Flew the Coop

[l3wt]

Later, but not much...

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A small, and likely depressingly common scene has developed in Bravo wing's security checkpoint. An armoured figure, slung with a pair of hefty duffle bags - and one brown paper bag with a bok choy peering impudently out of it - argues with the dockmaster. Stewart, if James recalled. True to Sarah's word, the man had been honest. Honest enough to ask uncomfortable questions about the cheerfully undisguised contents of James' personal effects, which had included no less than five different firearms. Like a sensible person. While strictly speaking not illegal - not here - the scans had seen fit to flag him down for whatever the local security parlance indicated as "slightly worrisome". "Yes, I'm here to see one Miss McFarlen on the upper decks. No, I am not a creditor, troublemaker, legbreaker, insane ex, or any flavor of liable to do anything stupid. I'm here to join her," The word bears some consideration. "Crew," He settles on. It's not technically incorrect. A crew of two is still a crew. "For goodness' sake, I brought groceries."

Stewart is, eventually, unwilling to further escalate this silliness. He decides that if this is some kind of plot, it's dumb enough to deserve a shot. Terrible quality in an official, though maybe somewhat less so on Barrier Gate. James is eventually ushered through towards the elevators, grumbling quietly to himself.

Up, up towards the top docking levels, where the umbilical access bays to ships at moor lived. Sarah had certainly not skimped on the size of her - (their? Stop.) - new ship. She'd always liked big, open spaces, views, he seemed to recall. From what he'd skimmed of the schematics during his rush to Barrier Gate, she'd have that much.

James finds himself growing self-conscious, blended with an all too welcome feeling of a fresh start and a deja vu, as the elevator thrums on upward. Was he so different now, from when they'd set out on their voyage, so long ago?

Sarah and Leslie had been greeted back then, with, what he himself assessed, was someone's best attempt to construct a human being out of right angles and assorted structural cabling. Tall, dense, lean. Bordering on starved. No longer bordering, during the months of-

The thought is methodically shot, twice, and he waits for it to stop twitching when the elevator doors slide open.

James takes in the impressions of the massive umbilical bay. Semi-open layout. All-steel construction, much of it reasonably new. Rows and rows of large, numbered staging areas with separating walls between each. Too thin. Security probably wanted it that way, a hindbrain instinct rasps. He quietens it before it can comment further.

It was time to look for a redhead.