Dalton found Olaf standing at the foot of his makeshift bed and sorting clothing.

Given he seemed to be the oldest among them, they'd assembled his place first. His bed was little more than some pallets with bedding and blankets on it, but it was the best they could do under the circumstances. They'd offered up one of the living quarters, but he had quietly but firmly refused. The old man sensed Dalton's approach and paused in his sorting, turning around, raising one gray eyebrow in inquisition.

Dalton thought back to their first meeting as he came to stand at the threshold of the cloth walls that marked off his living space. From the first moment he'd seen the man with the collection of civilians back on Blizzard Station, he'd identified him as the guy in charge, even in the midst of all that chaos. And that seemed to hold true. He didn't quite look the part, at a glance: not very tall, not very built, his head shaved bald, his face scarred and lined, his demeanor nonthreatening. But if you looked at his eyes, at his stance, you saw it. He did not hunch, he stood erect, not necessarily proud, but firm and serious. And his eyes...chilly gray. Not cold, but calm. The eyes of a man who was prepared to do what needed to be done.

"Can I help you, Sergeant Dalton?" he asked. He had a very slight accent. If he had to guess, he'd put it as German, but it might not be.

"Yes, Olaf. It seems to me that people already feel comfortable coming to you about things. I've seen several people come by to visit you during all this, and you always seem to be comforting or helping them, not the other way around."

"They help me when I ask," he replied, "but yes, you are correct."

"I was hoping to maybe set up some kind of arrangement. I've seen this kind of thing play out before and I know how it gets: people don't want to burden their leader with what they see as petty or embarrassing requests. And I know that, try as I might, it'll probably be a long time before someone comes to me with everything. So I need some kind of go-between."

"A very astute observation," Olaf agreed with a faint smile, "and I will be happy to be your go-between. I can come to you once a day and get things sorted."

"I really, really appreciate it."

"I equally appreciate what you're doing for me. For us. We would be dead without you."

"Probably, but we're all going to find that this will be true for most of us as time goes on. We're all going to save each other's lives eventually. Now, uh...is there anything you want to bring to my attention?" Dalton asked.

"There is one thing," Olaf replied. "The Henderson family. Over there." He nodded lightly. Dalton looked over. Yeah, one of the families currently setting up shop to either side of Dix and Roscoe. They looked a little sickly. He'd noticed that during their scant time together so far, but now it was a bit more obvious.

"What about them?" he asked.

"They've Volker Syndrome," Olaf said, his voice very quiet. "They don't want you to know. Even now, they're afraid you'll make them lower status or kick them out. Your instincts are correct. We have, all of us, labored and suffered beneath the crushing weight of our so-called civilization. It will take time for the wounds to heal, but there will always be scars. Do you know about Volker?"

"Some, yeah. You get it from overexposure to raw Vespene...all of them have it?"

Olaf nodded gravely. "There was an incident at the colony they were staying at a year ago. Very bad safety regulations. The Vespene got into everything. They were exposed in the water, in the ground, in the air itself. The whole colony was."

"If I recall...it can be stabilized with meds that aren't too difficult to get, with some side effects. But there is a way to get rid of it completely."

"Yes, I cannot recall what it is, but I do know they're very low on the meds they need to keep it stable...do you want to give me some, if we have them? Let me slip it to them on the down-low?" he asked.

Dalton considered it, considered it strongly for a long moment. He was tempted to say yes, almost did, but he rejected the notion. "No...no, I don't want that. Talk to them, soon as you can. Tell them to just come to someone, to me or Forrester or Dixon or even Frost, and be open and honest about it. If I can fix them, I will. I don't care if I have to go into zerg-infested territory myself to get whatever it is, I'll fucking do it, because I'm not letting them just live with that, not if they don't have to."

"I'll speak with them. And...I pray that you are as good a leader as you seem to be," Olaf murmured. "Every single person on this ship needs that...you included."

Dalton chuckled grimly. "Very much me included...thank you, Olaf. I really appreciate you working with me on this."

"Of course, Sergeant."

Dalton lingered for a moment, then nodded tightly and began walking away. He had a few more places he wanted to go, and then he had something he wanted to do. He left the cargo bay and walked to the infirmary. Now it was just Forrester there. It looked like she was nodding off behind the desk at the back when he stepped in. She jerked and came awake.

"Sergeant."

"You should get some sleep, Lance Corporal," he replied.

"...probably," she admitted, then yawned. "Fuck me, I'm exhausted. Well, there's an office with a cot back there," she added, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "You've got a weird look on your face."

"Can it wait?" he asked. "Your sleep?"

She snorted. "I'm getting mixed signals here, Dalton."

"I want to call a town hall...although I guess I can put it off until they're awake. I want everyone there," he said looking to Baker and Alina.

"They need at least three more hours down, minimum," Forrester said flatly.

"All right. Catch your sleep. I'll grab one of the other medics to take up watch."

"Thank you, Dalton." She looked vaguely amused as she stood up. "A town hall?"

"Yeah, you know. We're not a town yet, but we are a group of people intending to build a life together. We need that strong sense of community, or else it falls apart."

"Very true," she agreed.

"Okay, I'll be right back with someone to relieve you of duty."

She thanked him again and he went back to the cargo bay and found one of the medics who wasn't presently busy. Once he got him back to the infirmary, he began making for the bridge. He paused as he heard banging coming from the galley. He walked inside and found Nolan behind the serving line, muttering to himself as he hunted through cabinets and drawers.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Whoa fuck me!" Nolan yelled, whirling around and sending several pots clattering loudly. "...hi."

"Hello, Nolan."

"You scared the shit out of me. Almost literally."

"Sorry. What are you doing?"

He took a moment to catch his breath and un-bug his eyes, then began gathering up the stuff he'd knocked over. "Making that killer lasagna. You've got the ingredients in here."

"Hmm...enough for everyone here?" he asked.

"...yes, barely. If I'm careful. Especially if I can get some more side dishes going, that'll help, but I can't do that and the lasagna, not if you're asking for that much."

"Okay, you want one assistants or two?" he asked.

"Two would be perfect, but they gotta listen, you feel me?"

"I feel you. Okay, make this happen: you are cooking the first official meal for the whole group."

"Aw man, I was just trying to make a nice little meal...fuck, all right. I can handle it. Used to be a short order cook. Always had a dream of opening my own greasy spoon," he muttered, turning back to the fridge.

"Hey, that's not impossible," Dalton replied.

Nolan paused in his renewed searching and looked back over. "For real?"

"Yeah. I mean, it'll probably be awhile, depending, but if you seriously want to, it's not like anyone would stop you."

"Oh man, look, you let me at least try to run my own diner and you fucking got me for life," he said, intensely earnest.

"Deal."

He snorted, but he had a big smile on his face. "You're probably going to regret that, but, uh...thanks, Sergeant."

"You're welcome, Nolan. I'll see who I can get up here to help you."

"Sweet." He went back to it.

Once again, Dalton returned to the cargo bay and spent a bit hunting around. In the end, he turned up Corporal Finch, who said he was a good in a pinch for kitchen work, and one of the civilians, a woman with honey blonde hair, generous curves, and who gave off very strong mom vibes. Dalton dropped them off at the kitchen and then headed into the bridge at last, where he found Alder at her post, studying a screen.

"You doing okay, Autumn?" he asked as he approached. "You've been in this cockpit for...a very long time."

"I need a shower and a proper lay down, but I can go for awhile longer. Although this thing is basically automated," she replied. "How we doing back there?"

"Honestly? Fucking great. I mean, all things considered. New guy's putting together a huge meal. Why don't you catch a nap in my quarters?" he asked.

"...your quarters?" she asked, now looking at him fully and raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled awkwardly. "I mean, without me. I'm offering up my bed, is all. It's really comfortable. Plus there's a cat in there."

"Okay, I'll accept. Thank you," she replied.

"What happens if something goes wrong?" he asked as she got up.

"The rudimentary AI autopilot program has responses in place for basically everything that can go wrong, and it'll use them as a holding action while activating the alarm, giving me time to show up and see what's going on."

"So...why have you been sleeping in here?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Habit. And...honestly, this whole experience has me so fucking freaked out that I wanted to be somewhere where I felt comfortable and safe. And that's a cockpit. Even if I'd rather it be a Pelican, pilot's seat is a pilot's seat. What's the cat's name?"

"Jonesy. He's a little...standoffish, but he seems calmer now."

"I like cats and they like me," she replied, and then headed out of the bridge after making a few quick adjustments to the controls.

Dalton walked up to the shipwide intercom and activated it. "Hello, everyone. This is Dalton. Don't worry, everything's fine. We're still…" he checked one of the panels, "about twelve hours away from Thule and everything's green up here. I wanted to say that, in about four hours, I want to have a town meeting. The first town meeting. I want every single person there. I wanna talk about the near future. And then, after that, we'll all get together and have lasagna. For now, keep doing what you're doing. Out."

He stood there on the bridge for a moment, staring out the windows at the universe rushing by, frowning slightly.

There was so much to do.

But...you had to remember to take breaks. Dalton sat down in Autumn's chair, put his feet up on one of the consoles, and watched the universe for awhile.

Dalton didn't mind admitting to himself that he was nervous.

He had some trouble admitting it to anyone else, though. But he knew Dix and probably Ari could tell. Hopefully no one else, could. His four hours was up. He'd actually fallen asleep on the bridge for awhile and now knew how, and why, Autumn could do it. It was surprisingly comfortable. But now he was awake and aware and in front of a crowd of...God, thirty nine people. Everyone really was here. It was at least great to see Baker back on his feet. And Alina. She seemed like a true hardass, but most of them did, he was coming to see.

Dalton cleared his throat. "Okay, let's, uh...do this. The first official town meeting of this freeport that isn't quite a freeport yet has begun!" That got several chuckles, at least. "To start off, uh, I'm the man in charge. My name is Erik Dalton. Most people seem comfortable with either Dalton or Sergeant. I'm fine with either, just, uh...Erik's reserved for someone special," he said, flicking a glance at Ari, who said nothing, but her cheeks were touched by the faintest hint of red.

"Yeah, for now," Dix muttered so low he almost couldn't hear it.

"What was that, Sergeant?" Dalton asked, turning to look at Dixon beside him.

"Not a thing, Sergeant," he replied with the tiniest of smiles.

Dalton sighed. "So, there's forty of us here. We have, all of us, every single person in this room, agreed to build a freeport together, a life together. I want to sort of address that reality, and also address the kind of colony we'll be building. What this agreement we've all, uh, agreed to means, is all of our lives are now in all of our hands. Let me be clear: no one is going to help us, people. No one. We are part of no government, we are part of no military, we are part of no group. We are us. And that's it. It's going to be hard...but it's going to be worth it."

Dalton paused and looked around at them, trying to get a measure of the mood. He had to read the room and he had to do it well and fast. But he was reassured by the sea of faces he saw. Dirty, scarred, tired, but hopeful. Very hopeful. Buoyed, he continued.

"We all trust each other. We all rely on each other. We all need each other. For some of us, that'll come naturally, for others? It'll sound like horseshit. But it's true. And it's not an opinion, it's a cold, hard fact. Now, I know some of you are probably tensing up as I say this, but don't worry, I get it. I fucking need my alone time, more than probably most people, so I truly get it. I'm not saying you have to go all in on community spirit and events, and that no one will have any secrets. No, trust me, you can have whatever alone time and privacy you need. But...remember, none of us are an island. We're on an island, together, for better or for worse.

"The reason I'm driving this home is because I'm not just putting together a freeport for the hell of it, and I'm not just looking for simple survival. I'm not looking for trouble. I'm looking to be an actual, real, tight-knit community that fosters communication, respect, and honesty. And I'm not a spiritual guide, I'm not a motivational speaker, I mean this shit for real. One of the biggest reasons for this is a very, very practical one: colonies die because people don't talk to each other. Because of the black markets, because of the mistrust, because of everyone off doing their own thing and not coordinating. I've seen it too many times and I refuse to let it happen here."

There were several agreeing murmurs from the crowd.

He nodded. "Yeah, you've seen it too, I know you have. And I just won't have it. We have to work together. I don't mind trading among yourselves, I don't mind favors, but...no sneaking, guys. We can't have any sneaking. No black market. No parts 'going missing'. Okay? I'm saying that here and now. I'm also begging you. I've seen that too many times. You need something? You ask. Okay? And if you're told no, you have to accept that. Don't try and go around and steal one or 'borrow' one. If you're seriously upset about it or you truly need it, whatever it is, come talk to me. We'll figure out a solution. We'll keep working together. That's the point of all this: together. Another big thing: there are no stupid questions. I mean that legitimately. You got a question, you ask it. You see something that seems off but you're too afraid of making a fuss or potentially wasting time, so you don't ask? No, don't do that, ask someone. Be sure. It's worth being sure. So, right now, anyone got a question? Any question about the freeport? Raise your hands."

Immediately two dozen hands shot up. He picked Nolan out of the group and pointed.

"Can we do drugs?" he asked. A lot of people laughed, including Dalton.

"You've got your priorities in check, huh, Nolan?" he asked.

"Hey, I gotta know! I got some primo weed and I don't wanna have to lie about smoking it!" More laughter.

"That's a very fair question. I've been thinking about this, and...here's what I'll say: booze, cigarettes, weed, and...the saner of the hard drugs are legal. Although we do have a cutoff age. Under twenty? No to all of it. And we can fiddle over that, though probably to increase it, but also what exactly counts as a sane drug, but here's the rub: if it causes problems, we will intervene. And I don't just mean missing shifts or making an ass of yourself in public, I mean if we see you're clearly suffering and losing yourself to addiction. I'm not looking to harsh anyone's fun, but I am looking to make sure everyone stays safe and healthy. You hurting yourself also hurts everyone else." He paused, then shook his head and laughed.

"Guys, I know what this must sound like to some of you. I know. Truly. I'm a six year vet, I've heard and seen it all, and I know this sounds like some feel-good, afterschool special, Grade A bullshit, but I mean every word. Okay, next question, you."

One of the civilians he couldn't quite remember the name of stood up. "Will we be a trading freeport?"

"Eventually, I think so. We'll have a meeting on it once we've gotten established, but right now, I don't see a real reason not to."

He pointed to Autumn now. "What's our policy on kids?"

"Um...raise them well?" he replied, with a shrug.

"I mean, smartass, how long do you think we should wait before trying to get pregnant?"

"Oh." Dalton hesitated as he got a closer look at her. There was something almost...predatory in her gaze, which was fixed very firmly on him. It was almost like...he wasn't sure, but he felt like she was asking the question very pointedly to him specifically, and not just because he was the leader. He shrugged off the attempt. "I mean, I'd say at least several months. We can have a meeting about it...three months in?"

"Fine by me," she replied, and flicked a curiously nervous glance towards Ari.

He let it go. Had enough to deal with right now. "Baker?"

"Yeah, Sergeant...what happens if the zerg show up? Or...those new ones?"

A hush went over the crowd. This question again. Dalton frowned, looking to Ari, then Dix. "Well...we fight like hell. At least with the zerg. With the others...maybe we can make a ceasefire agreement?" Worried murmuring. "I'm not saying I'm going to just give into them. We can kill them. We did kill one of them. It can be done. But maybe we don't need to fight? Maybe they just have beef with the Confederacy and not all humans. But that's very much a 'we'll cross that bridge when we come to it' moment. Trust me, we'll be planning and prepping as best we can, I've seen what happened to the outposts and colonies that didn't, and I have zero intention of letting any single one of you die. All right, Alina."

"So what's the actual, like...plan? I mean what will we be doing once we get there?" she asked.

"Well...first thing to answer, I guess, is: Autumn, can the ship leave the planet if we land it?"

"I hope you're a man of your word, Dalton, because the answer ain't good: no. You put this thing down on the surface, planet or moon, it ain't coming back up. Not without serious modifications. Hell, I doubt it'll even fly again once we actually land."

"Truth all around," Dalton replied. "So, we're going to run whatever scans of the moon's surface. We'll find as suitable a place as we can, a place with a mixture of abandoned colonies or outposts, lots of minerals and Vespene, and low population density, then we'll land the ship somewhere nice. Or at least somewhere safe. From there, we'll begin scouting the area. We'll need to find an ideal location to actually form the colony, so that'll be done quickly, hopefully. We'll also be scouting and investigating whatever old outposts and colonies we can. We'll be able to get a few buildings from there, at least. A Command Center, a Barracks, a Starport if we're really lucky. We can find build kits for most of the rest. Scrap metal and minerals for the rest after that...okay, Forrester, what's up?"

"This is a snowy moon, so we've got water covered for the most part. But what are we gonna do about food?" she asked.

"In the beginning, live off what we have. Based on current estimates, that'll buy us about two weeks, and that's if we're a little slim about our pickings now that there's forty of us. In the meantime, some of you will have a very specific assignment: hunting he local wildlife. I happened to have visited Thule before and I did a little research on it, and experienced some of the local flavor. There's these big, round things that look kind of like walrus-whales. They tend to weigh about four hundred pounds, hang out around lakes, and are basically all edible meat. If you cook them right, they taste delicious. We can hunt these things and make about a thousand different meals out of them. We'll start some hydroponics, as well. We've got a guy who knows gardens here," he said, pointing to Tom. Who just made a soft grunt and offered a small nod.

Dalton fielded a few more quick questions, and then Nolan requested permission to get back to the lasagna before it burned.

"Yeah, all right. One last thing and we can break this up." He paused. "Two more things. First thing is: I've got an open door policy. You got a question, you got a problem, you got a concern, unless I'm actively engaged in combat or…" he flicked his gaze to Ari, "...alone time with my girlfriend," he heard her sigh softly, "come see me. And if it's a timely matter, you can interrupt that second one. Although at your own peril." More laughter, that was good, at least, because he wasn't sure how this last part was going to go over.

Dalton grew more serious. "All right...this last part is...delicate," and immediately all sound died away and he had every eye on him. "This is about me, and how you all look at me. I've seen how power corrupts and authority erodes sanity. I've seen it too many times. It's a subtle, insidious process sometimes. It comes from people placing their leaders up on pedestals and coming to believe they can do no wrong. Don't do that. Yes, respect me. Yes, be nice to me. Yes, listen to me and understand that, until we get a better leadership structure sorted, I am the man in charge. Trust that I have your best interests in mind, trust that I'm genuinely fucking trying, and I'm not just some dipshit on a power trip...but don't let yourself think I'm your savior. I know that sounds ridiculous to some of you, but I just want to address this now. I'm just a fucking twenty nine year old Marine who saw a lot of combat, is halfway decent at making command decisions, and cares about you all."

He did, too. It was weird, caring about people you had met literally a few hours ago, but here he was. He wasn't sure if it was him, if it was some dormant part of him not just reawakening but blazing to life after a long dormancy, or if it was the fact that he had been thrust into this terrifying leadership position. He'd been going on for a long time now, he realized, but they all still were staring at him intently.

Was it shell-shock and exhaustion? Could be. Probably was. Only...no. He studied them more closely, and everyone seemed zeroed in and focused. They all seemed like they were listening. But not with that weird reverence he saw among the religious or the cults of personality, not even like the neural screwing of the military. They looked like...they believed. Did he? Dalton knew that he did believe they could do this, but he also knew they had slim odds.

Well, didn't he always?

"Okay!" he said brightly, dusting off his hands like he'd just done something hard and taxing (he had), "let's all go eat lasagna!"