Fleur walked through the doorway, shining her torch into the darkness. Nothing. She wandered back into the corridor, seeing the arc of light from Cass's torch ahead of her. "Anything?" She called.

"Nah, nothing here," Cass replied.

She went towards him, lifting her radio to her lips. "This is Fleur. Sector Twelve is all clear."

"Received," a voice crackled in reply.

"Must've been kids messing about," Cass guessed, kicking some debris with his boot. "Christ, what a mess. How's this gonna be ready for a thousand people in a few days?"

Fleur glanced around; the entire Sector Twelve accommodation block had been devastated by the Whiteout. Part of the roof had collapsed, sending debris across most of the site. "No one will be moving in here for a while," she agreed. "I think they're trying to bring Sector Thirteen up to standard as quickly as possible."

"That's a building site!" Cass exclaimed.

"It's a building site with a roof," Fleur pointed out. "Anyway, who knows if we'll need it, given our recent track record with new arrivals."

"Don't say that," Cass shot back. "I mean, they've got a good chance. They're making good progress with the repairs."

"You've changed your tune," Fleur grinned. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your recent nocturnal activities, would it?"

Cass frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You've never volunteered for a night shift in your life, and then suddenly for the past week you've been up all hours, doing overtime, locked away in Tate's office? Come on."

Cass started to walk briskly towards the exit door, leaving Fleur jogging to keep up. "I'm just doing my bit, you know?" He called over his shoulder.

"And what bit would that be? Perhaps the bit that likes spending all night chatting to the cute Transporter Captain," she teased. "I overheard the technicians gossiping; it seems like you two have hit it off…"

"I'm just filling her in on Carpathia," Cass interrupted quickly. "She's curious. It's been seven years. That's a long time in deep space."

Fleur caught up with him and placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. "Cass, it's alright," she smiled. "But, just… you know."

"What?"

Fleur spoke quietly. "She's a long way from home and they're a long way from being safe. Don't get too attached too soon."

Cass laughed, unconvincingly. "Like I said, we're just talking about Carpathia. Don't worry." He rushed off in the direction of PAS.

Fleur rolled her eyes and followed.

President Tate frowned as he read the data before him. Across the desk, Stella reviewed her notes.

"I haven't seen atmospheric readings like this since we arrived," Tate muttered.

"It's a direct result of the Whiteout as far as we can tell," Stella explained. "It's sent everything into flux. It's going to stay like this for at least forty eight hours. Radiation, solar flare activity, electrical storms; it's like a minefield."

Tate rested his chin on his hands, thoughtfully. "How long can they stay in orbit?"

"Another eight hours, twelve at a push," Stella glanced at the data before her. "They've had to reroute a large amount of their power to the thermal shields, the engines won't cope for much longer."

"And the shields? How do they look?"

"At eighty percent," Stella shook her head. "Not enough."

"No," Tate sat back. "Attempting to enter our atmosphere in these circumstances would be suicide, and staying put is not an option; Hobson's choice."

"The team have been looking at one possibility," Stella handed Tate another data sheet. "The evacuation pods appear to be in good condition and will easily accommodate the remaining crew. There might be a way to plot a path for them through the hazards. It's risky, but it gives them their best shot."

"What do you need?"

"I've got the technicians working on adjusting our scanners to pick up the different atmospheric activity, but they say it's going to take at least twenty four hours to reprogram the navigational systems to make sense of the data. Without the computers, it will take a mathematical genius to accurately calculate the safest path through."

Tate raised an eyebrow. "He's going to get a big head."

Stella smiled. "I think it's already too late to avoid that."

"Good evening, Carpathia! It's a beautiful night; the sky is clear and the moons are riding high. Are you in the mood for love? Grab yourself a lass or laddie and, who knows? Tonight could be your lucky night."

Tipper stuck the needle on the record and sat back as a cheesy classic love song played out onto the airwaves. He smiled and relaxed in his chair, his good mood the result of a mixture of the counselling session he'd had with Trix this afternoon, and some more rather unorthodox self-medication he had lined up on the table in front of him. He picked up the paring knife and stuck the tip into the space poppy, smiling as it sprang open in his fingers. As he prepared the seed inside, he allowed his thoughts to drift back to his sisters. He'd felt calmer since his DBV session with Stella and the burning pain of his grief had settled into a more manageable dull ache. He had been so afraid that, when he closed his eyes, he would no longer be able to recall his sisters' faces, but now he found he had perfect recall of each of them; the way they spoke, their soft touch as they hugged him, the way they had teased him. He smiled to himself. Life was, for once, good.

A knock at the door disturbed his chain of thought. "Yes?"

The door opened and Cass and Fleur stepped in. Instinctively, Tipper palmed the poppy. "Officer Arsehole, Officer Curly Top," he beamed. "What's this? Can't keep away?"

"Evening, Tipper," Fleur smiled. "And how are you today?"

"Oh, you know," Tipper shrugged. "Busy bringing thoughtful comments and high quality musical entertainment to the masses. Yourselves?"

"Oh, you know," Fleur echoed. "Busy helping to prepare Forthaven for a thousand new arrivals," She looked around. "Obviously nothing as important as your….work."

Cass perched on the edge of Tipper's desk. "Hmm, what's this?" He picked up a stray piece of space poppy and held it between his fingers.

"Oooh, Cass," Fleur stepped forward to examine the fragment of plant. "I'd say that was definite contraband."

"I'd say that was at least two weeks in a holding cell," Cass nodded.

"Maybe a month?" Fleur patted Tipper on the shoulder. "Oh dear."

Tipper sighed. "What do you want?"

"Your assistant is requested by the President," Cass grinned. "I assume you'll be coming with us?"

Tipper stood wearily. "Like I have a choice…"

Fleur grinned and walked towards the door. "Although you might want to get rid of whatever you're hiding in your hand first."

Tipper dropped the remains of his space poppy into a drawer and grabbed his jacket. "I should start charging by the hour."

"That's the Carpathian spirit!" Cass muttered sarcastically, as he followed Tipper and Fleur out of the door.