#... did minkowski try to write it up from memory?

[commsroom]

Hello! How much pop culture knowledge do you think Hera has? Has she seen star wars?

hi! that's an interesting question. the simplified answer is that she doesn't have pop culture knowledge - the only media she has any firsthand knowledge of is whatever goddard deigned to give her access to. she's never been on the internet. most likely, the only movie she's ever seen is home alone 2. but that gets fuzzier - and more complicated - when you ask what, exactly, she has in her databanks. what's on the hephaestus's servers? "my databanks indicate janis joplin died in -"? that's pop culture trivia. "well, i don't know what i want, but i know how to get it" is a fun punchline, but there's no way she's actually heard anarchy in the u.k. - is she just remembering and quoting a previous reference back at eiffel? even recognizing bach - does she have prior knowledge of classical music? does she have access to sheet music and the ability to read it? i'd believe that as something cutter would consider useful... education? socialization? for lack of better terms, but we don't have much information on what goddard AIs are exposed to pre-assignment.

i hold to the belief that hera's claim that she's going through "all the writing - i think it's all in here, more or less" stems from an inability to really conceptualize just how much writing there might be. her whole life has been split between high security goddard labs and deep space, and she's met, like, a dozen people ever. i think it would be entirely reasonable for her to see a few thousand books of historical and literary significance and to think, well, that's probably most of it, right? probably everything important, anyway. (and i think she'll be very embarrassed and very overwhelmed when she realizes.)

and then, well. of course, there's eiffel. he speaks in pop culture references to the point it's practically a second language; of course hera has picked up a ton of secondhand knowledge just from connecting the dots and inferring what he's trying to say. hera hasn't seen star wars (though it's maybe inevitable she will, back on earth), but she's heard eiffel talk about star wars and describe star wars to her beat by beat and reenact scenes from star wars from memory (his own voices and sound effects included), so she probably feels like she's seen star wars. ... more or less.

[heavenshardware]

Hi. I have so many thoughts on this that i cannot even hide in the tags. there was a rant i originally posted here a couple weeks ago but i quickly deleted it because i noticed i was part of a serious minority of people who hated the s4 ending But since there are more of us than previously thought im just gonna bullet point it out: (disclaimer it’s been a Hot minute since i’ve relistened to s4 im just writing what comes to mind)

- my main complaint that really all of my other complaints fall under is just that it was incredibly anticlimactic. i feel that they really did just set the stakes too high with how the latter half of s4 was written and there was no sensible way to knock all of the points they set up down? it just felt MESSY. don’t even get me started on how useless i think the addition of riemann is

- most deaths to me felt like cop-out after cop-out. though i will say that young’s death felt like a good decision and i did enjoy it, keplers death was. hm. Hhhhhmmmmmm. His death felt so anticlimactic to me which was incredibly disappointing for a character who’s very foundation is his hubris of egoism. yeah i suppose the end of his arc could be the destruction of his hedonism but the main reason WHY i didn’t like it was because it almost felt like they were trying to convince me that kepler changed last minute. he didn’t! though round, his character is pretty static to me. something about 18 ulterior motives. did he care about humanity? yes! did he care about his team? Sure. but his feelings on goddard overall didn’t really. he’s always felt the same like he had his personhood stolen from him, but was it ever really there? he’s an artist! he’s got a flair for the dramatic and that’s that. and his death felt purely like it was because no one knew how to tie up his arc. and cutters death was just fuckin LAME. i remember listening to it and just going “what? that’s it?” sure mcguffins harpoon but ughhhh IM CALLING COP OUT

- hera and pryce frustrated me. so. fucking. bad. the way hera’s ptsd was treated in the end oh i CANT. compared to memoria and am i alone now it was AWFUL AWFUL. the very climax in her character was dedicated to her acknowledging that her ptsd was incurable as it literally is just a festering tumor in her code and the only thing she can do is learn to live with it. and then. only for them to throw that out the window and go “what if pryce was manipulated too? surely that would add nuance” And then just. Forgot to add said nuance in. keeping pryce around [hera] was definitely a choice imo. i don’t like how immediately forgiving everyone was. and also i hate the amnesiac/“it was all a dream” trope. so much.

- …speaking of the amnesiac trope. eiffels memory loss greatly frustrates me every time i think about it and i can’t really elaborate on why outside of It Just Doesn’t Make Sense. the reasons i see for Why it could have happened is 1. to show the super meta ness of wolf and how it challenges what makes you, you and for what you are without all of your traumas. 2. because wouldn’t it be funny if he worked so hard to get what he wanted but couldn’t even reap what he sowed? but i just. the way they immediately have him just go Man Old me was a Jerk right Minkowski! I dunno. it just ticked me off

I feel like for kepler and eiffel especially i would have enjoyed the finale a lot more if they had faced a couple more detrimental consequences of their actions. I don’t know how i would’ve done it myself but that’s what i think.

TLDR: too messy and anticlimactic for my taste

You know i always kind of assumed i was in the minority of this but as i talk more about wolf 359 here and there i see more people expressing problems with the end of season 4 so i want to ask. Im tapping at the bars of my enclosure. What Did you guys think of the latter half of season 4? And the finale? Can i hear some thoughts on that?

[hephaestuscrew]

Minkowski's Position as Commander: An Attempted Analysis

TLDR: Increasingly as the show progresses, Minkowski's role as Commanding Officer of the Hephaestus is not about the position given her by Goddard but is instead about a choice that she and her crew continually make.

At the start of the series, Minkowski very much believes that she derives her authority from the position given her by Goddard Futuristics. It's clear that this military chain of command is really important to her. For example, when Hilbert attempts to leave Minkowski to die in space, the main thing she says to try to persuade him to let her in is:

This is treason. This is a betrayal of your commanding officer.

[CONTINUED BELOW THE CUT]

It's quite revealing that Minkowski thinks that military protocol / her role as Commanding Officer provides the most powerful reason for Hilbert not to kill her, even though he has known her for nearly two years and they have generally been on quasi-friendly terms.

After Hilbert's Christmas mutiny (and to a certain extent even before that), the Hephaestus crew know that Command cannot be trusted. The authority that initially conferred a position of power onto Minkowski has lied to them all and is actively malicious. So past that point, Minkowski's status as Commander isn't really determined by the fact that Goddard Futuristics gave her that position, because the crew have no reason to obey Goddard anymore. The basis of her authority no longer comes from Goddard, but more from a kind of unspoken agreement that someone needs to be in charge and it ought to be her. As rebellious as Eiffel and Hera both are, neither of them actually question Minkowski's status as Commanding Officer. It's true that they often don't obey her orders, but when they go against what she's said, it is with a conscious sense that they are disobeying not just another crew member, but their commanding officer.

The next major wrench to be thrown at Minkowski's Commander status is the arrival of Lovelace, who is arguably more qualified to be Commander than Minkowski. Not only has Lovelace commanded the Hephaestus herself (and for a longer period of time than Minkowski has), her title of Captain outranks Minkowski's title of Lieutenant. In Lovelace and Minkowski's power struggle after Lovelace's arrival, they are both coming from a perspective of "I was here first". Lovelace commanded that ship first, but Minkowski commanded that crew first and that ultimately gives her more power. Minkowski remains the Commander of the Hephaestus because the crew know her and trust her.

Eventually Lovelace comes to trust Minkowski too and to view her as the rightful Commander of the Hephaestus. In S3 and S4, she often backs up Minkowski's authority and tells the others that they ought to follow Minkowski's orders.

When Kepler shows up, there's a new official Commanding Officer of the Hephaestus. The si-5 declare that Minkowski is stripped of the title of Commander. Of course, I couldn't write this post without mentioning this iconic exchange:

EIFFEL I'm glad to see you too, Commander.

MINKOWSKI You heard the new boss, you don't need to call me that anymore.

EIFFEL Uh, yeah, they can go screw themselves. The entire universe will freeze before you're not the Commander of the Hephaestus.

Minkowski is ready to accept that she's no longer the Commander, because a part of her still thinks leadership is determined by the official chain of command. But Eiffel doesn't accept that. And he's not the only one who still acknowledges Minkowski as leader despite the arrival of the SI-5. Although her programming prevents her from addressing Minkowski as Commander, Hera believes that:

Lieutenant Minkowski's still the one who gives the marching orders.

Throughout Season 3, there's the sense of a crew-within-a-crew on the Hephaestus. Sure, Kepler is officially the overall commanding officer, but to Eiffel, Hera, Lovelace and even Hilbert to a certain extent, Minkowski is their true leader. Even though Lovelace and Hilbert do go behind Minkowski's back, they still seem to have a sense that a mutiny ought to have her Say So.

Another interesting element is that, in the eyes of Command, Minkowski was never the highest ranking crew member on the Hephaestus. Kepler confirms this in Ep48 when he says that the "Highest ranking member of each crew was briefed on the possibility" of a Theta scenario and that for both Hephaestus missions that was Hilbert. To Goddard Futuristics, Minkowski was the Commander in name only.

The Hephaestus crew (by which I mean everyone except the si-5) treat leadership as something official and codified, but not as something conferred by external authority. They follow a policy where one person has to be clearly designated as the Commander, but where Goddard Futuristics does not determine who that person is. This approach is displayed in Ep47 when Minkowski asks Lovelace to take over command of the Hephaestus. Minkowski's status as Commander is proved to have been a choice, because she can also choose not to be Commander. This choice is a personal one. There's no military protocol involved, just a discussion between two friends and the handing over of a title.

It's also worth noting Lovelace's reluctance to take over the role of commanding officer and her insistence that this is a temporary arrangement. Her reaction demonstrates how much she has come to see Minkowski as the rightful Commander. S2 Lovelace would have responded very differently.

When Minkowski becomes Commander again in Ep53, she has another conversation which reveals a lot about her attitude towards leadership. I'm just going to put the whole long quote here because I think it's all very relevant to what I've been talking about:

MINKOWSKI It's just... there's been all these times when somebody put me in situation where I was "in charge," but I wasn't... in control. I can't think of a decision in my life that wasn't already determined by someone else. But... even then, there was always a choice. I always made it. Even when I didn't realize I was making it. So now... I think I need to make choices by myself. For myself.

LOVELACE Aaaaand does that mean you're perhaps ready to take command of a certain space station again?...

MINKOWSKI No. Because I've never been in command, I can't retake it. But, if you'll allow me, sir, I would be honored to relieve you of your duties, and assume command of the U.S.S. Hephaestus Station.

Lovelace SMILES, and salutes Minkowski.

LOVELACE About friggin' time, sir.

Here it's made explicit that the question of Minkowski's status as Commander is tied into themes of choice and responsibility and control over one's own life. Minkowski recognises that her starting the Hephaestus mission as Commander was a choice made for her by Goddard (this is especially true because Minkowski applied to be just a Navigations Officer, not a Commander). Her continuing to be Commander was a choice, but it didn't feel like one to her at the time. To some extent, it was a choice she made passively (although I think her crew actively chose to follow her).

This conversation shows how Minkowski's view of leadership has changed dramatically. At the beginning of the series, she probably would have said that Goddard's choice to designate her Commander was what made her a Commander. She probably would have said that was how leadership ought to be determined. But by Ep53, she no longer wants to be dependent on the decisions of others to decide her role. Being Commander is not only a choice, it is now a choice she makes consciously and independently. She doesn't really have any more control over their circumstances when she retakes command in Ep53 than she did before handing over command in Ep47. Nonetheless her decision to make active choices for herself is still a significant one, because it reflects a paradigm shift.

Of course, there is some cruel irony in the fact that very soon after this conversation Minkowski is put under Pryce's mind control. Sometimes the choice to take control of our lives is taken away. Notably though, Eiffel still calls her Commander when she's not even able to command her own actions. And when she does regain her autonomy, she automatically assumes command of a new crew-within-a-crew (Eiffel, Hera, Lovelace, and Jacobi).

Cutter recognises how important Minkowski's role as Commander is to her. In the finale, he tells her:

People cared about you because of what I made you: A soldier. A leader. A commander. I gave you that

But I would argue that this isn't true. Yes, it was Cutter who initially gave Minkowski the title of "Commander", but that was never what made her a leader. Goddard never saw Minkowski as a leader. They saw her as a tool. She became a leader in her own right because she strived to do the right thing for her crew and because her crew trusted her to lead them.

For a final example of how important Minkowski's role as Commander is to her, here's what she says to reintroduce herself to Eiffel after the memory wipe:

Hi. My name is Renée Minkowski. I'm the Commander of this space station.

At this point, Minkowski knows that the space station in question is not going to exist for much longer. She knows its been a long time since Goddard would have said she was the Commanding Officer of the Hephaestus in any sense. And yet, the second thing she wants Eiffel to know about her is that she is the Commander. She asks him to call her Renée, but she still wants him to view her as a commanding officer. This makes sense when we recognise that the trust of her crew - and of Eiffel in particular - has been the essential foundation of her status as Commander after the foundation from Goddard fell away.

Throughout the course of Wolf 359, with the various revelations about Command and with the arrivals of Lovelace, the si-5 and eventually Cutter & Co., the official reasons to classify Minkowski as the Hephaestus' commanding officer are eroded. But Minkowski still ends the show as a Commander. She's the one who decides whether they are going to stay and try to stop Cutter's plan (the others recognise that it's up to her even when they disagree with her initial decision to leave without trying to fight Cutter). Lovelace calls her Commander even after the Hephaestus is gone. Minkowski represents the ship when speaking to Earthspace ATC. And she's the one who finally brings the crew home.

[everamazingfe]

A Close Shave

Fic Summary: After being picked up by the Urania and brought back to the Hephaestus station, Communications Officer Doug Eiffel tries to come to terms with his new look. It doesn’t go well. Luckily, Jacobi comes along to save the day. 

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Words in this fic: 2082 Pairings: Doug Eiffel/Daniel Jacobi Warnings for this fic: Brief mentions of abuse

Notes: I got into Wolf 359 at the start of this year, and after relistening to it recently I decided to start writing some fics. I was pretty nervous about posting this, but I couldn't keep it in my drafts forever, so here it is! There’s also a link to this fic over on A O 3 as the source of this post! Click it to go read it over there, or you can search up the title or ‘everamazingfe’ on the site.

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There was something about him, Eiffel had decided within the first few seconds of seeing him for the first time. His face was mostly blank unless he had some sly comment to say, some sarcastic remark, and then that stony expression was replaced by something cockier, more smug. Sometimes there was a flash of softness to it, usually when Maxwell was speaking. But even when his face was at its blankest, there was a mischievous gleam in those bright green eyes of his.

Eiffel had never really noticed anyone’s eyes before. He didn’t know Minkowski’s eye color, or Lovelace’s for that matter. Hell, Eiffel didn’t even know if he knew his own eye color at this point, he avoided looking in mirrors at all costs. But for some reason, he’d noticed Jacobi’s. Not only had he noticed it, but he had committed it to memory as well. 

For a moment, he was convinced he could picture them clearly as he stared out the window above his comms panel, making eye contact with them in the reflection of the glass. Somehow, he was able to picture his face with perfect clarity too, despite only seeing it a handful of times while he was in sound mind. 

“Feel good to be home?” The Jacobi that Eiffel thought he was picturing in his mind so clearly spoke, startling him out of his trance and making him jump because it wasn’t his imagination, it was the real deal. It made sense, he’d never had a very visual imagination anyway, but there was always hope for a change of mind. “Wow, I didn’t think I was all that scary, Officer Eiffel.”

“You’re not,” he grumbled with a huff of indignation, grabbing the edge of his station and pulling himself back to it, hooking his knees beneath it to keep himself there. “I just… Got lost in thought.”

“You? Capable of thought? Now that’s something that wasn’t included in your file.” There it was, that stupid sly grin that Jacobi always had when he thought he was being oh-so-clever. Usually, he was. But that joke had become played out within the first month on the station.

Eiffel responded with mock laughter, trying to ignore the way that comment made an invisible knife twist in his chest. After all he’d done, no one thought he was good at anything. What a surprise. But he didn’t have time to unpack all of that right then. “Get some new material, I’ve heard it all before,” he drawled, hoping he looked as bored as he sounded. “I’m a slacker, I’m an idiot, I’m a motormouth. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Your shoe’s untied.” 

Maybe there was some truth to one of those three things, because like the idiot he was, Eiffel had that brief moment of panic everyone had when someone told them that their shoe was untied, or their fly was down, or there was something on their shirt. And because of that panic, he looked down. It had completely slipped his mind that he hadn’t even worn shoes in the two (Three? Did those hundred days hurtling through space count? He didn’t know.) years he had been on the Hephaestus. “Oh, goddammit!” He groaned as he stared down at his socked feet in dismay, trying to tune out the cackling laughter Jacobi let out behind him that sent him halfway across the room. 

“You’re also gullible, apparently!” He let himself continue his path across the room so he could push off the back wall, still in a fit of giggles as he sailed back to the console. “You actually fell for it! I can’t believe it! I’ve never gotten anyone with that before.” Jacobi’s grin was bigger than it had ever been, and he wiped the tears from his eyes before they wreaked havoc on the station’s internal systems. Maxwell was too smart to fall for a simple trick like that, and Kepler… Well, Kepler didn’t like being pranked. 

Eiffel grumbled something incoherently, waiting patiently for Jacobi to get over himself before he spoke again. “Was there a real reason you came down here?”

“No, not really. Kepler’s giving Minkowski an orientation for her new role and then he needed to discuss… something with Hilbert, I don’t even wanna know. And Ala- Maxwell’s busy with Hera. So, I was bored.”

“What about Lovelace?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.”

“Right… So you came to interrupt my very important work?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.” Jacobi made himself comfortable, lounging in the free-floating bliss that was zero-g as Eiffel pretended to look busy, though his eyes were fixed on the reflection of the man in the glass. The bright light of Wolf 359 backlit him beautifully, and the color in the star seemed to desaturate everything else in the reflection, except for those damn eyes. 

Eiffel let out a sigh, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair, his fingers brushing through the empty space where his long curls used to be. He let out a frustrated growl, moving his hand up to his scalp. The little hair that was left was scraggly and damaged as hell. It was coarse and patchy, and it scratched his hand uncomfortably when he ran his hand over it. “Actually. I have an idea of something we can do.” He turned around to look at the real Jacobi, who arched an eyebrow in silent encouragement for him to go on. “Come with me.”

He’d had his head shaved a handful of times, and it was usually under duress. The first time was as a punishment for getting gum stuck in it, even though he hadn’t been the one to put gum there, and it would’ve been much easier to just cut the chunk out rather than shave his whole head. The second time had been when he’d joined the military. This would make number three, but this time it was necessary, despite the fact that his goal had really been to never cut his hair again. All that length had meant a lot to him, it meant that he had control over something in his life, finally, but the cryofreeze had, apparently, had other plans for it.

Additionally, most of the shaving kits, particularly their razors, had been dismantled for Minkowski’s crusade against Blessie. God only knew where all of those had ended up, or if they were still even on the station, but he knew there was one that was still safely tucked away. 

“Wow, Eiffel. I thought you would’ve liked to wine and dine your dates before bringing them home. You always struck me as more of a gentleman than that.”

“Shut up.” He rooted around in his locker, letting various pieces of uniform and whatever else had been shoved in there float freely around them as he did so. Most of it was contraband that he should’ve been more careful about getting seen, but he was too focused. Once he found the kit, he let out a soft, ‘a ha!’ And underhand tossed it to Jacobi. “You’re shaving my head.”

For once, Jacobi didn’t have some sort of sarcastic remark to make in response. He was just confused. “Sorry?”

“I can’t… I can’t stand it being like this. I can’t. And it’ll never grow back right with the ends this damaged, and I don’t really feel like cutting myself a thousand times in the process. So you’re doing it for me.” He tried to make his voice sound commanding, authoritative, but instead he just sounded desperate, irritated, upset. His hair meant so much to him, but he could stand to be without it for a little bit. He’d done it before, he could do it again. What he couldn’t stand was the sorry excuse for hair that he’d been left with. 

“You don’t think I’d use the razor to kill you? It’d be the perfect opportunity.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you could’ve done it back on the Urania when I was half dead.” 

“You hadn’t annoyed me as much back then.”

“I mean, if you really want to, I guess you can, but… I’d really just like my head shaved, please.”

A dramatic sigh filled the silence, and then: “Ugh, fine. But you owe me.”

That was good enough for Eiffel, and he trailed along behind Jacobi to the Hephaestus’ bathroom. Gravity was a little different in there, as in it was actually present in order to make showering and other general acts of hygiene (that Eiffel didn’t really partake in) a little easier. So he was able to sit on the counter and stare their reflections down as Jacobi stood behind him, setting the kit beside him on the counter. 

Jacobi wasn’t a friend, not by a longshot. In Minkowski’s book, he was part of ‘the enemy.’ But they’d spent a decent amount of time together after he’d been picked up by the Urania, and even a little bit of time before that over the comms. Someone had to keep in touch with him and keep up-to-date on his coordinates so the ship could get a lock on his location, and Kepler had felt like that work was beneath the highly intellectual minds of himself and Maxwell, so it had fallen to Jacobi. And Eiffel hadn’t minded, because beneath all the smart remarks, the guy was alright to talk to. A little stilted, maybe, but that wasn’t anything he couldn’t work with. It was better on the Urania. Easier, at least, because Jacobi’s body language did a lot of the talking for him. Once again, helping Eiffel was deemed grunt work, so Jacobi had been the one stuck tending to his wounds, helping him get around when he was too weak to even keep his eyes open, and adjust to eating again after not doing it for a hundred days (though with all of the substitutes for rations Hilbert dared to call food, one could argue it had been even longer since he’d really eaten). 

Long story short, Eiffel liked Jacobi to some degree. The guy was alright in his book, and he was sure the feeling was mutual, because he could’ve easily said no, or done a hackjob of it, or killed him. But instead, he took his time and made sure that he didn’t miss any spots, his other hand resting gently on Eiffel’s head to keep it steady despite all the fidgeting. 

After the first pass, Eiffel moved to get off the counter, to turn around and thank Jacobi, but a firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back down. 

“I gotta go again, make sure I didn’t miss a spot. It looked awful before, but it’ll look even worse if there’s just a tiny patch with a few hairs left.”

Eiffel furrowed his eyebrows together, but nodded and got comfortable again. As comfortable as he could, at least. His ass was already numb and the feeling was starting to spread down to his legs, but hopefully the second pass would go quicker. 

And it did, kind of. Jacobi didn’t need to clean the hair from the razor as often because there was barely any left, but he still took that same slow and gentle care as he had the first time. When he was done, he wiped off the leftover shaving cream with a nearby towel, smiling genuinely as Eiffel lifted a hand to feel over his scalp. “Well? How does it feel?”

“It feels great,” he answered earnestly, laughing in relief. He didn’t hate the way his reflection looked anymore, and now he could actually believe everyone when they told him to pull it together because it would grow back eventually. Hopefully this made the process easier. His eyes drifted to Jacobi’s in the mirror, mirroring that same smile. “Thank you... I really do owe you.”

“Yeah, you do.” The genuine smile faded to his usual cocky grin, and Eiffel threw the towel at him. It hit him square in the face, but it didn’t wipe away that look. “But… You’re welcome.” He offered him a hand to help him off the counter, steadying him with a chuckle when he nearly lost his balance. “Gravity that hard on you, Doug?”

“No! It’s just… That counter was not very comfortable to sit for that long on. And yeah, I guess gravity’s pretty hard to adjust to too.” 

“Well then we’d better get you back to the lazy embrace of zero-g.”

[nellied-reviews]

The Empty Man Cometh Re-listen

Hey, it's episode 9 of my Wolf 359 re-listen, which means it's time for a particularly iconic episode:

The Empty Man Cometh

In which Eiffel freaks out, Minkowski freaks out and Hilbert freaks out. Seriously, that's the whole episode. 

This episode, like I said above, is iconic. It's memorable, it's tense, and it's funny, in a dark, weird sort of way. Plus, it's the example par excellence of why Command are the Actual Worst. I had some very fond memories of it, going in, many of which it didn't entirely live up to, even if I generally enjoyed the episode.

As the episode begins, though, it does set its situation up really well. We have an ion storm incoming, after all, which works as a handy bit of spacey technobabble. We kind of suspect, until the final reveal, that the ion storm might have something to do with this Empty Man thing, which encourages us to view the episode's biggest threat as something vaguely external to the Hephaestus, something coming from the vast, impersonal void of space.

After this groundwork, however, all we get is essentially one long build-up and release of tension. We've already seen Wolf 359 trying for a horror episode - hello, Super Energy Saver Mode - so we already know this is something the show can do. And unsurprisingly, it does it pretty well here too, only using the "aaaargh, there's something weird out there" monster film model instead of the "aaargh, there's something weird in here" ghost story model. It's a simple idea, and it plays out pretty much like you'd expect, right until the end of the episode.

The messages the Hephaestus receive, I have to say, are amazing in their sheer weirdness, and I have a real affection for the moment where Eiffel shoots down the idea that they're somehow mistakes. He's 100% right that a real error would just be random letters or numbers, and pointing it out feels like a nice genre-savvy touch. Plus, after several episodes of Eiffel walking straight into horror movie clichés, it's nice to see some common sense from him.

Unfortunately, knowing that they're deliberate only makes the messages more mysterious, since they give the crew literally nothing to go off. The messages are clearly warnings, but beyond that, it's very hard to figure out what, if anything, the crew are supposed to do off the back of them. The messages put pressure on the crew by counting down ominously. But apart from that, it's essentially meaningless input. There are no instructions for the crew, no useful bits of information. There are just some very confusing words on a printout.

And, given the revelation that it was all a psychological experiment, might this not be the point? Perhaps Command want to know how humans react to their own powerlessness in the face of the totally incomprehensible, the terrifying Unknown. In fact, given that Command have a real interest in human communication with aliens - the ultimate terrifying Unknown - this would actually make sense. Heck, it even makes sense for them to specifically be doing this onboard the Hephaestus - theirs is the ship that Command expect to make contact with real life aliens, any day now. We could maybe see this experiment as a sort of psychological inoculation, preparing the crew for moment they finally get a message from the Dear Listeners.

Either way, if it's psychological reactions Command want to observe, we get them here by the bucketful. Eiffel, for example, alternates between freaking out and trying to convince himself that it's stopped. Hilbert, from what we can see, turns to technology, buckling down and running scans, while Minkowski is the one comparing the messages, trying to pull out patterns. It's an admirable impulse, but I suspect it's exactly what Command are playing off here. As humans, we love to find patterns. It gives us a sense of control. But faced with something that is incomprehensible, the sense of control slips away. And so, as level-headed as Minkowski seems, she freaks out in the end just like the others.

It's also worth mentioning that this is the point where the episode pulls out all the stops to freak us out, too. Seriously, from the use of tense music and creepy sound effects, to the absence of Hera's reassuring presence during large parts of the episode, to Eiffel whispering the final message, all of this is so spooky. I mean, things build to a peak, the power cuts out, everybody's losing their mind, and then-

Oh. It was all a psychological experiment. Ugh, Command. Why are you like this?

It's a deliberately dissatisfying, anticlimactic ending. We want to heave a sigh of relief that the Empty Man isn't real, that the crew survived. But any positive feelings linked to the release of tension are drowned out in righteous indignation and - for us, if not for the crew - a feeling that we've been robbed of the exciting horror story we were expecting. We, along with the crew, have had the rug pulled out from under us, and while it's something the show's done before - remember, uh, last episode, within which Box 953 never got explained or followed up on? - it's the first time it's felt cruel. Box 953 was an accident, accidents happen. But this? This is just mean-spirited, so we end the episode firmly aligned with Minkowski and Eiffel in their feelings of anger and betrayal.

The only positive? I do feel like this shared, terrifying experience brings the crew closer together, as evidenced by their plan to write a sternly worded letter and send it to Command tomorrow. I'm not sure how effective it will be. But the thought's nice. Plus it might give them a sense of control back, and who am I to argue with that? 

It's a bright moment at the end of an episode that otherwise leaves us frustrated and angry, putting us through the psychological wringer alongside the crew. As an exercise in building up tension, it's effective, and it doesn't completely lose that tension on a re-listen, even knowing the ending. I still found myself jumping at some of the noises in this, you know? And scary countdowns will always be scary!

That said, I do think that some of the impact this had the first time I listened to it was lost this time. The first time I listened to this, after all, I remember getting freaked out by the prospect of the Empty Man, but also invested in figuring out what it was. Knowing that the messages are meaningless, I was less invested in that this time round. And weirdly, I also remember finding the crew's freak-out and their subsequent rage at the anticlimactic nature of it all funnier the first time round - perhaps because it was so unexpected? In any case, that didn't carry over as much this time, either.

Nevertheless, I would say that this episode was still perfectly fine, and my ill-will towards Command has, if anything, intensified. But it was certainly a different experience on a re-listen, with different things standing out. Which, in the end, is what a re-listen is for, I guess. Some episodes improve dramatically. Some don't. For me, this one falls into the latter category, which might just be due to how strong a reaction I had to it the first time I heard it. And that's fine. Not every episode can - or should - be made for fans on a re-listen.

And hey, if you found it just as good, or better, the second time round? More power to you ^-^

 Miscellaneous thoughts:

Minkowski saying that they might survive this with minimal damage *shakes head*. Has nobody on this station heard of tempting fate?

Is the pulse beacon relay sound effect actually a cash register sound? It's effective, either way - I love how clunky it sounds :)

This episode is also a really good opportunity to show us how the pulse beacon relay works. Which totally won't be relevant ever again. Nope. Not at all.

Un momento por favor, Doctor Hilberto." Why does this line amuse me so much?

"Decide what to do with the time that is given to you." Aaaaaaaaah bad bad bad!

Hilbert speaks Russian, Swedish, Norwegian, German and Afrikaans?! How did Afrikaans get in there? (headcanons 100% welcome here)

Aww, Minkowski thinks they should all get a good night's sleep. Sound advice in most situations tbh

[stilitana]

so i listened to this embarassingly quickly but let’s chalk that up to the self-isolation/working from home and leave it at that

wolf 359 reactions under the cut (spoilers):

firstly, that soundtrack was so good and i’ll be listening to those piano pieces forever

this show demonstrated the eternal power of the agatha christie principle: gather a ragtag cast of characters who’ve all got beef with each other, and trap them in a small space together. cue the instant tension and inevitable weighty revelations.

i adore that amid all the drama/action, there were so many moments when the writers let the narrative breathe a little and just allowed the characters to talk to each other, and play games with one another. the word games were delicious. these were often moments of levity and good character building, but they also all moved relationships forward or revealed something new, so don’t ever let anybody say that having chill little funny moments is useless narrative fluff. these were the best moments.

empty man cometh might be my favorite. am i alone now? and memoria were also just...so good. a lot of the mini-episodes were excellent as well, especially all the character ones. variations on a theme might be my favorite of the shorts.

normally i’m impatient and skip anything i perceive as extraneous to the central narrative, and come back to it later--im so glad i didn’t, the live episode was hilarious. ashamed that i even tried to skip change of mind because i was so impatient to see what was happening, but i felt too bad so not even five minutes into the next ep, i went back and listened to it, and that was the right move...it was so good.

every single character was fantastic. every single one. they were all complex--even the less central characters had at least a moment or two where they struck a different note, showed another side of themselves. kepler was the stand out on this front for me. i didn’t care at all about the si-5 crew when they first came in--i was actually annoyed and expected to hate them all, which is a risk you run when you introduce a bunch of new, influential characters so late in a story. they made it work so well. first i came around to maxwell, then jacobi, and finally (tbh it was his swan song) i was like, okay, kepler was a great character. they made him sympathetic without trying to retcon anything to force me to pity him or think he’d been good all along or anything. cutter and pryce were less human, so their redeeming qualities came more from being interesting. i think the voice acting plays a lot into this--cutter just on paper wouldn’t be half as fun

really impressed with how this same thing played out with lovelace--she went from this sort of mythic, predeceased character, to an antagonist, and finally to being such a central character to the crew that you could hardly imagine them without her. poor writing could have easily made her kind of character unlikable. i think characters like her often get short-changed and written as one-note action hero types who crash in and upend the narrative just to give the plot steam and provide friction. instead, she’s as fully fleshed out as the main characters, and seamlessly becomes one of them.

rip plant monster...i loved you :,(

so, the antagonists were multifaceted, and so were the protags. this could have also easily been sloppy. with eiffel especially, lazy writing would have made the reveal of his backstory super cheap, out of left field, and made you feel like you never knew him at all and leave you unable to reconnect. instead of going the route where the writer for some reason thinks they have to make their plucky protag gritty, the reveal of eiffel’s backstory doesn’t change him at all--and why should it? it’s his backstory--it already happened. instead, it only forces him and minkowski to have conversations they probably needed to have anyway, and fleshes out the reason he’s even there in the first place. on this note, it’s not ultimately his backstory that eiffel has to confront within the story as a major flaw--the backstory was a mistake in the past he’s been dealing with for years by the time we meet him. i love what they chose to do instead so much more: what he had to deal with was his current, present day behavior--how he effortlessly disrespects and belittles the people closest to him without even trying. the key there is, without trying--he has to make a decision to start. (”that’s the thing about you, eiffel--you try. you try really, really hard, and then--you stop trying” that was such a good interaction...god.) i could go on and on about how this was such a satisfying tack to take but i’m trying to cut it down. glib bastards like eiffel are so often a sort of male wish-fulfillment character where they get to say whatever the fuck they want without consequence, be lazy, be careless, and still come out on top, and still seem lovable, because hey, he’s funny. eiffel doesn’t get off that easily, and he’s a much better character for it, and so are all the others, for actually demanding better for themselves, because they know they deserve it, and because they all actually care about each other, so when they confront him, he doesn’t just shrug it off--he tries. (it takes him a minute. but he tries.)

hera broke my heart a million times i love her so much. she had so many complex inner conflicts that weren’t just boiled down to some dumbass bs like “boo hoo am i human.” her personhood is a given for the sorts of conflicts she has, as far as feeling inadequate, feeling unappreciated, like an imposter or a less-valued member of the crew. her and minkowski arguing was excellent and allowed them both a chance to be childish because hey, eiffel shouldn’t have the monopoly on that.

death was a serious thing. human life was highly valued, and its loss was never made light of. not even for antagonists (kepler, hilbert) or, in the most extreme case, pryce, who eiffel chose to make a sacrifice to defeat rather than just kill her, the one principle aside from doing as little work as possible he stood his ground on the entire story. team what’s wrong with handcuffs indeed...i just really loved that the main lead was a pacifist and that this line of thinking held sway in the narrative. it was really refreshing (i don’t think it should be--there’s just a lot of bad writing out there especially when things edge into the action genre) to see this stance on nonviolent conflict resolution wherever possible, because yeah, most people have a really hard time ending another person’s life...no shit. minkowski makes that call and deals with the fallout for the rest of the show--she’s not done dealing with it by the end, it’s going to be something she takes with her. sometimes eiffel’s passivity was depicted as a weakness, but he ultimately did diffuse a lot of situations and gave other characters the space to consider their options. i do think that sometimes the narrative’s insistence on eiffel’s dual pacifism/incompetence shifted the burden of action onto minkowski and lovelace and i’m not sure how i feel about that. i think where i’d have to look is comparing how pryce and cutter are dealt with--yeah, im willing to buy that minkowski wasn’t willing to trade all of her memories so that she wouldn’t have to kill cutter. but was she the one who had to have a body count as a conscious narrative choice, or were we just determined to maintain eiffel’s status as the sort of goofy, “innocent” one? or was that something minkowski was determined to preserve--because that’d be really sad and complicated and say way more about her than it would about him.

dear listeners. i loved everything about the dear listeners. it was everything i ever wanted from aliens trope-wise.

didn’t really get the total significance of surrogates or decima virus. those were the only two things that felt sort of hasty because the stakes suddenly went from “the lives on this space station” to “life on earth as we know it.” but apocalypse averted so whatever, the aliens just want music

i am conflicted about the fucking. amnesia. memory was SO important throughout, and questions of identity and personhood, and this is the only reason that amnesia ending didn’t enrage me. if i think about it more i’m sure there will be a lot to unpack with what’s being implied here

this has gotten REALLY long so im going to stop now and finish mindlessly entering data into excel. in short: i loved it 

[dementedgnomicwizard]

celestriakle replied to your post “oh my god i fucking HATE the wolf 359 finale no podcast has ever made...”

Man I feel you. Personally I didn’t see a tpk coming and for me that probably woulda been too dark, but I remember feeling so weird about the ending as is, it was just, uncomfortable? It felt like they were trying for a happy ending and def did not get there, there was for sure a balance off. (Keeping in mind I listened like 2 or 3 years ago probably)

yeah i think it was maybe me being used to/having a preference for slightly darker fiction generally gfdhsjkhf i like stuff that’s humorous and doesn’t emotionally fatigue you but the stakes are high as hell and you know that none of the characters are ever 100% safe regardless of how much of a main character they are yk

ok i just started writing and then it got Long so i’m putting this under a readmore, ALSO HUUUGE SPOILERS UP AHEAD OBV FOR ANYONE WONDERING

what put that idea in my head initially was when eiffel almost got sent back to earth and turned back—in my head i was like ah, okay, so that’s the moment where he makes his Choice to come back no matter the cost, they’re gearing up for an Ultimate Sacrifice ending. (now looking back i’m like.... well. i Guess that’s still what was going on but.... lol.)

i assumed that for most of the episode the plan would be “stop goddard+kill cutter pryce and young, get home,” and that towards the end it would become clear that there wasn’t enough time/options/whatever to accomplish all of the above (either that they would succeed in killing cutter+price+young but in order to finish it they’d have to stay on the station as it crossed the red line or something like that, or that they would realize there were no options left besides destroying the station with everyone on board) and they’d have some touching moment as a crew where they reflect on all the development they’d undergone as people throughout the journey and all things considered are pretty gung-ho about accepting what has to happen.

it just feels (to me) like the logical and satisfying conclusion for their arcs! they finally have ALL the answers they’ve been looking for, they’ve succeeded in stopping goddard, etc. for lovelace it would’ve been a pretty kick-ass “the captain always goes down with the ship��� moment and honestly a well-deserved /rest/ after everything she’s been through and all the loss she’s witnessed (because... um... can she die? now? of anything? bc it doesn’t seem likely, and ‘going back to earth so i can settle into a normal life again and then watch everyone i know get old and die around me while i stay alive because i’m not fully me anymore’ feels like ... kind of a really cold and sad ending for her, considering everything). 

for hera it would’ve been a chance to (once again) reaffirm her humanity and just how much she’s progressed beyond what goddard tried to make her be; a really excellent final fuck-you, ESPECIALLY if the nature of the TPK in question was like “hera has to initiate the self-destruct and pryce is alive to witness this but powerless to stop her for once.” 

for jacobi... i mean... like am i forgetting something or did they just not really bother establishing much information about like, what jacobi has to return to on earth? bc it seems like blowing the station could’ve been a way for him to 1) let go of a lot of his guilt/grief over maxwell and 2) a salute to kepler for his efforts (assuming that by the time the TPK happens kepler has already been revealed as a double-double agent + swooced out the airlock)

for eiffel it would’ve been a good conclusion to the Massive amounts of development he had; he spent the entirety of the show slowly and painfully learning how NOT to be an asshole/selfish/basically everything that he Was that contributed to destroying his life on earth care about, and how TO Show Up For the people around him despite getting off on the wrong foot initially. he arrived on the hephaestus as a (mostly) well-meaning but self-absorbed jackass with virtually no concept of boundaries or self-restraint, and by the end of the show he’d Realized this about himself and put in a colossal amount of hard work in order to Be Better... and then at the very peak of that arc, which the audience and the characters themselves have invested so much time and energy into, the decision is just to... throw all of it away? IT’S JUST GDFKSJGHFDK SOOO MUCH MORE FRUSTRATING TO ME THAN IF THEY’D JUST STRAIGHT-UP KILLED HIM because they try to dance around it like “Ahhh but IS he the same person anymore... who can never be sure.... maybe it’s a second chance....” but that logic just doesn’t WORK given the questions+answers about what makes up one’s humanity/personality as established AT LENGTH by like everything else in the show!! according to everything we’ve learned so far from hera/maxwell/pryce etc as they address these questions through the lens of the AI system, the answer to “are you still the same person if you’re physically unchanged but every single one of your memories is altered or removed?” is a resounding “NO.” i hate it when writers spend their entire story establishing certain rules/information/logic and then suddenly make decisions that completely fly in the face of all of it and think it’s a “subversion” when really what that’s called is “a bad writing decision.” i genuinely think they were just too hesitant to actually kill him so they tried to do “the next best thing” but it just... didn’t work the way they wanted it to. i’ll elaborate more on why i think they would’ve been afraid to kill him (beyond just “he is the beloved main character”) in a second 

for minkowski... i mean... from a character/writing standpoint, if lovelace, hera, or eiffel (not including jacobi here only bc i don’t think they were QUITE close enough by the end for his death to have caused her As Much guilt as the other three would have) died during the finale then minkowski would almost definitely have to die as well, bc her primary motivation as we’re all very aware is to ensure the safety of her crew above all else; i don’t think there’s a universe where minkowski is okay with leaving herself if all three aren’t with her. BUT i think this became a corner that they wrote themselves into with her by the end, because then (i assume) the dilemma became “well, as much as we might like to, we basically can’t kill off any one single other character, because it will cut minkowski’s strings” WHIIICH is why i think they couldn’t go through with killing eiffel. 

ANYWAY. YEAH. ALL THIS TO SAY for me personally an ending where the characters all have to sacrifice themselves, but it’s a choice they arrive at together easily + something they welcome and accept without much sadness/regret because they’ve done everything they could (and, in the case of those crewmembers w active ties to earth, successfully ensured the safety of their loved ones on earth) would’ve made a lot of sense and been satisfying. i’d be sad, definitely, but in an “this story and characters were excellent and i’m sad it’s over” way more than a “wait i’m so frustrated by this ending that can’t possibly just be It” way

[waveridden]

FIC: and you breathe (one breath at a time)

Lovelace goes somewhere warm, and quiet, where nobody has any idea who she is. Nobody, except for somebody who died in space six years ago.

Wolf 359, post-canon. 7.7k. Gen, Lovelace-centric, some implied/background ships. content warnings for some discussion of death/grief and PTSD.

With all my love to @travismcelrcy, who helped shape the ideas.

Read on Ao3 || title lyric

#

Sydney is bright in the summer, a constant barrage of sunlight that slams into Isabel full-force the second she steps out of the airport. It was raining when she left Shanghai. Or maybe she’s still not used to sunlight - not blue light or red light or artificial Hephaestus lighting. Honest-to-god sunlight.

Isabel slips a voice recorder out of her pocket and switches it on. “Note to self,” she murmurs, “double-check which vitamins sunlight is supposed to give you. Just in case that matters.” She doesn’t need to record captain’s logs anymore, hasn’t for a long time, but it’s the fastest way to keep track of things. Grocery lists and memories from the old crew and whatever else is worth hanging onto these days.

She left her suitcase back in Brussels, so it’s easy to wander the streets with nothing but a backpack and a vague recollection of places she should visit. She’s never been to Australia before. She’d only left the country once, before the Hephaestus, and that was to go to Niagara Falls for the weekend with some friends in high school.

(Sam had laughed when she told him, and she’d raised her eyebrows, said “You telling me you traveled a lot, Oklahoma boy?” like it was a challenge. It always was a challenge, and maybe she’d feel bad about it if he’d ever stopped rising to the challenge. If he hadn’t met her every step of the way, until-)

There’s a list of names tucked away in her backpack. She’s been trying to visit people who deserve to know what happened. Kuan’s sisters, who grieved by screaming. Victoire’s mother, who’d cried as Isabel told her in halting French what happened to her daughter. Sam’s family, who barely reacted at all. Like they already knew he was dead.

They probably did know, she supposes. It’s not like it was hard to guess.

Sydney’s beautiful. She tries to imagine Mace in the city as she walks through it, slowly. He’s not from Sydney, of course, he’s from some smaller town. He used to talk about it, but she can’t remember the name of it, and of course his files with Goddard don’t exist anymore. There’s next to no proof that he was ever there.

But he was here. She imagines him squinting in the sunlight, trying to read a street sign. She imagines him pointing at some local business and saying that there, Captain, that’s his best friend’s uncle’s ice cream shop. She imagines him painted bright in the sun, laughing with his boyfriend, pushing a stroller.

Isabel blinks. That one felt less imaginary.

He’s gone by the time she looks back, of course. She’s been seeing ghosts for the last month. All of Kuan’s sisters had his smile. Every tall man with a suit and a carefully disarming smile is Cutter. Hell, she even sees shades of Minkowski and Eiffel sometimes, even though she knows both of them are safe and sound back stateside. She’s used to it by now. She should be used to it by now.

She still goes straight to her hotel room. Bolts the door once it’s closed. Moves a chair in front of the door just for good measure. Good things never happen when the dead start showing up again. She knows that better than anyone.

 #

 Getting back to Earth goes like this:

Goddard debriefs them. It takes weeks, plural, because nobody’s sure what to do with their story. Two of the most important people in the company are currently space debris, and the third doesn’t even remember her own name. And all the rest of them are officially dead.

It’s Jacobi, actually, who’s most helpful in moving things forward. Lovelace gets the impression that it’s because he wants to get out of there as fast as possible, but she has to admit, it’s nice having someone who knows people. Kepler’s name pulls weight, and by extension so does Jacobi’s. It gets things in motion, even with the gaps in the power structure.

The process is also kept completely secret from the public, which they probably weren’t supposed to figure out. Jacobi guesses as much on the second day, snorts and says “it’d look bad for them to be caught in a lie this big,” and that’s supposed to be that. It’s hard to bring people back to life, in terms of paperwork. Probably a nightmare.

But they’re debriefed. They see doctors, who don’t know what to do with Lovelace, human and also decidedly not. They see therapists, who kind of wave Lovelace off because there’s absolutely nothing in their repertoire that could help them deal with aliens. They sit in corporate meeting after corporate meeting where Lovelace tries to focus on getting out and not how badly she wants to rip this company to shreds.

Goddard lets them go on a Tuesday morning. They reach Minkowski’s husband that night, living just outside of Boston, and all of them pile into a house that seems far too empty for one man. Lovelace gets a bedroom to herself. They figure out how to install Hera in the house, because Doug refuses to let her live in a box. She’s up and running by Wednesday morning.

Jacobi’s gone by Wednesday afternoon without so much as a goodbye. It stings, maybe more than it should, but Lovelace has faith that he’ll come back one day. If only because he’s bored.

By the early hours on Thursday she has a list of cities. Shawnee, Brussels, Shanghai, Sydney. She writes and crosses out Moscow a dozen times - even if Selberg was hers he also decidedly wasn’t, and she doesn’t owe that man any more of her sympathy - and does the same for New York City. Who says you can’t go home? Probably other people whose entire families think they died in space years ago.

She makes a second list for good measure. Victoire used to wax rhapsodic about the summer she spent in Iceland, and Kuan had endless stories about visiting cousins in Hawaii. Sam traveled constantly, which she wouldn’t expect from someone from Oklahoma, but he wanted to see the world. Or, no, he felt like it’d be a shame if he didn’t. A shame? An embarrassment? It’s hard to remember his exact words.

It’s hard to remember his exact voice.

Lovelace lifts her voice recorder, brand new, purchased from a RadioShack with a shiny Goddard-issued credit card. “Get back in touch with Canaveral, see if they have any of Lambert’s old logs somewhere. Shake them down if you have to.”

Isabel Lovelace has a valid passport Thursday night. She says her goodbyes on Friday morning, promises to call and hugs Eiffel a little tighter than she should and leaves. She has more ghosts than the rest of them. It’s time to put them to rest.

 #

 The problem, which she learns in Oklahoma, is that as much as she wants to get this over with, she can’t start with the families. She tells Sam’s mother what happened one day, his father the next, and then if she stays in Oklahoma for one more goddamn second she thinks she’s going to suffocate, so she’s in Brussels the day after that.

(“That could just be an effect of Oklahoma,” Minkowski - no, Renee says, when Isabel calls her, now in Brussels and still not quite breathing right. “I mean, I’ve never really been there, but it sounds… like Oklahoma.”

“Maybe,” Isabel allows. “But if I’m going to be here, I should start with the tourist thing, right? Instead of just jumping in with the… bad news.”

“The tourist thing,” Renee echoes, in that voice that means she’s not laughing at Isabel, per se, but she’s definitely laughing and it just so happens that Isabel said something funny. “You mean relaxing?”

“I guess I do.”

“You’ve earned it.”

She has. She’s earned it and re-earned it and the universe probably owes her a full year of not dealing with other people’s problems at this point. “Then maybe I’ll stay in Belgium for a while.”

“Just make sure you call,” Renee says, soft and careful. She never says goodbye, only asks for Isabel to call again. And she always does.)

It takes two weeks in Brussels before she has the stomach to find Victoire’s family. After that she stops over in Moscow for all of two days, just to see the sights, and then it’s three weeks in Shanghai. And of course, by the end of that she’s ready to snap in half, so she takes a week for herself in Thailand to recover.

Sydney is warm, not as warm as Thailand but also sunnier. It’s not quiet, but it’s just her and her ghosts there. And it’s going to take a little more work to track down Fisher’s boyfriend - she knows his name’s Corey, he’s a history teacher, and he lives somewhere reasonably close to Sydney - so she might as well take another break.

She ends up on a beach, one of the quieter ones. It’s a weekday morning so it’s not terribly crowded, just a few families that Isabel makes a point of staying away from, carving out her own quiet corner in the sand. She sets up with a towel and an umbrella and a stack of books that she got from airports and-

-and her phone starts ringing.

Isabel sighs. It’d be easy, it’d be so easy to just ignore it, but the fact is not a lot of people call her. This number isn’t in enough databases to get calls, and it would be… inconsiderate if she didn’t take full advantage of Goddard generously footing all her bills for a little while. Including the bill for international calls.

She smoothly reaches into her backpack, resting a carefully-calculated arm’s length away from her on the sand, and swipes to answer. “You’ve reached the phone of Isabel Lovelace. I’m currently unavailable because I finally got to a real beach where I can relax for a while, so leave a message if-”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” Hera asks, not sounding sorry at all.

Isabel rests back on her towel. “No, Hera, it’s not. Unless there’s an emergency, because I am halfway around the world right now and can’t help.”

“No emergencies. Thank god.”

She smiles, relaxing a little as she does. “And you’re bored?”

“Horribly.”

“What do you do now that nothing’s constantly going wrong?”

“Not much,” Hera admits. “I’ve been teaching myself new languages.”

“Programming language or human language?”

“A bit of both?”

“Of course,” Isabel says. She thinks idly that maybe she would’ve been sarcastic about that, once upon a time, but now it comes out fond. Indulgent. Hera complained about being in a house and how it was so much smaller than the Hephaestus, but now she has the Internet. There’s only so much complaining she can do with the entirety of human knowledge at her fingertips. “How’s everyone?”

Hera hums. “Minko- uh, Renee- shoot. Is it weird that I’m still having trouble with that?”

“It’s only been two months, Hera.”

“But I talk to her every day.”

“And how many days did you call her Minkowski?”

“More than sixty,” Hera admits. “Okay. Uh, Renee’s looking for jobs, although nobody’s really sure what kind of thing she should look for. Doug’s a waiter now, all the customers love him.”

“And everyone’s in one piece?”

“In one piece.” She says it so proudly that Isabel can’t help but smile. “And Renee’s been helping me practice my French.”

“Do you need to practice?”

“Of course I need to practice, just because I know the whole language doesn’t mean I know how to speak it right.”

“One of these days, you should learn a made-up language. Or make your own.”

“I’ve already looked into making up my own, but it’s not as easy as you might think. It’s kind of a fun side project, it’d be nice to talk to a linguist or something sometime. Figure out how-”

“Lovelace?” says someone, about three feet to her right.

She drops her phone. She hadn’t noticed anyone coming towards her, and these days there’s no way to tell if it’s someone hostile or not. From the other end of the phone Hera says something but Isabel’s hand is already halfway into her bag, where she has a knife waiting for her, and she looks up to see who it is and squints against the sunlight and-

“Lovelace,” says Mace Fisher, like he thinks she’s going to disappear.

Slowly, Isabel pulls her hand away from her backpack and lifts her sunglasses, just as Fisher - it can’t be, it has to be - drops to a crouch, then his knees. His hair’s longer now, curling in loose spirals around his cheeks. He has the same scar down one side of his nose. He’s wearing the most horrific swim trunks that she’s seen in her entire life, and he’s staring, and he’s here.

“Fisher,” she says, and he gulps, and suddenly her eyes are stinging. He sits back on his heels, looking winded, and Isabel remembers her phone. She snatches it up and takes a deep breath. “Hera.”

“Ca- Isabel, what’s going on, is everything okay?”

Is everything okay. Of course, everything’s fine. Just Lovelace and her ghosts again. “I’m going to have to call you back.”

“That’s not a yes.”

“I don’t know yet, Hera.” She’s still watching him, of course she is. He looks somewhere off over Isabel’s shoulder, mouths something that she doesn’t bother to try and understand. He must not be here alone. “It’s… complicated.”

“Are you safe?”

“I think so.”

“Call us back,” Hera says, voice small. “Just- just to be on the safe side.”

“Of course,” Isabel says, and hangs up. Fisher is still there, so that’s a good sign, probably. If this isn’t real then at least her brain is collapsing all at once. Hell, they have no idea what the sun’s radiation is going to do to her weird alien brain. Maybe long-term exposure induces hallucinations. Maybe this is the last thing she sees before her internal organs turn to soup. It could be worse, she figures.

Fisher’s still staring at her.

“So,” she says carefully. “This… is new.”

“You died in space,” Fisher says. “I don’t know if you heard.”

“No, I’ve been told.” She looks him up and down. She listened to him die, during that meteor storm. They all did. “You… also died in space.”

He snorts. “Apparently not.”

They never found a body. Of course they didn’t, it was deep space, but they never had anything to remember him by, other than what he left behind. “Apparently not,” she agrees, and her voice is a little thicker than she expected. “How about that?”

Fisher swallows. “The others-”

Isabel’s breath catches. None of the others had been home, when she visited. “They- Mace-”

“Oh,” Fisher breathes, and lunges forward. Isabel lets him, reaches out, pulls him in. And he feels real, not like a hallucination, not a ghost. He’s as real as she is and he’s squeezing her like he’s trying to make sure of it, one hand pressing her head into the crook of his shoulder. “Captain-”

“Oh, god, don’t call me captain,” she laughs, and he huffs out something like a sob, warm against the back of her neck. “I’m nobody’s captain anymore, got it?”

“Aye-aye,” Fisher says, and fans one of his hands out on her back. Isabel laughs again and her eyes are still stinging but she’s not crying, she can’t cry until she understands. “What are you doing here, anyways?”

Isabel sits back on her heels, keeping one hand pressed against Fisher’s shoulder. Just in case he disappears. He pulls away too, a little reluctantly, but one of his hands drops to her knee. “I was, uh. Trying to say goodbyes, you could call it.”

“Ah,” Fisher says. “I take it you haven’t been back long, then.”

“A couple months.” She shrugs. “Goddard… wasn’t interested in letting us go.”

Fisher raises his eyebrows. “Us.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I can imagine.”

“What about you?” Isabel rubs a hand across her eyes, probably scrubbing salt and sand into them, which has to be why the stinging doesn’t go away. “What… how long have you been back?”

Fisher shrugs. “Five years, give or take.”

“So you got back after the first mission.”

“First mission,” Fisher repeats, something like dread creeping into his voice. “Captain-”

“Isabel.”

“If you’re Isabel then I’m Mace.”

Isabel nods and takes a deep breath. “It’s… a really long story. It’s one I can tell you, but-”

“Daddy!” a child’s voice shouts, from somewhere behind Isabel. Mace is on his feet in a flash, so fast that she barely has time to mourn the loss of contact before he’s off and running. It’s just enough to make her panic, so she whips around, climbing to her feet in the process. Her sunglasses tilt dangerously to one side, threatening to fall off, and she manages to settle them back on her face just as she spots Mace again.

He’s crouching low, looking seriously between two kids. Twins, if Isabel had to guess, both of them dark-haired and olive-skinned. They don’t look anything like Mace, but one of them has the same stubborn mouth, and one has the same honest eyes. His kids, if ever she’s seen them.

Cautiously, she takes a couple of steps closer. Mace doesn’t notice, talking in a low, serious voice to the twins. “Five minutes, alright? Five more minutes on the sand and then we can go back in the water, how does that sound?”

“But Kuan said he’s gonna squish my sand castle,” says the one with Mace’s mouth, and Isabel nearly takes a step back. “And I don’t want him to!”

Mace looks seriously at the twin with his eyes. “Kuan.”

“I’m not gonna squish it,” Kuan mutters. “But Sam said his was better than mine, and that’s not nice. ”

Mace turns back to the other twin, looking exasperated. “Sam-”

“Mine’s better,” Sam protests, but he falters instantly and turns to his brother. “I’m sorry, Kuan. You’re right, it wasn’t nice.”

“I’m sorry I said I was gonna squish yours,” Kuan says seriously. “That wasn’t nice either.”

“Good job, boys,” Mace says, and both of the twins brighten up instantly. It figures that Mace would have the most well-adjusted kids Isabel has ever seen. “Daddy just needs three more minutes to talk to his friend, and-”

“Friend?” Sam demands, and both twins turn to her immediately, with that uncanny perceptive stare that children always have.

Isabel’s hands are shaking. She notices it sort of absently, the same way she notices there’s a man with a sleeping baby lying on his chest watching them intently, the same way she notices that the only clouds in the sky are wispy and light and dreamlike. Like it doesn’t affect her that she’s having trouble breathing.

She glances at Mace, over the tops of her sunglasses, and he nods slightly, so she takes a couple steps forward and drops into a crouch next to him. “Hi, guys.”

“You’re friends with Daddy?” asks Kuan.

Isabel nods. “I am. I used to work with him, a long time ago.”

“In space?”

“Yes, in space.”

“Whoa,” Kuan whispers. “Was he cool?”

“The coolest.”

Mace snorts and nudges her with his shoulder, still as solid and real as anything. “Second after you, maybe.”

“Oh, definitely,” Isabel says, with an exaggerated nod, and both of the twins giggle. “But, you know, it’s hard to measure up to me.”

“Daddy’s cool!” Sam bounces up and down. “This one time, this one time he was making pancakes, and he flipped them in the air!”

“In the air?” Isabel repeats, trying to sound like it’s the coolest thing she’s ever heard. “You know, that might just be cooler than me.”

“Never, Captain,” Mace mumbles, and Isabel rolls her eyes. Maybe she shouldn’t teach kids to roll their eyes, but if they’re living with Mace, they’re probably going to be supernaturally patient. Someone has to teach them. “Boys, we can go in the water as soon as I’m done talking to Miss Isabel, alright?”

“Miss Isabel?” Kuan turns so he’s looking at her and leans in, putting his face very, very close to hers. It takes all her self control not to pull back. Children can smell fear, or something. “Like baby Izzy?”

“Baby Izzy,” Isabel repeats. “Is that… a TV show, or something?”

Kuan giggles. “No, silly, it’s our sister!”

“Sister,” Isabel echoes, feeling like a broken record. They have a sister named Isabel. That can’t be right. She turns, carefully, to look at Mace, who is staring intently at the sand by her feet. “Mace.”

“Middle name’s Victoire,” he mumbles, and meets her eyes, looking sheepish. “There’s not a lot else you can do to remember people, these days.”

She understands. When the world has already mourned and moved on, when Isabel’s mission to say her goodbyes was met only with acceptance and grief that’s still heavy on her skin, there’s not much else to do, other than remembering. He had to grieve already, without her.

“Mace,” she says again, her throat so thick that it hurts to say. She swallows a couple times, until she feels like she can breathe again, and says, “We can talk later.”

“Yeah?” Mace says, and she wonders if he expected her to want to talk to him. He looks so… hopeful.

“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath. “I can… you know, I brought books. I have a cell phone that I mostly understand how to use. I can kill time.”

Mace laughs. “Yeah, those have changed a lot. You want to come in the water with us?”

Isabel has gone swimming once, in the last two months. It was in a Goddard facility, for some kind of fitness check-up. It’d been nice at first, cool and refreshing. Chlorine is one of those things that she’d forgotten, not unlike the exact flavor of potato chips and how to talk to children, and she’d even appreciated the sting in her eyes.

It’d taken eight minutes and forty-one seconds, as per her official Goddard chart, before the panic set in. Before the water stopped feeling like water, and all she knew was that she was floating, and if she was floating she must’ve been back in space, back on the Hephaestus, and if she was on the station then she wasn’t safe, and-

Nine minutes. A new record, said the Goddard tech who was observing her. Most former astronauts don’t even make it to five.

“Maybe later,” Isabel says. As long as her feet are on the ground, she should be fine.

“She can sit with me,” someone says, off to one side. It’s the man with the sleeping baby, still watching them. He has one hand resting on the baby’s back, and he looks relaxed, but his eyes are as sharp as anything she’s ever seen. “If you want.”

Isabel nods slowly. “I think I’d like that.”

Mace reaches out and brushes some sand off one of Isabel’s knees, leaving his hand to rest on her thigh. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Isabel repeats, and looks back at the twins. “Sam. Kuan.” She has to take a deep breath, because fuck, even that is hard to say, isn’t it? How does Mace do it every day? “It was very nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Kuan says, very seriously. Just like any kid trying to pretend to be a grown-up. It reminds her of Hui, of her Kuan.

“Are you gonna still be Daddy’s friend?” Sam asks. “Because you look like a good friend.”

A good friend. A good captain who lost her crew and barely scraped out with her second crew. A good person trying to say her goodbyes.

“I will be his friend,” she says. It’s too awkward and stilted for a kid but it’s all she can manage. Friends are hard to come by these days.

Mace squeezes her leg and gets to his feet. “Who’s ready to go in the ocean!”

The twins both scream in excitement, and Isabel glances back at the man who is most certainly Corey. “You mind if I bring my things over?”

“Course not,” Corey says, amiable as anything. “Although I hope you don’t mind that I’m going to be asking you a few questions.”

Isabel smiles faintly. None of them talked about Their People Back Home too often, at least not in the first few hundred days, but she still remembers Mace talking about his boyfriend. He used to say Corey was smart. And suspicious. She can see that already.

As soon as she settles in next to him, Corey points out towards the water. “I had to come to Sydney for a work conference. It was Mace’s idea to make a trip out of it and bring the kids, and he’s been wrangling all three of them by himself for most of the week.”

Isabel follows where he’s pointing. Mace is in the shallows of the ocean, each twin holding his hand. Every time a wave comes in, no matter how small, they all try to jump over it. She can hear the twins shrieking and laughing, and Mace laughing with them. “How old are they?”

“They turned four last month.” Corey smiles faintly. “He was self-conscious about the name thing. Originally it was going to be Samuel Kuan, and then we found out we’d be adopting twins.”

“And you were okay with it?”

“Of course. My boyfriend comes back from space, from the actual dead, and says he wants to name the kids after the people he lost? What kind of a person would say no?”

Isabel nods, and looks at the baby still asleep on Corey’s chest. “She’s quiet.”

Corey snorts and strokes the baby’s - Izzy’s back, smiling down at her. “Tired herself out screaming earlier.”

“I hear that babies do that.”

“You have no idea.”

“How did he come back?”

“We’re still not sure,” Corey admits, and looks back out towards Mace and the twins. “He says the last thing he remembers is getting knocked off the station by a meteor, and then next thing he knows he’s back on the station two years later with nobody but that doctor of yours there.”

Something cold creeps up Isabel’s spine. “And what did the good doctor do?”

“Lied to everyone who came to rescue them.”

“Lied?”

“Said that there was some kind of misunderstanding, that Mace had been with them the whole time in a coma.” Corey shakes his head. “They made it back to Earth and Selburg disappeared. Mace looks for him sometimes.”

“That’s good of him,” Isabel says, because it is. Even if Hilbert doesn’t deserve a damn good thing anymore. Even if he infected Mace with Decima for the sake of research, for some greater good that turned out to be no good at all. Maybe it was his penance, bringing Mace back to Earth. After all, he knew the theta scenario. He probably knew there was no point in running experiments on an alien.

“You don’t sound like you mean it.” Corey looks at her, eyes narrowing. “Do you know how he came back?”

Isabel exhales. “I do.”

Corey takes a deep breath. “I’m not going to ask you to explain, but Mace will.”

“I know.”

“And be careful, when you do. Whatever it is, he already has questions.”

“What kind of questions?

“Doctors have been saying he’s in peak condition for the last five years. They also keep saying that he breaks some of their equipment.”

Psi waves, Isabel thinks. Psi waves, or alien biology, or one of those other things that Pryce and Cutter went on and on about.

Because he’s like her.

“I’ll be careful,” she says, and turns away from Corey’s eyes, back towards the shoreline. One of the twins jumps too high and crashes to his knees in the water. Mace lets go of his hand, just long enough to scoop him up and balance him on his hip. “I’ll tell him the truth, if he asks, but I’m not going to scare him away or anything.”

“Good,” Corey says quietly. “And I know we’ve never met before, but I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Isabel quirks a smile. “Thanks. I’m glad he came back to you.”

“Me too,” Corey murmurs. Mace picks up the other twin now, holding them both carefully, like it’s nothing. Like he was made to hold them. “Me too.”

 #

 Mace and Corey have to leave first, because when you have three kids you need to feed them lunch. They leave Isabel with Mace’s phone number, Corey’s number in case Mace’s phone dies, and a small collection of seashells that Kuan picked out for her.

(“I didn’t get her anything,” Sam whispers, looking absolutely horrified, and then proceeds to dump a child-size fistful of sand on each of Isabel’s thighs. “Is mud good for your skin?”

Mace, who’s reapplying sunscreen on Kuan, takes one look at Isabel’s face and laughs so hard that he has to sit down.)

And then they’re gone, and it’s Isabel, by herself on a beach. Just like she wanted.

The breeze keeps blowing. The air still tastes like salt. The waves keep crashing on the sand. There are still families around, but a few have filtered out, probably to go to lunch or school or whatever else families in Sydney have to do. Maybe they’re on vacation. Maybe they’re just passing through. Maybe she’s just passing through, although she’s not sure where exactly she’ll go after this. She still has that list: Reykjavik for Victoire, Honolulu for Kuan, Sao Paulo and Quebec and Copenhagen and San Francisco for Sam. Disneyland. New York. Boston.

She doesn’t remember getting to her feet, but the next thing she knows she’s standing in the shallows. The water’s around her ankles, lapping against her calves, gritty with sand and salt. It feels good. It’s grounding.

She’s holding her cell phone. Slowly, she punches in the numbers and holds her breath.

Renee picks up on the second ring. “Hey! I was just about to call you, I got a package from Goddard today. Apparently they archived all of your crew’s old logs on analog recorders. Less of a chance of a hacker accidentally finding some of Goddard’s dirty laundry. Hera and Dom are going to try and convert them to digital for you, although you can always come pick them up in person.”

Isabel swallows. The world seems too bright, suddenly. She’s not used to the sunlight, she might never be used to the sunlight again, she spent seven years in deep space and she was dead for three of those. Or maybe she was only alive for two of them.

She remembers Lambert’s voice. Or maybe she just remembers a ghost of it. It’d be another thing, another thing entirely, to have his logs. Or to have him in front of her. The way Mace was.

“Isabel?” Renee says cautiously. “Are you there?”

“There’s a baby here named after me,” Isabel says abruptly. It seems like the easiest entry point.

Renee goes quiet. Isabel takes the opportunity to lower herself so she’s sitting in the water. She’d forgotten what sand felt like, but it’s the kind of muddy sand that’s easy to bury your toes in. She has one foot halfway covered in mud when Renee finally says, cautiously, “We’ve only been back for two months.”

“I know.”

“That’s not enough time for that to happen.”

“She was adopted.”

“Who adopted her?”

“Mace Fisher, from my old crew.”

Another silence. This one only lasts long enough for Isabel to get the toes of her other foot into the sand, before: “Is there some kind of an explanation for this?”

“I think it’s another theta scenario.” She pauses. “Actually, I’m sure of it, because the only other option is that I just vividly hallucinated a two-hour encounter with five people, only one of whom I’d ever met before.”

“Who were the other four?”

“His partner and kids.”

“You never met them?”

“Never had the chance. Kids are all under the age of four anyways. For all I know-” Isabel swallows, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that her voice cracked. For all she knows it was just wishful thinking.

Renee sighs noisily. “Did you look them up on Facebook?”

“What?”

“Facebook. Finding a profile page to see if you were imagining them.”

Isabel blinks. “No.”

“Alrighty then,” Renee says briskly. It’s kind of a comfort: all business, no question of what it means if Isabel is seeing things, just another fact-finding mission. Isabel can hear her tap a few buttons, and then: “Hera, you busy?”

“No,” Hera says immediately. “No, I’m- Isabel! You hung up so fast earlier, was everything okay?”

“I ran into one of my old crew members,” Isabel says, as no-nonsense as she possibly can. Renee’s certainly not fooled, but Hera just might be, if she plays her cards right. “We’re trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“We’re looking for a Facebook page,” Renee explains. “Or some other kind of social media.”

“Ooooh, finally, something interesting!”

Isabel grins. She can’t see Renee, all the way in Massachusetts, but she can still imagine Renee grinning back at her. “I don’t have a lot for you to go on,” she warns. “His name is Mason Fisher, and his partner’s name is Corey.”

“Last name?”

“Don’t know.”

“Occupation?”

“Corey’s a history teacher, or at least he was seven years ago. Mace was in the military.”

“Anything else?”

“They have three kids, Sam, Kuan, and Izzy.”

“And they live in Australia?”

“Yes. Although I’m not sure where.”

Hera hums to herself. “You sure like to give a girl a challenge, I’ll tell you that. And my first Facebook search isn’t picking up anything.”

Isabel’s heart hiccups in her throat. “Nothing?”

“Not yet, but I started with all the parameters in place and I’m broadening the search as we go.”

“Try the other sites too,” Renee suggests. “Twitter, or Instagram, or whatever people are using these days.”

“I’m already running those too,” Hera says. Isabel knows that tone of voice. It’s the “I don’t want to tell you my systems are failing, but they are” voice. “I’m still not seeing anything. And I’m running Corey with an E-Y, Cory with just a Y, I’m putting K’s in there-”

“Have you tried LinkedIn?” a new voice says. “If they’re trying to fly under the radar, which they very well might be, they won’t be on Facebook, but most professionals are on there these days.”

“Oooh,” Renee says softly. “Good one, Dom.”

“Thank you. Hi, Isabel.”

“Hi, Dominik.”

“Are you still in Thailand?” Dominik asks, sounding completely unbothered by the fact that his wife’s best friend is searching for evidence of someone who might not exist. Isabel likes that about him. He takes everything in stride.

“Australia, actually.”

“Staying in the warm half of the world, I see.”

Isabel snorts. “Yeah, it’s great, it’s always sunny in Sydney.”

“Oh, god,” Renee mutters. “You know, it’s crazy to say this, but I’m still not used to the sun. Like, the actual sun, you know what I mean? Heat that isn’t from a vent, light that isn’t from a bulb…”

“Or a star outside the window,” Isabel adds. “And isn’t blue.”

“Isn’t blue!” Renee snaps her fingers. “I keep expecting everything to be blue!”

“And way colder.”

“God, way colder. And I keep forgetting about gravity.”

Isabel laughs, a little more wetly than she intends, but she can’t help it. “Earlier today I was lying on the beach, reading a book, and I went to put the book down-”

“Oh, no,” Renee laughs, like she’s already figured out the punchline to the joke. Or already lived it out a dozen times over.

“Except, of course, I just let go of it, and it fell-” Isabel smacks her knee with one hand. “Right into my solar plexus.”

Dom chuckles. “Hopefully it wasn’t too heavy.”

“Eh, just an airport paperback. Heaviest thing about it was the main character’s tragic backstory.” She sighs. “Worst part was that I cursed loudly on a public beach and almost woke up a sleeping baby, but-”

“Check your phone,” Hera says suddenly. “Is this him?”

Isabel pulls her phone away from her ear and looks at it. The message from Hera opens on its own, as messages from Hera are wont to do. It’s a professional headshot, much cleaner and more put-together than he’d been on the beach.

“Yeah,” Isabel says, a little winded. “That’s Corey.”

“Awesome,” Hera says, clearly relieved. “Corey Rapp, that’s C-O-R-E-Y, has a LinkedIn profile, thank you, Dominik. He’s still a history teacher at a secondary school north of Sydney. Government records show he adopted twins about four years ago and a daughter last year, like you said. No evidence of a spouse or partner, at least not on the record, but knowing what Goddard’s like, that doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t look like Corey has a Facebook or anything under his own name.”

“Neither do I,” Renee points out. “If anything that makes them smart. Means they’re watching out.”

“Good choice,” Dominik murmurs. Isabel agrees, would say as much if she could remember how to breathe.

Mace is here. He’s alive, more than six years after he died, and he’s also definitely an alien. She’s going to have to tell him. Maybe Corey, too, depending on how Mace takes it. She’s not the only one in the world, and somehow, that’s worse than if she were alone. At least if it were just her she wouldn’t have anything to feel guilty about.

“Lovelace,” Renee says quietly.

Isabel blinks. Her skin is hot. Right. Sunlight. Beach. She’s here. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“I’m good.”

“Hera and Dom left,” Renee says cautiously. “You kinda went dark for a minute there. Anything you wanna talk about?”

“Not really.”

“How about things you don’t want to talk about?”

“Oh, there are way more of those, don’t worry.”

“I’d be more worried if there weren’t,” Renee admits. “So. You found your alien crewmate who survived the most unlikely series of events that any human has experienced.”

“You really think that’s more unlikely than what we went through?”

“Eh.” Isabel can picture the accompanying shrug, almost jokingly nonchalant. “It’s gotta be on the list, right? Anything involving aliens is… up there.”

“Oh, up there,” Isabel mutters, and Renee makes a soft noise that somehow sounds like a smile. “How’s Doug?”

“Definitely the most well-adjusted out of all of us.”

“Hera said he got a job?”

“He works the night shift at Olive Garden. Customers love him.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Renee says, and then goes quiet, and Isabel feels… bad, for a few seconds. She’d been with Renee and Doug for a while, but what they’d had, the casual trust and the years of determination to survive, was irreplaceable. Doug-and-Renee is never going to be the same as Eiffel-and-Minkowski.

“How about you?” Isabel asks, and then kind of wants to kick herself. That’s not necessarily a better talking point.

Renee hums. “Better than I’ve been. Dom and I decided I can’t go back to the military, what with being legally dead, so I’ve been trying to put together the case against Goddard.”

“By yourself?”

“With Hera, sometimes.”

“So by yourself.”

“Mostly,” Renee admits. “I was going to wait for you to come back, but…”

But this trip was supposed to take two weeks, tops, and Isabel hasn’t come back yet. But she has a second list of places to visit. But now she found somewhere else that she could stay for a while. But you can’t plan on someone who might not come back, don’t you know that by now, Captain?

“I’ll help once I’m back,” Isabel says, which she figures is the most honest thing she can say. When she’s ready she’s going to burn Goddard to the ground. Which reminds her: “Have you heard anything from Jacobi?”

“Not yet.”

“And you haven’t tracked him down?”

“Isabel,” Renee chides. “He’s an adult, he’s not my responsibility, and if his way of handling it is leaving, then I’m not here to judge him for it.”

“So that’s a no,” Isabel says, and grins when Renee groans. “He’ll turn up sooner or later.”

“Yeah, I know. And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Fisher’s alive,” Renee says, like Isabel could have possibly forgotten. “You’re not the only theta scenario. You’re in another new country by yourself. Take your pick. I have a couple reasons to be worried here.”

And Isabel thinks about it, actually thinks about it. It’d be easy to lie, sure, but Renee would know, and she figures if they’re in this whole space trauma business together she might as well be honest.

She pulls one of her feet out of the sand, sticking it into the water. “I'm coping,” she says slowly. “It’s early yet in the process. I think I might be going through the opposite of the five stages of grief.”

“Is that going through the stages in backwards order or experiencing the opposite of each stage?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Thinking you were hallucinating could be a form of denial,” Renee says, far too thoughtful. “Or the opposite of acceptance? Is that how it works?”

“I don’t know, shrinks gave up on me, remember?” Isabel’s phone buzzes in her hand, and she glances at the screen. “Mace is calling me.”

“Then answer!”

“Okay,” Isabel says, and then, “Thank you.”

Renee doesn’t ask what she’s thanking her for. She’s smart like that. “Any time. Time zones don’t matter, just call.”

“I will,” Isabel says. It’s not quite a lie. “Talk to you soon, Renee.”

“Talk to you soon, Isabel.”

Isabel swipes over to answer. “Mace.”

“Isabel,” Mace says brightly. She almost doesn’t catch the note of surprise. “I realized I forgot to ask how long you’re in Sydney.”

“Until I leave.”

“No dates?”

“Well, you know, international travel gets a lot easier when a multibillion dollar company is footing the bill.”

“Huh,” Mace says. “Well, if you’re not busy tonight-”

“Isabel,” Renee says, sounding far too amused, and Isabel almost jumps out of her skin in surprise. “You didn’t hang up on me.”

Isabel frowns. “Apparently not. Did I make it a conference call?”

“You’re still not used to the new phone,” Renee says smugly, which is completely unfair. Phones have changed a lot in seven years, and Isabel is entitled to a few moments of staggering confusion. “That’s okay, you know.”

“Took me a while to get used to it too,” Mace says, in what’s probably supposed to be a sympathy move. “Touch screens and all.”

“You must be Mace Fisher,” Renee says, and Isabel’s breath catches. It’s so outrageously her, making a point of acknowledging that she can hear the person on the other end of the phone. “I’m Renee Minkowski. Former commander of the final mission to the USS Hephaestus Station, which is currently space dust.”

“Can’t say I’m sad to hear about that,” Mace admits. “And Captain, you owe me… so many explanations for all of that.”

“Many, many explanations,” Isabel agrees. “I can pay for drinks too.”

“I’ll leave you two to make plans now.” Renee pauses, and Isabel can feel the smugness from thousands of miles away. It’s strangely comforting. “Isabel, don’t worry, I can hang up on my own.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Isabel says as dryly as possible. “I’ll call you soon, Renee.”

“You’d better,” Renee says, and then there’s a soft beep.

Isabel exhales. “So. Drinks?”

“I probably shouldn’t leave my hotel, if Corey’s alone with the kids, but-”

“Hotel bar?”

“Hotel bar. I’ll send you the address.”

“Let me know when it’s a good time to come.”

“I will.” Mace pauses. “So, we can talk about this later, but…”

“But?”

“Renee, hm?”

Isabel groans. “Mace.”

“Are you guys close?”

“Come on.”

“No, I’m just saying, you sounded happy to talk to her.”

“That’s because I was.”

“Good,” Mace says, sounding pleased. “I have to run now, I just wanted to call and check.”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I’ll see you tonight, Mace.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” he echoes, and then there’s that soft beep again, and Isabel’s alone on the beach.

One of her feet is still buried in the sand. Carefully, she wiggles her toes. The mud squishes between them. It almost tickles, and she can feel some of the sand dissolving in the water. The shallows are still lapping around her, against her hips, her thighs, one hand that she plants in the sand while she cradles her phone in the other.

There was a point where she thought she’d never make it back to a beach. She hadn’t been to many beaches before space, and definitely not many with actual oceans. The Air Force isn’t exactly interested in destination resorts, after all. But here she is. Sitting on a beach in Sydney.

Isabel swirls her hand through the water, letting the sand cloud around her. She never thought she would feel sand again. Or sun. Or the sheer gratitude of knowing that someone else made it out alive. She has another list, one that’s been getting longer: things she’s getting to experience again. Maybe for the first time, depending how you look at it.

Sydney is bright in the summer. There are people waiting for her in Boston, and a list of cities she has to visit. There’s a stack of books on the beach, next to her backpack, underneath an umbrella. She should go back to those and make some kind of progress, or at the very least make sure nobody takes her book before she can finish it.

She stays in the ocean, just a little longer. It’s not every day that she gets the chance.

[notbecauseofvictories]

For your ask meme: what is the crew of worf 359's favorite thing about space?

“Hhhho, boy,” Doug breathes the first time he steps—floats, glides, whatever, he’s still working on his Verbs-for-Space Dictionary—onto the comms deck. Up and around and in every direction is black, except for directly in front, where it’s star. Or maybe ‘STAR!’ with the capital letters and the exclamation point and everything. Wolf 359 is bright and terrible, a neverending and boiling brightness that Doug can’t quite take his eyes off, except to look at all the vast black around it. 

Obviously, he knew he was in space before right this second. He was briefed, a whole bunch; he was made aware of what the mission entailed; he remembered that fucking awful takeoff, featuring a lot of dry heaving and Minkowski hissing at him to get a grip before she shoved him into cryosleep early. But that’s…totally different from looking out into the vast and sucking gulf of nothing much, and realizing ‘holy shit I’m in space.’

He keeps—exhaling, as though that will help.

“Are you all right, Officer Eiffel? My sensors indicate a sudden increase in your heart rate.”

It’s probably the first time he doesn’t startle at the sound of Hera′s voice echoing out of thin air, but he can’t stop staring. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he breathes. “Just…that’s a….lot of space.”

“28.5 gigaparsecs in diameter is indeed a lot of space.”

“Is that…Gigaparsecs?”

“8.8×1026 meters. That’s how wide the observable universe is.”

“Oh.” Doug was quiet for a moment. The number made sense—well, it didn’t make sense, but Doug couldn’t think how it should make sense. A number like that bounced right off you, the way Doug’s eyes couldn’t stop staring into all the blackness out the window, looking for where it stopped. If he’d been talking to Hilbert or Minkowski he’d probably have made a crack about tiny monkey brains, trying to fit the whole universe in a space that had evolved to determine which bananas to eat.

But he was talking to a sentient space station, so the joke probably wouldn’t land.

“How many of those meters between us and Earth?” Doug asked. He couldn’t sit down—again, the floating thing—but he could sort of arrange himself. The effect wasn’t as good without a swivel chair to lean back in, but he did put his feet up on the console in a way he was sure Minkowski would be annoyed about.

.”We are are currently 7.37 ×1016 meters from Earth.”

“Far, far away,” Doug said quietly.

“By any reasonable metric of distance.”

“It’d be really hard to do any damage, this far away,” Doug said, the words sliding out before he could catch them; they left a sort of aftertaste that reminded him of bad milk, chalky and sour on his tongue. 

Hera was quiet. “Ye–yes,” she finally stuttered, and Doug wondered if it was the personality module, that let her sound uncertain and…human, for lack of a better word. 

(Like a person? Sentient? He was going to have to add a whole new section to his Space Dictionary for this. People who weren’t people.)

“Yeah,” Doug agreed, peering into all the blackness that surrounded them, and the terrible bright eye of Wolf 359. To himself, he began humming Thus Spake Zarathustra, and wondered if he could annoy Hera referring to it as ‘that song from the boring part of 2001: A Space Odyssey’.

.

There are not many things in which Dmitri Elias Alexander prefers English—Russian is a far superior language, capable of both fluidity of thought and the regimented logic scientific study requires. He still dreams of Olga wreathed in their father’s affectionate Моё солнышко, her arms full of sage and mutated daises.

But Russian borrowed from the Greek, κόσμος with its inherent order, lawful and correct. Alexander has been with Goddard for—many years, and he knows that if there is government here, it is restricted to orbitals and star death. In this, he prefers the English, simplistic and true: Space. 

The universe is empty, and they are small within it. All that void, he cannot meaningfully take away from it, he cannot add to its depths. It is, eternally, and everlasting and unchanging. All he can do is all any creature can do: light a lamp, to reveal how great the cavernous darkness around them is.

Deep space is clean, in all its emptiness.

In his more poetic moments (he does not have many, but they exist, as all anomalies must to prove the rule) he imagines deep space as a great stretch of white, the Siberia of old. His step is quiet, and the snow is falling, filling in the imprints of his boots. On the horizon is the shape of a house, and he knows that there is Olga waiting, it he can reach her—

.

Somewhere amid the things Renée left back on Earth (her life, a condo, a husband, an impressive collection of period dramas, the telescope her father gave her for graduation) is the shy, somewhat sad trophy she won—Overture Award, it reads, on the cut-glass bottom. Second Place, Solo (Vocal).

Her mother had tried so hard, bless her—Renée’s gracious gorgeous mother, heir to every stereotype of French loveliness, who had failed to bequeath any share of that to her daughter. And she had tried, gently at first and then bluntly, to say that girls built like Polish peasants would never be the ingenue or the prima donna, no matter how good their voice, but…

Renée had sung anyway, and her mother had gone to her feet and applauded, and kissed her on both cheeks after. Renée had been so happy, standing between her proud mother and her indulgent father, holding her trophy high. 

She didn’t often think of that day, but—her competition piece had been stuck in her head when Goddard came calling. I’ve got an itching in the tip of my fingers—

They’d fought about it, but Koudelka had kissed her afterwards. Okay, he said. Go chase your fucking spark.

I’ll write you every day, Renée had promised.

(My room has a viewing port, she’d written. Through it, I can see a universe, waiting for me to explore.)

.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing the moon,” Hera says once, and in the dark, Eiffel laughs softly. Even that is rounded by sleep, but her sensors are sensitive to any amount of light and so she registers the flash of his teeth, the way he stirs. 

He’s very vulnerable, she’s learning. These humans, and the wetness and softness and breakability; half-blind and very dumb. She wonders if she would be so fascinated with them if she hadn’t been programmed for it.

“Do you remember anything about Earth?” Eiffel asks.

“No,” Hera says. She is listening to Doug Eiffel’s heartbeat level off to a resting pulse, and she is also watching Wolf 359 burn itself in dimensions that Doug Eiffel’s eyes could not see, not even if they were open. “This is where I was born. I’ve lived my whole life in orbit around Wolf 359.”

“It’s—good,” Eiffel slurs. From ambient EEG, she can detect the early stages of NREM activity, and she dims the lights. “You’re home,” Eiffel adds, curling deeper into his covers. “It’s good. You’re good.”

Hera watches Wolf 359 burn in infrared that night, half-listening to Doug Eiffel’s breathing, and thinking about home.

.

Lovelace had grinned so hard during initial takeoff that her cheeks had been sore for days after; she’d had to chew slowly, and resorted to a solemn nod when she passed crew members in the corridors. You (not she, that’s gendered, and you’re not sure you can even have gender, as reconstituted matter breathed into the shape of Isabel Lovelace) remember that.

It’s overlaid by later memories—the terror of Wolf 359, a fiery inferno boiling you alive and then simply engulfing you in fire; the creeping horror of death, stalking your crew through the halls of the Haphaestus. You can imagine Eiffel’s intoned in space no one can hear you scream—and that one is properly yours, because she never knew Eiffel. You think she would have liked him, mostly because you do.

There are other memories you could add here: the terror of waking up out of cryosleep; the recursive fear of Goddard’s haunted mousetraps, hung out amid the stars. The sheer, bone-deep horror of discovering you are not yourself; you are a person-who-is-not-a-person. There is no word for you, except bad, and untrustworthy and alien.

But lying in your (yours, hers was on the other side of the station) bunk at night, it’s that first memory you see behind your eyes. Watching the atmosphere melt away until there was nothing but the haze of reflected light, and there, ahead, is all of the universe. Waiting.

[canniballistics]

Olive Branches

fandom: wolf 359 pairs: none ao3 version here. written for DigitalMeowMix for yuletide 2016! it was an absolute delight to write ;u;

Tired of wrangling her new crewmates into cooperating and sick of expecting a mutiny at any time, Lovelace decides not to follow up when she hears a couple of them planning. Are they actually plotting against her, though? Or is it something else entirely? Plus, bad puns, a makeshift celebration, holy hell, and an offense to life, the universe, and everything.

"Come ooon!"

He was wheedling, but that wasn't any different from normal. In fact, it was actually becoming something of a comfort. A bit of normalcy in the middle of what was absolutely a neverending nightmare cycle of catastrophe and fixing and catastrophe and fixing. As obnoxious as it could be, from time to time, she actually somewhat enjoyed it.

"Can't she hear us right now? I don't know if you've thought this plan all the way through."

She could hear them. They didn't know it, but she could.

"She can't. It'll be fine! Now are you in, or out?"

A sigh. She should have figured. She should have known something like this would happen, knew something like this would happen; and she knew she should stay, to figure out what they were planning, how they were going to undermine her. But for some reason, today, she couldn't. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to find out. She'd had enough of treachery and betrayal and anticipating the worst; today, she would give it a rest.

Lovelace pushed away from the wall, moving herself along the corridors back up to the bridge. She'd noticed Eiffel and Minkowski acting shifty when they thought she wasn't looking; Eiffel had grabbed Minkowski, and Lovelace tailed them as they snuck off to Selberg — Hilbert's old lab, the one that Eiffel had let slip Rhea had no eyes on. Whatever went on in there, she was blind to it. It made a pretty decent war room to plan in, since one of their co-conspirators was incapable of lying to her commanding officer.

...Hera. Her name was Hera now. Not Rhea. Her name was Hera, and she was...something. A personality all her own. In all honesty, she liked Hera a lot better than Rhea. Hera could actually respond to jokes.

"Hera."

"Yes, Captain?"

Lovelace didn't want to wonder just how eager Hera would be to help Eiffel and Minkowski with their mutiny. Best to keep both of their minds off such things, at least for a little while. "What's the saltiest fish in the sea?"

It took a minute for Hera to respond. "Uh... What?"

"It's a joke. A pun, actually." Lovelace didn't look up as she pulled out navigational charts, comparing them with notes on the shuttle's repair progress and projections. "What," she repeated, "is the saltiest fish in the sea?"

"I..." Hera paused. "I know the correct answer, but if it's a pun, I'm afraid you'll have to enlighten me." Was that resignation in her voice? Hatred? Lovelace didn't want to think so, but there was a good chance of it. "What is the saltiest fish in the sea?"

"Tuna."

There was silence on the bridge. At this point, Lovelace was very pointedly not looking up, partially because she almost expected to see a quizzical face staring back at her like she was insane, but mostly because if she did, she might start laughing. It was a stupid pun. A really stupid pun. But it was so bad it was good, and one of her favorites.

Finally, finally, Hera responded. "Excuse me? How is tuna the saltiest fish in the sea? That's a terrible joke, tuna aren't even comparable to—"

"It's a chemistry joke, Hera. Remember, joke? Not literal." Lovelace cleared away the navigational charts, instead pulling up the list of repairs she still needed done. This one was a little less depressing. A little. "Na is the symbol for sodium on the periodic table of elements, right? It's 2Na. Tuna."

Hera didn't say anything, and after a few minutes it began to feel like an eternity. Lovelace stood there, listening to the ambient noises of the station, the quiet hissing of air being filtered in and out of the room, the low groans as the hull creaked. Oh god. She hadn't fried Hera's personality matrix with a bad pun, had she? "Hera?"

"That is the worst pun I've ever heard. And that's including the ones Officer Eiffel has told me."

Finally, Lovelace laughed. "Wow. That bad, huh? I'm honored, Eiffel does seem like a fount of useless phrases."

"Pft." If Hera had a physical body, Lovelace was positive she'd be shaking her head. "Just make sure he never hears that one. I'm pretty sure he stores all the really bad jokes to use on Commander Minkowski when she least expects it."

Almost as if it were divine providence, the doors to the bridge whooshed open, and Eiffel and Minkowski walked in. Both their eyes narrowed once they noticed Lovelace, though at least Eiffel's look was less suspicious.

"Did I just hear something about bad jokes? Did I miss somethin' good?" He strode in past Minkowski and Lovelace, overly casual and way too obvious with it as he relaxed into a nearby chair. "C'mon, don't be stingy. Share with the class, ladies!"

"No. Please be stingy," Minkowski groaned. She looked exhausted. So did Eiffel. Lovelace couldn't help feeling a little guilty for working them both so hard. Then, she remembered hearing them plotting. The guilt evaporated a shade. Minkowski brushed her hair out of her face, attempting to tie it back into a tight ponytail. "If I ever hear another bad joke, it'll be way too soon."

"Are you sure?" Lovelace couldn't help it, smirking just a little at her. It was an olive branch, a tiny one. A shred of camaraderie, despite knowing about their plot. She understood, after all. If she were in their position, she would probably do the same. "I'm told this one is worse than all of his previous works."

"Now you've gotta tell me," Eiffel insisted. "Captain, bad jokes only make me stronger, and if it's as bad as you say then we gotta get my power level to over 9000."

Lovelace frowned. It could only be another of his ridiculous pop culture references, but… what did that even mean? She looked at Minkowski, who only shrugged, shook her head. "Hera?"

"Nnnope."

"One of these days, Eiffel, one of your references is going to make sense to one of us." Lovelace rolled her eyes at him, a short grin. "One of these days."

"Knowing the two of you?" He yawned, stretching as he did. "Probably not ever gonna happen. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop trying, though. C'mon, did neither of you watch any Dragonball Z when you were kids? No, wait, don't tell me. You were both too busy with your Terminator training to watch cartoons. Figures."

Lovelace couldn't help a small chuckle. "I can neither confirm nor deny those charges." And in the way most contagious things went, she raised a hand to stifle her own yawn. "We worked pretty hard today. Think it might be time to call it a night, huh?"

"Really? You're giving us the night off?" Eiffel pulled out a watch, whistling low. "Captain, it's only 1900 hours. Are you feeling all right? There's still a few more things to do—"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Well, I was trying to be generous, but if you want a few more tasks, that can always be arranged."

Minkowski shot him a glare, and almost immediately, Eiffel jumped back out of his chair. "Nope! Never mind, I'm good, thanks! Night, Captain!"

It didn't escape her that both he and Minkowski left together after a polite, "Good night, Captain Lovelace," from Minkowski. She allowed herself a small smile at seeing how close they were, unable to help wondering if they'd have ever become friends if they weren't on this mission. Knowing Eiffel, probably not. So, one good thing had come from this hellscape they were all trapped in.

That was a comfort to think about, at least.

Lovelace took a deep breath, running a few more scans on the shuttle before shaking her head. She couldn't concentrate. Hera, Minkowski, and Eiffel reminded her too much of her own crew, of Fourier, Hui, Lambert, and Fisher. A slightly smaller crew this time, obviously, but the camaraderie was there, the genuine caring for each other. Of course, there was also the fact that Selberg was still alive, was going by Hilbert now, but as long as they kept him away from her, she would suffer his continued existence.

This time when she called Hera's name, it was quiet, almost none of the joviality from before. "Hera?"

"Yes, Captain?"

Honestly, she wasn't sure she wanted to ask this question. It would bother her, though, if she didn't. If she didn't at least find out. "Obviously, Cutter didn't tell Eiffel and Minkowski about my crew and I before sending them on this mission." She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the answer. "Did they tell you?" A pause. "I mean, did they keep information about us? Is there anything in your databanks about us?"

"One moment, please." Hera was silent then, and Lovelace took the opportunity to marvel at how efficient she was, even with all the things Eiffel told her had happened. She was such a contrast to Rhea and the beeps she could only give in response. And when she finally answered, it didn't surprise Lovelace at all. "I'm sorry, Captain Lovelace. There's nothing about you, your crew, or even another Hephaestus station in my memory."

Lovelace sighed. It didn't surprise her, but that didn't mean it wasn't still a bit of a disappointment. Knowing what she did of Command, she wouldn't have been surprised if they'd swept all traces of their existences from the face of the Earth, too. "I didn't think so. Thank you, Hera."

"That's not to say they don't have records somewhere, Captain!"

Lovelace narrowed her eyes, looking up. "Hera?"

She sounded a little cowed, almost embarrassed at the exclamation. "That is, I mean— I'm sure they probably have all the files on you still, somewhere, and just didn't give me access. They had to know what they'd need to improve...upon..." There was an awkward pause. "Sorry, Captain Lovelace. I didn't mean to say it like that."

There was a dark little laugh. "It's all right, Hera. I get it. And you know what, you're probably right." Just one more thing to take back when she finally got back to Canaveral.

"Captain?" That surprised her, and Lovelace cocked her head. "Can I... Why do you ask?"

Ah. She hummed. "I don't remember where I heard it, exactly." Lovelace busied herself with clearing her workspace, everything back in its proper place. "There's a belief out there that when someone dies, it's not really the end. They're still alive, as long as someone remembers them." A deep breath. God, she missed them. Even Lambert, that stick in the mud. "I still remember them. If Command wants to erase us, they're going to have to go through me first." Her fist closed, knuckles pressing into the console in front of her. "And when I get back, I'm taking whatever they have on us. As far as I'm concerned, they don't deserve to even say their names."

Hera didn't say anything while Lovelace finished tidying up. It was all right. She didn't really expect her to, especially not if Hera believed she'd really leave her behind when they left. She made her way down the winding corridors to the quarters she temporarily called her own — the irony that they were Hilbert's didn't escape her. As she changed out of her uniform, started to wind down for the night, Hera finally spoke up again.

"You're a very brave woman, Captain Lovelace. I'm sorry they did this to you."

Lovelace closed her eyes. She wasn't brave. She was angry. She was angry, and she was going to rain holy hell on Cutter and everyone else who'd decided her crew was expendable. "Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, Captain. Good night."

"Good night, Hera."

She spent the evening reviewing Eiffel and Minkowski's logs, and when she could no longer stand reading about the second Hephaestus mission, turned off the lights and went to sleep.

Lovelace woke with her former crew's voices echoing in the back of her head, Lambert scolding Fisher and Fourier as they laughed; it was a strange sensation, at once unsettling and yet comforting. She hadn't thought about them very often since boarding the new Hephaestus. Sure, she'd thought about them, about how what had been done to them was unforgivable and wrong, but not the people themselves. It was...nice to dream about the people, rather than reliving the nightmare of losing everyone one by one.

When she got to the bridge, she was surprised to find it empty. She'd given up on Eiffel waking before 1000 hours, but Minkowski was always either awake before her, or just on her heels to it. To find her not in the bridge, even after Lovelace had allowed herself an extra fifteen minutes to fully wake, came as a bit of a shock.

"Morning, Hera."

"Good morning, Captain. Or, whatever passes for morning here. You know how Wolf 359 never..sets, or anything."

Lovelace laughed. "Yeah, I'm familiar. Thanks for maintaining such a steady clock for us to judge by, by the way."

"Oh, it's nothing," Hera deflected, but there was a note of pride in her voice. "Thank you for noticing! You humans don't seem to understand just how important it is to maintain a normal routine every day. Flesh bodies are so unreliable."

A pause. "Uh huh. I'm not sure I want to know," Lovelace grinned.

"That's probably for the best."

Lovelace shook her head, but couldn't wipe the smile from her face. God, she'd missed this. "Hey, speaking of routine, can you tell me where Lieutenant Minkowski is? She's normally here before even me, it's almost weird not to see her."

"One second, please."

Lovelace stretched as she waited. How convenient would it be to be a near omni-prescient AI? Hera could scan the entire station within seconds. Maybe she was onto something about flesh bodies being inconvenient.

"Ugh!"

Lovelace frowned. That was new. "Hera? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Hera grumbled. "She and Eiffel keep going into that room. The one I can't see. He told you about it. If you're looking for Commander Minkowski, you'll find her there." Lovelace could almost imagine her crossing her arms over her chest and pouting as she continued, "I hate it when I can't see what's going on in my own station!"

That sobered Lovelace's mood a little. She'd nearly forgotten about the duo plotting yesterday. She took a deep breath, pushing away from the console she'd been holding onto. "Thanks, Hera. How about this: I'll go find out what they're doing, since you helped me find them. We'll figure out what they're doing."

"Are you sure, Captain? It might just be nothing."

"Oh, I'm sure." They'd wanted to make sure they were secretive enough yesterday. Time to figure out what their plan was, and put a stop to it.

The first sign that something was up was the marker floating in the middle of the hallway toward Hilbert's old lab. Lovelace stared at it for a few seconds before plucking it out of midair. What the hell? She paused on the threshold, trying to listen around the corner to see if she could hear anything; when all she got was hushed whispers, she closed her eyes. Sighed. So it would come to this, huh? She took a deep breath and swung around the corner—

—and just narrowly avoided crashing directly into Eiffel.

"Whoa! Captain Lovelace, careful! Are you okay?"

"I, uh— Yeah. Yes. I'm fine," she stammered. She hadn't expected to literally run into one of them. And now that she was actually in the room with them, it...didn't look like some kind of dastardly mutiny plan at all. In fact, it looked like... "What are you two doing?" She asked, nearly as confused as she'd been on seeing the Hephaestus again.

"Did we not tell you?" Eiffel looked over his shoulder at Minkowski, who had her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she worked. "Sorry, Captain, it was kind of rushed— C'mon in!" And as he ushered her into the room, he stuck his head back into the hallway, calling out, "Sorry, Hera! Borrowing the Captain for a little while!"

There was an unintelligible protest before the door slid shut behind them, and as Eiffel explained what they were doing, Lovelace couldn't help but laugh. She'd been stressing over this? She shook her head, unsure whether she'd underestimated this crew, or if she'd overestimated them. But—

"All right, I'm in," she said. "Where do I start?"

Eiffel grinned, handing her a handful of materials. "Get to work, Captain."

A few hours passed before any of them left the lab after that. Hilbert joined them once or twice to give updates on the project he'd been working on for them, giving her a wide berth as he reported to Eiffel. Lovelace noted silently that, interestingly enough, even though both of them technically outranked him, they were deferring to him for this. No doubt it was his plan, the thing he'd been trying to persuade Minkowski about yesterday. The fact he was awake so early was impressive enough by itself; that Minkowski and Hilbert were both following his directions was just ridiculous. It was endearing, though, and Lovelace found herself taking to the work.

When they were finally ready, they gathered together to concoct the final stage of the plan, and once the details were ironed out, they nodded conspiratorially, and readied to fulfill their parts.

Minkowski was first out of the room. "Hera, will you help me out? I want to see if we can patch you into that room, so that you don't have any blind spots anymore."

"Finally," Hera exclaimed. "We might be able to go in through the power conduits in engineering..."

Her voice trailed off, following Minkowski as she moved towards the engineering section. As soon as they were out of sight, Eiffel and Lovelace shot into the hall, making their way towards the comms room as quickly as they could. There was no doubt Hera could still see them, but it helped to have her attention split elsewhere. The two of them scrambled to and fro across the comms room, sticking signs and cut-out shapes all over the walls and non-vital equipment. Wherever they could, and by the time Minkowski returned, Hilbert had joined them with his contribution. He was also, quite noticeably, the only one who didn't chime in when they shouted.

"Uh, guys?" Hera sounded troubled as she spoke. "What did you do?"

Eiffel was the loudest as he and Minkowski, and to a lesser, quieter extent, Lovelace, all shouted out, "Happy birthday, Hera!"

"My... But I don't have a birthday. Comes with being artificial, y'know?"

"Pshaw." Eiffel grinned. "You're just as much a member of the crew as any of us, and your program was booted up for the first time sometime, right? Since none of us know, and we haven't celebrated it yet, we've got at least some chance of it being today!"

"So you... You did this all for me?" The room was covered in stars, and flowers, and makeshift banners, and hastily scribbled (and possibly badly translated) binary code, all with some permutation of happy birthday and you're the best and other ridiculous sentiments written across them. It was completely absurd, but... "You guys!" Hera seemed to love it. So, it was worth it.

Minkowski elbowed Eiffel as Hera exclaimed about the decorations, and Lovelace was just barely able to make out a quiet, "This was a good plan," as she did. It seemed to spur Eiffel into motion, who jumped.

"Wait!" He turned to Hilbert, who'd been loitering at the edge of the room — there was a tray in his hands, with four oddly-shaped lumps on it. If Lovelace squinted, they almost looked like… "I almost forgot the piece de resistance!" Eiffel took the tray, proudly displaying the lumps. "Now, obviously we don't have any real ingredients, and if we did I doubt Dr. Caligari here would be the guy to turn to. But I got him to whip up some—"

"The closest approximation," Hilbert interrupted, shifting uncomfortably.

"Fine, the closest he could get, to cupcakes!" Eiffel eyed the things on the tray, frowning. "Wow, Doc, you really...didn't put in any effort into these at all, did you?"

"Is rather difficult to synthesize the taste and texture of doughy substances when you have neither flour nor baking soda." Hilbert frowned, muttering, "I did the best I could with what I have, in a very short time frame."

Eiffel eyed him for a moment. "Sure you did. Anyway, I figured that, since you don't have a mouth, Hera, you'd get to celebrate by watching us eat these and try not to die horribly! And I know what you're thinking," he said, reaching out to grab Hilbert's arm and keep him from floating away. "This guy's tried to kill all of us at least once; how do we know he didn't poison these? Fair question. If you'll notice, there are four; Hilbert is going to eat one first, to prove they're safe!"

There was silence for a moment. Then, "You know what? I'm okay with this." And if Lovelace didn't know any better, she could definitely believe that Hera was grinning as she said it.

Hilbert shot Eiffel a dark look before reaching for one of the lumps; before his fingers could close around it, however, Eiffel snatched it out of his grasp and instead tossed it to Minkowski. There was a distinct harrumph as Hilbert grabbed a different one, staring at it sullenly. Eiffel offered the tray to Lovelace, who took one for herself, and then he let it float away as he claimed the last.

"You don't make cake with baking soda, by the way." Eiffel was smug as he said it. "It's baking powder. Now eat up, Doc."

"I want the both of you to remember that this was Eiffel's idea," Hilbert groused, before taking a bite of his "cupcake". His jaw worked up and down for a minute, a conspicuously chewy noise heard throughout the room, before he swallowed it, visibly straining to do so. And then he glared. "Your turns."

The "cupcake" was grotesque: it had about the same consistency as taffy mixed with oat, with a distinctly seaweed taste; within minutes all four of them were gagging and shoving the creation as far away as possible. "Ugh, that is just— That's just offensive," Minkowski moaned.

"I know, right?" Eiffel agreed, scraping at his tongue. "I can't get it to go away!"

Lovelace couldn't stop the shudder sliding up and down her spine; the taste was just so pervasive, and so disgusting. "That," she gagged, "was an offense to life, the universe, and everything in it."

"I dunno, I thought it was pretty great!"

There was an aggrieved chorus of "Hera!" from the humans. Once they got their tastebuds under control, Hilbert gathered the remains of the "cupcakes" and the tray, muttering something about disposing of these abominations; not long after, Eiffel began singing "Happy Birthday", and even managed to get Minkowski to join in.

Lovelace grinned as she watched them, and was struck with a sudden flash of her own crew, celebrating for Dr. Hui. It made her homesick, a little bit. They were great people, and she knew she would always regret that she couldn't protect them. More and more, however, she was finding that a fondness (however begrudging) was starting to form for this new crew. Maybe in time they would welcome her into their fold; who knew, maybe in letting her in on Hera's birthday, they already were. Watching them now, though, they weren't so different from her old one, and it was a comfort she was beginning to want to protect.