Among the item Jack found in an intact container was a MP3 player and some memory
sticks. Great – music! It was so silent - only the wind, the noises they made and the rare
sound of her laughter. He slapped those ear buds in and surfed till he found something
familiar. Actually almost anything that reminded him of Earth would be welcome. He
wondered if Daniel had mixed these tunes, cause eclectic was the only way he could
describe them.
He took the player with him as he went off to make more adobe bricks. It lifted his spirits and made the back breaking drudgery more bearable. He listened to the Anvil chorus and the Mars Volta's Bunuel Home, Placido Domingo singing Nessun Dorma and Jimi Hendrix' If Six Were Nine. He had taken off all the clothes that was decent to mix the mud but still was totally filthy by the time the bricks were formed and the last weeks were stacked and ready to by carted back to their cliff shelf. The sun would be setting in an hour, so he checked in with Carter, who was toiling futilely on the gate problem and walked back to the lake side. He had gotten a fresh set of BDU's, then gathered all the dirty clothes, mostly his, stripped down and went for a swim. When he felt clean, at last, he got dressed and started to scrub the clothes. Maybe he'd get out the reddish brown soil from under his nails and the cracks in his skin. Finding music made his tasks easier he reattached the MP3 player and scrubbed while the music blasted in his ears. He listening to a song called Mad World and it turned his heart with sadness and thoughts of home. He wondered if Cassie was happy, so often those teenage years bring self doubt and pain. He thought, too, of his son, wondering what kind of young man he would have become and if they still would have remained friends. Would his boy have rejected him and everything he stood for just because he needed an outlet for his teenage angst and a target for his rebellion? Somehow his mind flitted over to Garan, wondered how he and his mother Laira were doing. He should have waited, shouldn't have given up. Can't do that here can't give up; help will come. Christ, he needed some happier music or he might just drown himself in the wash water.
The music selection took a turn to modern rock and O'Neill cranked it up to help improve his mood. It was so loud in fact he didn't hear Carter return to camp and sit behind him on a rock enjoying the sight of him washing clothes and occasionally singing along. When he realized that someone or something was behind him, he rocketed a wet T-shirt, the only weapon handy, at her. She fell off the rock laughing out loud. He flipped the MP3 player to the small external speaker and she heard "Your Pretty Good Looking for a Girl". They finished up the laundry together to the White Stripes, rinsing to "Dead Leaves", hanging the clothes on the bushes to "You've Got Her in Your Pocket". He wanted to take her in his arms and dance with her as the walked back to "We are going to be Friends". As he listened to "I'm Finding It Harder to be a Gentleman Every Day" he let the moment pass and struggled to get "Major" out of his mouth when he spoke to her. 'Help will come, we are on mission, I am her commanding officer' – it became his mantra.
He took the player with him as he went off to make more adobe bricks. It lifted his spirits and made the back breaking drudgery more bearable. He listened to the Anvil chorus and the Mars Volta's Bunuel Home, Placido Domingo singing Nessun Dorma and Jimi Hendrix' If Six Were Nine. He had taken off all the clothes that was decent to mix the mud but still was totally filthy by the time the bricks were formed and the last weeks were stacked and ready to by carted back to their cliff shelf. The sun would be setting in an hour, so he checked in with Carter, who was toiling futilely on the gate problem and walked back to the lake side. He had gotten a fresh set of BDU's, then gathered all the dirty clothes, mostly his, stripped down and went for a swim. When he felt clean, at last, he got dressed and started to scrub the clothes. Maybe he'd get out the reddish brown soil from under his nails and the cracks in his skin. Finding music made his tasks easier he reattached the MP3 player and scrubbed while the music blasted in his ears. He listening to a song called Mad World and it turned his heart with sadness and thoughts of home. He wondered if Cassie was happy, so often those teenage years bring self doubt and pain. He thought, too, of his son, wondering what kind of young man he would have become and if they still would have remained friends. Would his boy have rejected him and everything he stood for just because he needed an outlet for his teenage angst and a target for his rebellion? Somehow his mind flitted over to Garan, wondered how he and his mother Laira were doing. He should have waited, shouldn't have given up. Can't do that here can't give up; help will come. Christ, he needed some happier music or he might just drown himself in the wash water.
The music selection took a turn to modern rock and O'Neill cranked it up to help improve his mood. It was so loud in fact he didn't hear Carter return to camp and sit behind him on a rock enjoying the sight of him washing clothes and occasionally singing along. When he realized that someone or something was behind him, he rocketed a wet T-shirt, the only weapon handy, at her. She fell off the rock laughing out loud. He flipped the MP3 player to the small external speaker and she heard "Your Pretty Good Looking for a Girl". They finished up the laundry together to the White Stripes, rinsing to "Dead Leaves", hanging the clothes on the bushes to "You've Got Her in Your Pocket". He wanted to take her in his arms and dance with her as the walked back to "We are going to be Friends". As he listened to "I'm Finding It Harder to be a Gentleman Every Day" he let the moment pass and struggled to get "Major" out of his mouth when he spoke to her. 'Help will come, we are on mission, I am her commanding officer' – it became his mantra.
