Together with loneliness.

[Dratai]

Omega-43

Sometime in the recent past

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Cold was nipping at skin, breath fogging the helmet's visor and prickling a faint warmth against cheeks.
A startle, as the inhabitant of the freighter woke. They could feel the fragments outside being disturbed somehow, but in their stupor, they rolled out of the sleep space, rather than climb out of it, awkwardly spinning just long enough to commit nausea to the 'morning' treatment.

Awkwardly, a malformed hand fiddled with some of the buttons, systems slowly stirring, heat shunting into the cabin space as the figure within clambered to a semblance of upright and pushed into the flight compartment of the camara. It'd be a while before everything was warm enough to move in without suffering, and a while again still before the atmosphere of the vessel was breathable. Not that the individual within ever took the chance of removing the connection to one of the spare tanks if there was ever an idea of danger.

Groggy, but waking, the sudden surge of adrenaline kicking them into overdrive. Before the wing of three unknown ships really could register the freighter, they'd already been cored out. Sure, the IFF was 'unknown', but the pilow was familiar enough with what that meant. And the rather intense, uptuned frontal armaments left little in the way of time to regret, if the opponent was caught this off-guard.

It was going to be that or the local corsairs, the moment the ship passed into the next wormhole- and with a cargo hold full of rare materials, that would mean a firefight, too.

Something pinged into the ship, now that it was within reach of the jumphole, just enough for any kind of signal to reach them- connecting via the sneaky little buoy left in the system on the other end, a little trick to keep an eye on local patrols, before making the run through to the traditionally more 'safe' omega systems. A little stop by Gran Canaria was tempting, but cambridge contacts had first pick for this trip.

The strongest of yawns, as adrenaline slowly left the system, the kind that hurts the jaw and makes the back suffer for a good hour or so after. The cold really didn't do wonders for the physique for the day or so after waking. But it kept them alive longer, slowed down the symptoms of being alive in the state they were. Not lethal, but certainly not comfortable.

Lusus stepped back own, grabbing the communicator to peruse the message the buoy had been holding- the last and first reach point on such runs for the old codger.

The text didn't register, even though Lusus felt the agency leaving corpus of movement, just staring for a good long while.
They would cry if it didn't physically hurt more than any other treatment they'd been through, the tearducts really didn't enjoy interacting with the skin around the eyes.
Lambent was the faint colour of green staring through the darkened visor of the helmet, and gritted were the teeth, exposed, like a half-mangled, decomposing corpse- Damage in places, half formed in others. And now the person that, well, maybe not accepted Lusus, but appreciated their knowledge and what they could do that others didn't like doing, much less alone... was gone.

Lusus wasn't one to curse. Nor say a whole lot. Aside from the sense of loss clutching at the chest and the mind, like sharp thorns, a deep breath, a cursory glance at the logo etched into the keepsake mounted on one of the walls, and then finally a shake of the head. Sadness could eat later, anxiety was setting in, then the text registered. So his contract was getting paid- for the info. Easy delivery at least, but now a haul of much too broad cargo that didn't have an easy buyer for market price. And dangerous to hold until the ship was out of the mid-omegas, to boot.

The warmth settling vaguely in jolted the lonely pilot back into the now, the near-claw poking through the suit that was digging into the screen of the sterile text finally reaching him, and the account now likely flush with credits made the mind spin. Several scenarios running through it at the same time.

The easy method, then.
And a message to Minerva and her like.

Lusus would have to deal with strangers again, always a fun time. A prerecorded, easily edited message, first, for sending to shipmakers.
Specialty runs wasn't good if one didn't have clientele. But funds were going to be on hand. Time to outfit some old friends.

And make a detour to one long forgotten, not exactly on-the-books station. The wreck still had connectivity, when Lusus left it behind.
They would find out in time.

But it would take a while to get everything in order, especially on the quiet...