"This is the log of Able Spaceman Emmett McCarty of the USS Gold Finger!" Emmett booms into the microphone, about 7 lightyears away from earth. "Our mission - to scout out new forms of mold, never been seen before!"
Next to him, Edward taps at the console in a listless fashion, typing approximately five words a minute. He takes extra time to push off from the keyboard with each keystroke, only to grab the side of the board and pull himself back. Emmett, who weighs significantly more out of zero-G, wasn't allowed to pull such stunts and keeps his feet firmly grounded in the strategically-placed rungs. Precious soil samples in plastic cases seem to crack when bumped into hard enough by stray elbows.
"The USS Midas is scouting micro-organisms, Em," Edward mutters quietly next to him. "Not just mold — and you need to go back to calling yourself an able seaman, you sound ridiculous."
Emmett gasps loudly. "Sexual harassment in the workplace! I do not consent to talking about my semen!" Both men burst into laughter.
The intercom buzzes incessantly. Annoyed and extremely reluctant, Edward flips it on.
"Electrical Engineer Edward Masen speaking?"
"This isn't funny, Masen." The woman's crackling voice makes Edward scowl and Emmett perk up significantly.
"Hello to you too, Engineer Hale!" Edward chirps, though narrows his eyes at his colleague, who looks eagerly ready to interrupt him at any moment with what would doubtless be lovey-dovey bullshit. "May I enquire as to what—"
"Where's my mask?" she snaps.
Edward snorts at the idea of this vapid woman ever entertaining the idea of hiding her face in any way. "Pardon?"
"My. Face. Mask," she says very slowly. "I bought a very expensive, very precious jar of mask with me on this vessel, and I want to know where it is."
Edward hums thoughtfully. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"Really? So if I were to, say, pop in and visit lab room 2, I wouldn't see your smarmy face, painted green?" Her tone is low and deadly.
Emmett glances nervously at Edward's unrepentant green face.
The redhead chuckles. "I'm very sure I won't be letting you pop into lab room 2, that's for sure," he says, and kicks off from the beneath the console to hit the lock on the door panel.
"Edward!"
Visibly sweating off his own green face mask, Emmett scrabbles for the comms switch. "Kisssh, krissshh, bad connection — sorry," he stammers, shutting it off and blowing out a sigh as Edward twists himself back the right way around.
"Hey, Bella?" Edward asks, looking slightly upwards.
|YES, MASON?| The feminine voice of the ship's AI system coolly flows through the air.
"What's Rosalie up to now?" Edward asks her.
|I BELIEVE SHE IS ENLISTING THE HELP OF ... A BLOW TORCH| Bella calmly informs them.
Edward lets out an unhappy 'oof' sound and shakes his head. "Hm, no thank you, I think."
"We should rinse this off now," Emmett says quickly, looking around the lab for alcohol wipes. He knows what bringing on the wrath of the woman he shares his living quarters with would do to him. "Possible deniability."
"Plausible," Edward corrects in a bored tone, picking up the sleek black jar and squinting at it. "It says 'let sit for seven to ten minutes', Em," he adds, reading from the label. "I think it'll do wonders for my combination skin," he continues with relish.
Emmett frowns as the reality of being a knowing participant in the Masen-Hale prank war comes crashing down. Now he's probably going to get a neat little sex embargo out of it too.
At the smart knock at the door, Edward exchanges a curious glance with Emmett. Rosalie typically announces her presence in a more momentous way.
"Huh. Old school," Emmett says. Protocol is to verbally announce oneself when entering a room if any of your crew members are in it, after all.
Edward knows that, too. "Who is it?" he sings out, suspicion written all over his green face.
The comm buzzes once, and Emmett, forgetting he had turned it off, flicks it back quickly, with an apologetic wince in Edward's direction. "This is your Bosun requesting entry into nerd-world B," comes the familiar drawl.
"Ha, ha, ha," Edward says, all slow sarcasm. This time he only uses his foot to hit the lock panel, and the door whooshes open with ease. Edward calls out behind his shoulder, "Hello, Bosun!" only to see Rosalie's dark and murderous face instead. "Oh! Betrayed," he says as Rosalie grabs his ankle and yanks him into the corridor.
Resigned, Emmett pulls himself out too, to be met with their Bosun leaning against the opposite wall, a smirk on his face. The man manages to lean in zero-G with the niftiest pair of suctioned-soled boots not legally sold on this side of the universe. Emmett is convinced Bosun wore them even when he was sleeping — he chalks it up to the Texan's bad back.
"Thanks, Bella," Emmett calls upwards.
|SORRY, THE BOSUN ASKED FOR HIS NAME TO TEMPORARILY BE 'A BLOW TORCH' UNTIL THE DOOR TO LAB ROOM 2 WAS OPENED| Bella's tone becomes slightly higher with accusation. |NO ONE /ASKED/ ME IF HALE WAS WITH HIM!|
As the only man with any background in combat on this mission, Bosun effectively out-ranks all of them but the Captain and the first mate, meaning Bella is compelled down to her code to follow his orders.
"Yeah — the doc asked to see us all," he explains with a shrug.
Emmett reluctantly looks over to Rosalie, who has regained possession of her mask after hitting Edward over the head with the jar. Jasper shifts, knocking one heel of his boot against the other to release his shoes and let him float in the air with the rest of them. Rosalie studiously ignores Emmett as Bosun leads them towards the command deck.
"C'mon babe — it was just a joke!" he whines, grunting as Edward tosses the moist face towel he just used to scrub his own skin at Emmett's head.
"I'm not laughing, Emmett!" Rosalie snaps, but that's all she graces him with as he whines out a prolonged apology.
First Mate Cullen, floating next to the observation window with a smile, looks genuinely pleased to see them, as he usually did.
"Oh good, found them all," he says to Bosun, who inclines his head. But then the doctor looks them over again and frowns. "Or almost—where's Brandon?"
At that, all eyes turn to Bosun, who grimaces and mutters, "She's … not well. Headache — I'll fill her in."
Emmett waggles his eyebrows "Yeah, I bet you will." He grins wolfishly as Bosun gives him a not-very-professional middle finger.
Rosalie scoffs, her tone withering as she mutters, "That doesn't even make sense." Her stout refusal to even make eye contact with him deflates Emmett's good humour, and he quietens down.
The left door whooshes open and Captain Platt, head of their project, sails into the room. "Morning, all!" she announces, harder than her usual demure manner. "I have just a touch of pressing business to discuss with you all today — a foreign ship is heading our way."
Emmett feels a jolt of excitement. "What? Like alien?"
Captain Platt shakes her head. "No, man-made. Not American, Russian or Chinese, but man-made. Decidedly not with the company, though, so we're on high-alert," she says quickly. "They'll be here in about — Bella?"
|AT THEIR CURRENT RATE OF SPEED, MY PROXIMITY SENSORS TELL ME THEY'LL BE HERE IN ABOUT — 20 MINUTES|
Bosun kicks off from the window, shooting past the rest of them to the right door with a scowl on his face. "This could have been an announcement," he says tersely. "I could be at the armory already."
"Well, I don't want anyone to worry yet," Captain Platt explains mildly, "they could be friendlies." Her bright tone is belied by the worried glance she shoots out the window — though the space outside is as dark and empty as ever.
Bosun slaps the door panel and shoves himself through it. "While you determine that — I'll have a gun," he replies, his voice already fading as he moves down the corridor.
Captain Platt and Dr Cullen exchange a look; the doctor shrugs and she nods once. "It's not a bad idea — McCarty, you get one too," she tells him.
Emmett grins from ear to ear. He can no sooner shout, "Aye-aye, sir!" as quickly as he scrambles after Bosun out of the room.
Bosun moves through the armory with aplomb. Emmett hovers at the door, looking a little pale except for high spots of pink in his cheeks. As a research vessel, the armory is about seven guns and ten boxes of what is presumably ammo, along with the tools to maintain it all. The Master of Arms (Whitlock, J. R.) has the only key, and until now nothing has ever been removed for more than a cleaning. But it's all metal and chrome and certainly nothing like the old rifle Emmett's pa kept to shoot raccoons off the trash cans back home. These are much cooler.
Whitlock hands Emmett a large gun with a fierce-looking muzzle, but when Emmett eagerly grabs it, Bosun doesn't let go.
His cold blue eyes are deadly as they stare Emmett down. "You wait for my call, McCarty."
Emmett shrugs, giving the gun a tug. "I know!"
"I mean it."
"I know!"
This time, even Emmett can hear the whine in his voice, and makes sure to wipe off any expression from his face to nod seriously, once.
"Good boy." Bosun lets the gun go, and Emmett looks it over eagerly. "You got some of that mask on your bandana," the man adds, and Emmett whips his durag off his head and groans in annoyance, using his thumb to try and scratch it off.
|ALL CREW ARE TO REPORT TO THE DOCKING BAY IMMEDIATELY. I REPEAT, ALL CREW TO THE DOCKING BAY IMMEDIATELY. THANK YOU!|
Edward eyes Emmett and Bosun as they join him at the docking bay. "Oh, God — why did you have to give him such a big gun?" Edward looks much more warily at the gun slung across his shoulders than Emmett thinks necessary.
"Because I look awesome," Emmett replies smugly.
"Brandon really should be here," the doctor says with some concern. "We need everyone briefed and ready." He looks to Bosun, but before the man can reply, Captain Platt arrives with Rosalie in tow.
Emmett is surprised when Rosalie floats over to him and takes his hand tightly, though her expression remains unreadable.
"They haven't answered any of our messages," Captain Platt says grimly, her eyebrows deeply furrowed. "They're almost here."
There's silence in the crew, until Bosun clears his throat.
"Bella — this is Whitlock," he says.
|THERE'S NO NEED TO ANNOUNCE YOURSELF EVERY TIME YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME, YOU KNOW. CAMERAS COVER EVERY INCH OF THIS SHIP AND I /AM/ THIS SHIP|
He grimaces. "Right — it's just, what is rule number six hundred and sixty six in The Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol Manual?"
There's a crackling silence from the AI, before a rather sardonic; |REALLY?|
"Yeah — really."
|IN CASE OF EMERGENCY — GOOD LUCK!|
The chipper tone of the AI clashes with her words, and shocks a short laugh out of the group.
Whitlock smirks. "Yeah, thought so." He winks at them. "It's my favourite one."
"This is the USS Midas requesting security confirmation, over." Engineer Hale pauses for a response that is not forthcoming. "Final warning — you will be considered an enemy without those codes, over."
This time, there's the beep of an incoming comm channel.
"Understood," a woman's voice replies. "Prepare for boarding."
"What!?" Edward cries out, his voice incredibly high.
Rosalie curses and yanks open the bay's console, flicking a few switches and typing furiously until red lights start flashing and an alarm blares. Ms. Platt yells, "Bella lock the docking bay!"
|ALERT ALERT — THERE IS HOSTILE CODE CORRUPTING MY — bzzt|
The AI's voice going dead stops everyone in their tracks. "... Bella?" Edward calls out nervously. When he gets no response, he bolts to the bay's console panel, attempting to shove Rosalie aside. "Bella!"
"Masen — calm down!" Captain Platt grabs him by the collar and yanks, looking gravely at Edward's panicked face.
"Cullen and Masen to the lab — you lock down whatever our most important samples are and you make everything else disappear." she demands, letting Edward go as Carlisle comes to grab his shoulder. "Bosun, McCarty — get ready."
Emmett nods once, and glances with uncertainty to the other man. He looks pale and has his eyes closed tightly. Emmett waves a hand in front of his face.
"Bosun? Are you alright?" he asks, worried. Whitlock blinks slowly at him before shaking himself out of whatever stupor he was in.
"Never mind about me," he grouses, pushing himself away from Emmett.
"It'll be alright, Edward," Carlisle murmurs, as the two men shoot out of sight down the corridor.
Rosalie growls with frustration when she can get no response from the console. She grabs the wall next to the panel and flicks a screwdriver from her pocket, and begins to viciously attack the screws holding the wall panel in place.
"I'm welding this to the door!" she announces. The panel is about four feet long, and easily removable to help with smooth repairs. "McCarty — help me move this," she snaps, "Bosun! Haul ass!"
Emmett is quick to help pry the panel back further, and glances at where Whitlock has come up next to him.
"Bosun — grab the other side of —" Emmett is unprepared for the grip on his wrist, or the way the soldier flings him to the other side of the wall. "Wait!" he cries out in shock, grunting as his head hits the ceiling and makes his vision go blurry.
"What?" Emmett hears Rosalie's voice as Bosun kicks off towards him.
"I'm sorry," Jasper's voice is regretful as he grabs the gun loose around Emmett's shoulder, and the side of Emmett's face explodes in pain as the gun smashes against his head.