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It was some time close to one A.M. and the halls of the Urania were quiet. Well, as quiet as they could get, anyways. There were always the distant whirring sounds and the occasional dull ticking here and there, but Jacobi had learned to ignore any weird noises, especially when Maxwell was around. As long as nothing was on fire or about to catch fire, it wasn’t his business.
He made his way over towards Kepler’s compartments, knocked twice, then waited quietly for a couple of beats before opening the door.
“What can I do for you this very late evening, Mr. Jacobi?” Kepler asked as soon as the door opened, not taking the time to look up. He was sifting through an open folder on top of his desk with one hand, and using the other to type up something on a screen infront of him.
“Can I talk to you, sir?” He asked, the smallest hints of hesitation in the tone of his voice, still hovering close by the door.
“You already are,” Kepler replied, sounding vaguely disinterested and still not taking his eyes off of his paperwork.
Jacobi continued to stand idly by the door, listening to the rhythmic taps of Kepler’s fingers across the screen and not entirely sure how to proceed. He was considering changing his mind and just turning right back around when Kepler looked up at him expectantly, an ever-so patient gaze, and Jacobi closed the door behind him and stepped inside properly.
“It’s about what happened today,” Jacobi started, crossing the room to take a seat by the desk. He was here, he already had Kepler’s attention, he might as well.
“Do you have something you want to add to your report?”
“No, no, I included everything in there,” Jacobi said. He seemed to fall quiet for another moment, his lips pressed together. He then exhaled quietly, “It’s just, with all due respect, what are we waiting for?”
“You’ll have to be a little more elaborate than that.”
Jacobi looked down at his hands briefly, then looked up again, meeting Kepler’s gaze straight on. “The supplies are steadily disappearing from Doctor Hilbert’s lab, Captain Lovelace is as calm and efficient as ever, Lieutenant Minkowski looks like she’s two seconds away from screaming her head off at any given moment,” he paused for breath, “And Eiffel gets more and more jumpy every time I see him. They’re not exactly wasting any time, and we’re not exactly gaining any ground.”
Something flashed in Kepler’s eyes, at first Jacobi thought it was exasperation, and then he thought it just might have been amusement. It was difficult to tell.
Everything about Kepler was always difficult.
“It’s not the right time for counter measures yet,” Kepler replied dismissively, turning his attention back to his paperwork. He left the screen for now, and was going through the papers in the folders, thumbing through them and scanning over their contents.
“It isn’t?” Jacobi asked with a subconscious raise of his brow, his own gaze remaining fixed on Kepler, “Because the way I see it, we’re rapidly running out of time. They’re not lacking in the creative genius department, and definitely not lacking in the complete and utter desperation department. It’s not a comforting combination.”
“No, they’re not,” Kepler agreed, almost distantly, taking a paper out of the folder and moving it to another one.
Jacobi stared at him, “.. So? Why are we still sitting here with our arms tied behind our backs?”
“That’s an overreaction,” Kepler said matter-of-factly.
“No, that’s the appropriate amount of concern.”
“I invented the appropriate amount of concern,” Kepler said, setting the folder down with a light thud and glancing at him, “I also know you better than you’re giving me credit for. You’re anxious.”
“I’m really not,” Jacobi said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back as much as his seat would allow.
“You’re not, which is exactly why you are.”
Jacobi blinked at that. He gave him a perplexed look, watching him for a moment for signs of any further explanations in his expression, then shaking his head in defeat when he found none. “Okay.. This was clearly not a good idea,” he finally muttered. He moved to get out of his seat, “Good talk, sir, thank you. I’ll be going now, goodnight.”
“Your problem isn’t that you can’t go to sleep tonight, it’s that you can whenever you want,” Kepler continued as though Jacobi had said nothing, “And you’ve been sleeping pretty well lately too, considering.”
Jacobi sank back into his seat. “I’m not sure I follow,” he said, his voice falling quieter.
“Ah, but you do,” Kepler said. He had on what Jacobi assumed was his version of a warm smile, but it sent chills down Jacobi’s back nonetheless. He fleetingly wondered just when that particular effect of Kepler on him was going to go away.
“You do,” Kepler went on, “You’re thinking about what we’re inevitably going to have to do on here, and you find that you don’t have the appropriate amount of problem with it, and for some reason that’s suddenly become alarming to you.”
Jacobi opened his mouth, then closed it. He was finding the plain white folder rather entertaining to look at right about now.
Kepler picked up a cup from the edge of his desk, it was almost all the way full. He held out the cup to Jacobi, “Fancy a drink, Mr. Jacobi?”
Jacobi regarded the semi-transparent cup and the blue straw stuck in it, seeing himself in his mind’s eye reaching out for it, and promptly shook his head. “I’d rather not right now.”
Kepler nodded, “Just as well, you’ve been doing alright lately,” he said, helping himself to a rather generous sip.
“Listen, Jacobi,” Kepler said, setting the cup aside again, “You spend a lot of time in close quarters with people, you’re bound to get to know them,” He was drawing out his sentences now, “It’s perfectly normal to casually enjoy their company, it’s normal-“
“That’s not it.”
“-To even enjoy a certain individual’s company a tiny bit more than casually. There’s nothing wrong with it. But that should have nothing to do with carrying out the mission’s objectives, and you know that very well.”
Jacobi didn’t say anything, and so naturally, Kepler pressed on.
“You’re having a guilt trip about your lack of a guilt trip,” Kepler said, then smiled again. This time, Jacobi thought it was the kind of smile you flash to your kid when you’re trying to explain to them that no, dear, the moon doesn’t follow our car around. “It’s part fascinating, part something I don’t have the time for right now. Mostly, it’s something I don’t have the time for right now.”
Jacobi was growing steadily more frustrated with this conversation. He knew, he knew that there was something wrong. He knew there was something that wasn’t adding up. It was something akin to missing a piece of the puzzle, except that wasn’t quite it. It was more like, there was something out of balance. And he had no idea what that was, and consequently no idea how to put it into words. Kepler’s words weren’t exactly sitting right with him either, and there was a dull nagging feeling in his gut that unsettled him, making him feel almost like he might be sick.
“All I was saying is that I think we could consider putting something in motion,” Jacobi said, somewhat uncertainly, some feeble second attempt to get his point across. “Better safe than sorry and all that.”
“We weren’t sent here for safe. You know, I wasn’t even under the impression that safe was a word you fully understood,” Kepler said, adapting a firmer tone, “We’re here for a reason that is bigger than you, bigger than me, bigger than anyone on this ship. Hell, even bigger than Goddard itself. The value of our work in this mission is beyond comprehension. And when you’re working on something this significant, when you’re on the verge of changing the very definition of significant, collateral damage is not only inevitable, it is necessary. The details of how it plays out don’t matter, as long as the end result is achieved. You can explore the wonders of your malfunctioning moral compass when you’re off the clock, are we clear?”
Jacobi’s resolve faltered. It had been shaky enough to begin with. If there’s one thing he knew for sure at the moment, it was that when Kepler used this particular tone, the conversation was over.
“.. We’re clear.”
“Good,” Kepler said with a small nod, his attention drifting back to his screen, “I can trust you’ll be ready to do your job when it’s time to do it.”
It wasn’t a question. There was no lingering doubt in Kepler’s words, no ifs or buts hanging in the air. Just a simple, straightforward sentence.
“Yes, sir. Thank you sir.” Jacobi got up again, and started to head straight for the door.
“Go get some good, well deserved rest. You report on the observation deck in two hours.”
“Yes, sir—Wait, what?” Jacobi paused, turning to look back at Kepler, “My rotation doesn’t start till six.”
“Well, isn’t that something?” Kepler hummed as he started typing on the screen again, “It’s almost as if I’m in charge of work assignments and I can re-assign rotations whenever I see fit.”
Jacobi regarded him for just a moment longer, watching him work again. Difficult was the first word he thought of. Interesting was the second, and much to his own dismay, admirable was the third.
“Goodnight, Daniel,” Kepler said when he noted that Jacobi was still there, and Jacobi snapped out of his momentary daze, squaring his shoulders.
“Goodnight, sir.”
Jacobi walked out of the room, closing the door behind him and starting down the hallway. He was almost all the way towards his own quarters when he stopped. It definitely wasn’t a good idea to go to Kepler. Then again, good ideas weren’t exactly his forte. He took a moment to look down the hall that led to the junction that connected the Hephaestus and the Urania together. Then he turned away and made the rest of the short trip to his bed without looking back again.