[SEMI-OPEN]

[acreage]

WHO: Amos Burton, James Holden, Wysteria, Ellis, and YOU
WHAT: Two spacemen fall out of a rift, later explore scenic Kirkwall
WHEN: Nnnnowish? Waves hands
WHERE: The Wounded Coast, then Kirkwall
NOTES: A closed arrival thread, plus open individual threads for meeting Amos and/or Jim after their quarantine period.

Comments

[innerharbor]

Yeah, that's not an agreement. But Amos will take what he gets. He's pretty good at making do.

"What's your read on this dump?"

Amos knows, or thinks he does, but hearing it... will help. He doesn't know how, or why, yet, but it will.

[acreage]

He crosses his arms, sighs. Since they just got done talking about the people — and the concept of magic — , he asks,

"Which part?"

[innerharbor]

"The people," Amos says. "There's like... eight fuckin' wars, but these guys aren't like the settlers on Ilus. They're not itchin' to die."

[acreage]

"They're not settlers at all."

That's what keeps hitting him, the more he hears from these people.

"This isn't like Ilus, it's like Earth. A fully inhabited planet no one knew about."

He thinks of when the Ring gates first opened, 1,300 habitable worlds. The math suggested they should expect to find other life out there, but experience said otherwise. Someone built the protomolecule, but they're gone now, and there's no way to know if their destroyers are too.

[innerharbor]

Amos squints. There are a few questions he could ask, but... the best one by far is more simple. "What's Miller say?"

[acreage]

There's a twitch of his mouth, like he can't quite manage shaping it into anything.

"We're on our own."

No sign of him here, and none to be expected after that final goodbye at Ilus. Which isn't to say Holden hasn't looked, half on instinct and half wishful thinking.

[innerharbor]

"Sure, but... did he say that?"

Help a crewmate out, here.

[acreage]

You came here to die.

If you can call this livin', pal...And maybe a hundred thousand screaming souls finally get some rest.

"We're on our own."

[innerharbor]

Once is a question, twice is a promise.

"Then I still wanna know," Amos says, "what you think about the people. Not their history, fuck that. That's not our problem."

[acreage]

"I trust them," he says finally, slowly but not unwillingly. "For now. They've been straight with us so far, and people risked their own lives to help us. They didn't have to; so that's not nothing. I'm not saying this organization is going to be any better than RCE, or the OPA, or Earth, or Mars, so we'll have to keep our eyes open. But there are some decent people around here, and we do need the help."

[innerharbor]

Amos nods, slowly taking it in. All he needs is a plan, instructions, even if it's 'hurry up and wait'. "Yeah," he says, nodding slowly. His expression is the blank sort he gets when he's thinking and forgets to put on the fake smile.

"We'll both figure out who they are in enough time." A yawn, a stretch, Amos lays back on his cot. "I'll figure out how to live without 'em, if they're bad news."

Money, fighting, killing. That's the same everywhere.

Hopefully.

[acreage]

To both things, he says, "We'll do it together."

As crew; friends; family.