Piece Simul ✔

Chapter 15-Guin-Stagnation

The samples yielded fuck, and all.

Besides hallucinogens, the plantlife Samuel had fetched featured zero medicinal potential.

While the pod he had stumbled across piqued interest, it also brought more questions than answers. No crew from the StarCore vessel were recovered. The electronics on the pod had been fried, so accessing video diaries was not an option. The pod served as a reminder, a hint of what their mission could become: an empty failure.

Kevrun was a bust. Two more planets, or two more busts, and back-up protocol would take effect. As far as Guin was concerned, it was smarter to disperse the secondary plan rather than take three risks beforehand.

In between sweaty bouts with Forster, she had slyly shared this opinion. It was a pity the Captain didn't agree.

The ship was the last and final chance to find a cure. With two failed missions from years past, this third chance was symbolic, Guin could tell, and a mirror into why they were to survey three planets before giving in to back-up protocol. Three was a magic number. She had grown up in a culture of mystics and far-fetched beliefs. It had reinforced her love of scientific truth, which was really the only kind of truth that mattered.

Truth was far from Tiptree's scrambled mind. After the doctor on-board had subdued her, she could relay very little about her surface experiences. All she remembered were the images the dander had convinced her were real. Per doc's orders, she had been interred into the dura-chamber to ensure a stable recovery.

After tonight, the rest of the crew was expected to go under again, too. For some reason, Russ was refusing to enter the dura-chamber. She broached the subject during breakfast, making the slop tougher to eat for Guin than usual.

"If possible, sir, I'd like to remain awake until we reach the next assignment."

Guin laughed. Kathar was saying it was absolutely out of the question.

Forster calmly continued eating. He swallowed the multi-vitamin gruel the crew referred to as "breakfast porridge," and then said, "Why's that?"

Russ pushed the spoon about in her bowl. "Nightmares, sir."

"Must be some intense nightmares," Samuel noted.

He vocalized what everyone had to be thinking. To refuse dura-chamber sleep was paramount to torture. Their next internment was to last another three months, at least. Staying awake meant isolation, boredom, possible atrophy, and aging while everyone else stayed the same. If anything were to happen, the lone party could be left to die, discovered once the crew awoke.

Still chewing, Forster replied, "We'll talk later, Rodriguez."

Recognizing the tone, Guin could tell it was a disguised yes. He pretended to be a hard man, but he was easy to sway. Easy indeed. She thought about their last meeting, and shivered. Samuel shot her a quizzical look, but she shrugged it off. She doubted he could conceive of the moves which seemed to come quite naturally to Forster.

Had they been on Earth, he wouldn't have been Guin's first choice in partner. She preferred short brunettes, with large breasts and pouting lips. But, coupling amounted to currency. Her mother had taught her that.

Never give more than you can take from a man, because they won't give much.

Mamasan shared many bits of wisdom from her bedside. She hardly ever gave Guin a second glance, preferring to address her through the secondary gaze from the mirror reflection. Long, glossy tresses and flowing robes. That's how she remembered her mother. And all the times she had watched Mamasan apply make up, press her eyelashes, only to internally scream,

Give me something. Look at me! Look at me!

At twelve, when she let the first boy slip a hand under her school uniform, Guin had an epiphany: Mamasan would never look, because she didn't have much to give her daughter. She only had what others gave her.

That day, Guin stopped the boy's advances and asked him to complete her form essay. She left essays to the last minute, and didn't feel like doing this one. He refused, until she returned his hand, and snuck a hand down his trousers. She tugged, and tugged, then stopped. He called her a tease, but she promised to finish him, after he finished her essay. He completed the assignment an hour later, and Guin paid him in kind.

Mamasan taught her to give what she had to in order to get what she needed. For this mission, what she needed was information.

At first, Forster had been tight-lipped. Then, after drinks and many a romp, he let a few details slip. Like, back-up protocol, rations, and Control bureaucracy. The knowledge was useful, or could be. She would hold on to most of it, and reveal what would help her.

"You realize," Guin began, "the computer anticipates an anomaly at some point during the trip?"

Russ nodded.

"There's no telling what could happen if you're outside the chamber when the ship passes near it."

The young pilot sighed, eyes narrowed. "I'm aware."

Guin shrugged. "I say let her do it. She could see something worth while."

In fact, she was counting on Russ seeing something. No one had every witnessed an anomaly, or its effects. The odds of it effecting the ship were high, information Guin held onto.

"We'll talk later," is all Forster said.

Two yeses were better than one.