only option, I'm sure they could have found a placement for you planetside."

The breath that Janus released just then was another, new variety of laugh, Logan thought. Softly startled, like his snort, but with none of its energy...or its mirth.

"No job they could give me planetside would teach me the skills I need," Janus argued. "It's like you said. There really aren't a lot of options for 'someone in my position'. No scrupulous vessel would ever risk traveling into the blackout zone just to take me home, and neither would an unscrupulous one, not without the promise of some very valuable prize that would make it worth their while. If I ever want to get home, I'm going to need my own ship. I'm going to need to know how to outfit a ship for a long deployment if I'm going to have any hope of making it there. And I'm going to need to know how to fly it myself, and...how to fix the climate control if it breaks. Because I'm going to have to make that trip alone."

He seemed so certain of it that Logan was almost afraid to try to refute him. But then, as much as he would have liked to, it wasn't as if he could offer any solution that was likely to satisfy what the other man was after. What Janus was planning was practically suicidal, and Logan's only comfort came from the awareness that it was a plan that would almost certainly take years to put into motion.

Time enough, he could hope, to convince their crewmate otherwise.

"If...I might ask," Logan began, remembering himself this time, at least enough to phrase the question politely, "what was your occupation back home?"

Janus stared back at him for a moment in what he thought was abruptly baffled silence before releasing another startled noise—another laugh, the variety of which had grown staggeringly in such a short period of time. This sound was less restrained than the chuckle or the snort and more persistent—something lighter, brighter, and yet still, somehow, faintly pained. And Logan was confused as to what part of his question had prompted this reaction...

Unfortunately, the answer that he got didn't seem to offer much in the way of explanation.

"I was a liar," Janus said.

There was a faint, surprising note of humor in his voice as he said it, though Logan still didn't understand why.

"I'm…afraid I don't understand."

Janus let out another amused-sounding hum, though this time it also sounded thoughtful.

"I suppose the simplest answer would be to say that I was a writer," Janus said. "Technically I was a journalist, though more specifically I was in the business of...well, 'peddling lurid drivel', more or less. My job was to come up with enticing stories to sell as news, though with a creative and often exaggerated approach to the actual details."

Logan took a moment trying to grasp the idea, though at the end he was still left baffled.

"I still don't understand," he said at last. "Why would anyone engage with a publication that intentionally misleads them?"

"Ostensibly for entertainment purposes," Janus said, "though that often wasn't what drew our readers in. There are always people convinced that important information is being kept from them, and while they're often not wrong, they often wind up looking for it in the most unlikely places. Ideally, there should always be a certain level of deniability to your claims—toeing the line between simply suggesting a possibility and asserting that it's the truth. Easier to attract both audiences that way. And easier to avoid trouble, too..."

He trailed off, letting out another faint snort.

"I suppose I've had it coming to me," Janus said. "To have wound up all the way out here and still find myself dealing with that kind of nonsense..."

Though it was phrased as if he were amused, Logan felt that by the end of the statement all of its humor had run dry.

They were both silent for a while after that, Logan uncertain what he might say and Janus clearly distracted. After a while Logan watched him rearrange his burden of blankets around himself into something that could rest more securely on his shoulders. Logan realized that he must have been preparing to leave, and found himself reminded, suddenly, that they were still in the middle of a rest cycle. While he held no more certainties about Janus's sleep habits than he did anything else about the man, it was likely past time for both of them to return to sleep.

Still, as Janus stepped away from the viewport and toward the door, one last question found its way to the forefront of Logan's mind...

"If you once made your living peddling similar falsehoods..."

Janus paused turning to look at him. He seemed somewhat startled, as if he had forgotten that Logan was there. But Logan only let his uncertainty halt him for a moment.

"If that is the case," he asked, "then was any of what you shared with the others before actually true?"

Logan wouldn't ask about anything that Janus had just shared between the two of them. The moment had felt too vulnerable, an extension of trust, and that trust was still far too delicate to test with questions he had already sworn he wouldn't ask. At least some of it had to have been true, he was sure of it, and if there were still lies mixed in among those truths then he was sure that Janus had his reasons.

But this, at least, felt permissible to ask, as it pertained to the rest of his crew.

Janus stood silently for a while, as if considering his answer, before stepping in close—surprisingly close. And Logan didn't know what he might have called the tiny glimpse of an expression that he saw form at the corner of his eye, a small crease that somehow seemed to make his gaze brighten when, as far as he knew, there was no anatomy there that would reflect or emit significant light. All Logan knew was that he had never wanted so strongly to see the rest of the face still hidden behind his disguise.

"I could never lie to my captain..." Janus said slowly, "but that would give you an unfair advantage over the others, wouldn't it?"

The crease by his eye deepened, and Logan watched as the attention of his gaze—so apparent with that shocking brightness of his sclera giving it away—shifted over his face, as if taking the time, for once, to study him in return. And it was only this close that Logan finally managed to see the pupil hidden within the darkness of the iris. To his intrigue, he watched it widen slightly.

"I'm...sorry?"

In his distraction he had lost track of any thought that might have hinted what his response was meant to be.

"Deniability," Janus said, his tone...playful, almost teasing. "It's going to have to be up to you what you decide to believe."

And there might have been a narrow window in which Logan might have come up with a reply, but as he faltered, caught between confusion and all of the questions he had promised not to ask, Janus reached out and, in a gesture he had never witnessed before, rested a hand briefly on Logan's shoulder. It was a light touch—almost hesitant with its contact in a way that it hadn't been in its bold approach—and soon any other thought he might have managed soon fled.

(Had he ever seen Janus touch any of the others? It was suddenly hard to recall, but he didn't think that he had...)

But the touch didn't linger for long, the hand lifting with a light pat before it was gone.

"Goodnight, Logan," Janus said.

And then he was gone as well, vanishing down the corridor, leaving Logan alone with more than a dozen new questions.