Icarus (Sci-fi/Time-travel|IC|Open)

[Lara Monia]

Emily Wilson
____________

Emily glanced between the other women in the room. She obviously wasn't shy about nudity, but she took Hannah's use of the shower as an indication that she was uncomfortable about it. She took the bundle of clothes into it and changed quickly. It wasn't immediately familiar, but Emily had worn some costumes before that included robes. She also gently removed the stud from her lip and set it on a cloth in the bathroom.

"If only we were going to Athens," she said with a nervous laugh, coming back into the main room. "This might actually be helpful." She anxiously rubbed her tattoo again. She didn't know much about Greece, but even she knew that Athens = Owls. That was about the extent of her knowledge that didn't come from 300, she didn't even know where this place they were going was.

"I guess it's time to go blonde again..."

[Mercatus]

Marcus Lennox

After briefing had concluded, Marcus left the bridge a little confused about what gear he was supposed to use. He wasn't very well versed in history, much less Greek history or terminology. What in hell was a xiphos? Or a himation? A chiton?

I guess it doesn't matter at the moment, maybe I'll find out when I reach the armory. Also, to think that Hannah believes she's MY captain? Hell no. I don't take orders from civilians.

Walking somewhat slowly from the bridge, he had some time to really process whatever the fuck had happened. Until now, he'd just been going with the flow, questioning his surroundings very little. He remembered his fellow pilots and friends, all of whom had died at the hands of those damned space lizards. The good memories he had made, the countless times he's saved their asses and when they'd saved his, Marcus was hit with the fact that he would never see them again like a train. He halted his walk momentarily upon these thoughts breaching his mind, and then continued to the armory, an expression of stone-cold stoicism on his face. Most of all, he missed his beloved wife and son. He'd wanted to really start spending a lot of time with them, especially his son, after he decided he didn't want to be a commissioned officer anymore and got promoted to Major. However, that would never be possible again, unless...

Wait! I'm on a motherfucking time machine, who am I to say I can't find a way to bring them back? If I can go anywhere at anytime and change anything, then I just might be able to see them! Of course, I'd have to figure out how to do such with everyone watching me like a god damn hawk, but- I don't know. Judging by what they say is at stake, I have to at least consider whatever bullshit future they want to save.

Stopping himself before anymore ideation of accomplishing a selfish goal, Marcus picked up his pace toward the armory, but only slightly. He knew making such a choice would be deciding between seeing those he loved again or his duty as a US pilot to defend Americans at any cost, even though only a few people on the Icarus were Americans. He decided to let such a choice bother him later. As he continued, he heard what sounded like... screaming? It was a foreign language, for sure, but not one Marcus hadn't heard before. It was distinctively Danish, he'd served alongside pilots from Denmark before. It was sure loud, as the sound carried itself through the whole ship, but again, the Icarus was a tiny ship. Marcus made a detour to investigate what was going on, and he soon identified it as coming from the pod bay where he'd woken up in this shitty new reality

Upon reaching the pod bay, he silently observed, from a distance, a screaming man and a few of the others who loomed over him. He appeared to be exclaiming a name, repeatedly. Yrsa? It sounded female, and Marcus realized that this disquieted new arrival likely lost someone dear to him just before he died as Marcus did. Be it a wife, sister, or mother, losing someone so close was something Marcus understood all too well. It had happened to him twentysomething too many times.

I feel you, man. I may not know who you are and where or when you came from, but I understand. Take care.

Marcus observed the scene for a little while longer, remembering everything about his short-lived family as he did. Several daggers stabbed at his mind as he remembered the day he proposed to Martha from when he first found out she was pregnant with little baby Jacob. It was all too much for him, and he left, giving a mental goodbye to the mysterious screaming Dane before resuming his journey to the armory. He heard the screaming abruptly die after a while. As he walked, he tried to comprehend how fucked up this whole situation was for everybody involved. People ripped away from their families and friends, or perhaps vice versa. For a moment, Marcus wondered if he'd have rather remained dead than been resurrected here.

When he reached the armory, he bore a very depressed, sorrowful look on his face, yet it was one also filled with rage and anger at himself and his inability to save his family and comrades. Taking a look at the racks of weapons and armor, he looked to see if the items on display had any labels identifying what they were. Finding a rack of short, stout swords labeled Xiphos, he picked one up, the weight of the iron feeling good in his hand. It was weight that commanded a capable edge. He then looked for armor or clothing that would fit the time period he and others would be venturing to, and soon he found display cases labeled Hoplite Armor, each containing a full set of the ancient garments and armor. He grabbed one set off of the mannequin it was being worn on, and took his newfound gear to his quarters.

Upon getting re-dressed in period appropriate gear, Marcus left his quarters to join the others, helmet off of course, knowing he'd look somewhat ridiculous waltzing in like some stage actor in full costume. Upon emerging to where everyone else seemed to be gathered, Marcus observed everyone's clothing choices. The Confederate, likely of very little education, had mistaken a toga for being a piece of Greek clothing. Others had on what he assumed were the chitons and himations Hannah had mentioned earlier. The women of the group who had come back from changing clothes were dressed like...

Oh motherfucking God, I can't believe they would choose to fill that role, even in the name of "saving reality" or whatever other bullshit they came up with. Seriously, ancient Greek hookers? I may or may not have seen a couple of cosplaying prostitutes in those outfits on my shore leave to Vegas.

Stunned at the roles they had decided to take, Marcus loudly addressed the women, "Um, I know this mission is like, important and stuff, and I know it's the world's oldest job, but really, Greek hookers? I'd think y'all wouldn't stoop that low to get this done."

[Dyelli Beybi]

Cornelia Quinta

Hannah's cabin looked exactly like the others. That was disappointing. As a Roman, Cornelia expected someone's superiors to have better living conditions than them, but Cornelia found a lot of her values dashed on the ground.

What was a shower? Cornelia imagined a rain shower, which meant pouring water on the back of your head. Cornelia wouldn't like that—probably would destroy her carefully dyed blonde hair that had somehow stuck with her on the ship—and she preferred the baths any day. Although this ship seemed like it didn't have enough room for baths.

Cornelia sat Hannah in front of a mirror, ready to do her hair. Cornelia did Hannah's hair in this style. As for makeup, Cornelia set out some blush, eyeliner, and concealer that was maybe too light for Hannah's skin tone. "Do what you like," said Cornelia. "White skin means you don't work outside, anyway. And only prostitutes wear makeup." Cornelia grabbed the pair of sandals she snatched earlier from under her himation. "There you go. You're all set for Greece."

"Thank you!" Hannah took a few moments to take stock of her own reflection, looking faintly surprised by what she saw, "You know it is a pleasure to have found a few level headed and helpful people on the ship," she remarked, with a smile, "I'd normally say this is all very impractical, but since my job at the moment is mostly to just look pretty and hang off someone else's arm then this is the most practical getup I could think of. Having your help getting me looking right makes me feel a lot less nervous."

"Also with names, I was thinking of going with 'Artemisia'," she said with a slight smile, "If there was any woman in Greece, who I think I could do with a bit of inspiration from, it would be the first Artemisia."

Any further conversation was cut short by a number of people undergoing sartorial emergencies...

Charles Louisson:
It was quiet on the bridge. Just as he had expected, but it seemed too quiet, and he did not know what to do. He was ready for the mission, yet everyone else was still getting ready. Charles sighed and decided to find Hannah so that he could do something useful and productive. "Captain? Sorry to bother you, but, uh, as you can see, I am all ready for the mission. Are there any tasks or things I should be doing? Also, would I be wearing this right? It feels somewhat uncomfortable." he gestures to his tunic which had accidently been put on backwards.

"No bother," Hannah stood up, approaching Charles, "Nothing to do right this second, but we'll be landing soon and you will be playing some diplomat or camp follower... thought of a name yet?"

"Pull your arms inside the tunic," she added as she waited to see what Charles had come up with. When he did, she took hold of the fabric, tugging the item around so it was facing the right way before remarking, "Better! No doubt you'll look tall to the Greeks, a proper Adonis! You'll be fending the old Generals off!" she added with a cheeky grin... though that was actually a possibility.

Teng Nuan

...

The pants, as it turned out, were too long and loose on her, but not so much that she could not wear them. The real problem was putting on the tunic. It was so flowy that, when she put it over her head, she quickly got stuck in it. She couldn't undo her actions to remove it or finish putting it on. In every direction there was more material, like this thing was a trap, and maybe it was.

She did not know in had become wrapped around her legs until she tried to take a step forward--and fell. With a screech, she flopped to the ground, still wrapped in the accursed tunic. "Gaaaaah!"

Then there was Teng Nuan who seemed to be having difficulty with the tunic. It appeared to be slightly too long for her. Hannah stepped over, helping the other woman up to her feet, "We need either a shorter chiton for you or to get this one hemmed. When you're standing your feet should be visible and you shouldn't be tripping over yourself. Do you know how to hem a garment?" she asked, "I can if you aren't familiar.
I've got some safety pins on the dressed for now, in any case," she said, motioning at where Cornelia had got the makeup from.

Hannah could be a little bit of a hoarder and hated the idea of not being able to fix a situation on her own. In her early time exploring the ship she had scavenged together a pretty good collection of garment repair equipment (some of which, incidentally, could also be used for emergency human repairs). Needles, thread, pins, spare buttons: anything she thought she might need in a pinch.

Emily Wilson
____________

Emily glanced between the other women in the room. She obviously wasn't shy about nudity, but she took Hannah's use of the shower as an indication that she was uncomfortable about it. She took the bundle of clothes into it and changed quickly. It wasn't immediately familiar, but Emily had worn some costumes before that included robes. She also gently removed the stud from her lip and set it on a cloth in the bathroom.

"If only we were going to Athens," she said with a nervous laugh, coming back into the main room. "This might actually be helpful." She anxiously rubbed her tattoo again. She didn't know much about Greece, but even she knew that Athens = Owls. That was about the extent of her knowledge that didn't come from 300, she didn't even know where this place they were going was.

"I guess it's time to go blonde again..."

Emily, meanwhile was going to dye her hair, "I'm not sure if Greek women went in for tattoos or not," Hannah put in, "Either way your one looks pretty modern. We'll dab a bit of concealer over it and you'll be fine. I'm sure you'll make a lovely blonde... though we can always make you pink again later. I read the Greek men were into blondes... maybe we should switch places!" she joked.

While she was waiting for Emily and Nuan to get themselves sorted she gave lute an experimental strum, before grimacing and fiddling with the tuning pegs. By the time the pair were ready she had managed to get the lute into tune, giving it an experimental strum, before nodding in approval to herself and beginning to gently strum an E minor, switching to a C and then a D as she hummed something to herself, before eventually singing over the top,

"All the time that's lost
What's the final cost
Will I really get away?
All my life it seems
Just a crazy dream
Reaching for somebody's star..."

She trailed off, nodding to herself. She had a reasonable voice; she had probably had some singing lessons back in the day, "I think I might be able to pull this off. It's not too different from a guitar... or a pandura. If I slow down the tempo and don't try to sing in Greek so the rhythm still works, I think I can pull of the 'sophisticated entertainment' bit... though they won't understand a word. Hopefully they won't be paying too much attention! If not, we can just claim it's a Sarmatian ballad or something. In any case it's the only thing that looks about right that I have a realistic chance of playing competently. Shall we see what the others are up to?"

Marcus Lennox

...
Upon getting re-dressed in period appropriate gear, Marcus left his quarters to join the others, helmet off of course, knowing he'd look somewhat ridiculous waltzing in like some stage actor in full costume. Upon emerging to where everyone else seemed to be gathered, Marcus observed everyone's clothing choices. The Confederate, likely of very little education, had mistaken a toga for being a piece of Greek clothing. Others had on what he assumed were the chitons and himations Hannah had mentioned earlier. The women of the group who had come back from changing clothes were dressed like...

Oh motherfucking God, I can't believe they would choose to fill that role, even in the name of "saving reality" or whatever other bullshit they came up with. Seriously, ancient Greek hookers? I may or may not have seen a couple of cosplaying prostitutes in those outfits on my shore leave to Vegas.

Stunned at the roles they had decided to take, Marcus loudly addressed the women, "Um, I know this mission is like, important and stuff, and I know it's the world's oldest job, but really, Greek hookers? I'd think y'all wouldn't stoop that low to get this done."

Upon returning to the rest of the crew she then needed to square off against Marcus who had apparently been asleep during the briefing earlier and had decided to make a song and dance about her decision to play a hetaera. Most people seemed happy to rub along with each other and take what she had to say onboard. Even Clarence was playing ball, even if he hadn't quite got his head around how not to offend the other crew members, "Zapp! Inciteful comments, as always," she said, squaring off against him, hands on hips, "I suppose you have spent your time researching another suitable role where I can get into a male only simposium? No? Oh... I get it! You'd rather I was back here, pining for the men folk and possibly cooking up a nice steak and chips to worshipfully serve up to our conquering lads upon their heroic return. Maybe a little bit of red wine to go with it? Couldn't have me looking like the classical equivalent of one of the girls you watch going at it online. That would just be crass and totally erode any legitimate claim I have to leadership! A level head, sympathetic attitude and commitment to the mission are, as you so rightly pointed out, far less important than the way I have chosen to dress in front of a whole bunch of strangers I'll never see again. Oh what a silly woman I am!"

"I don't care about my 'personal pride'. That died years ago," she said bluntly, dropping the sarcasm, "I will do whatever is necessary to complete the mission I have been given. In this case, the best route forward involves me dressing up as someone's expensive courtesan and hanging off his arm in a party so I can get close to a man whose life I am going to save. Even were I not trying to save human history, even were I not trying to stop the meddling of a rogue time traveller, saving a man's life is worth putting on some colourful clothing and pretending someone is paying me to be his lover. So no, I wouldn't stoop 'that low'. I will do whatever it takes to get the job done. Nothing less."

---

Meanwhile, outside...

Lord William

...

He turned to look at the others and smiled slightly at the others and stated, "Well...I think my father would die from shock if he knew I had turned horse thief..."

He turned back to the opening and was in the front of the group as the ship's side opened to show the dimly lit country side. In the distance the faint light of the farmstead and its soon to be purloined occupants could just be made out.

The 'lights' would come as something of a surprise to a more modern person. A couple of camp fires burned and that was about it. The majority of people, it seemed, had gone to sleep with the dusk, with only one or two fires burning to mark where farm hands had huddled for warmth as they watched the animals. There were still predators that stalked the Greek hills in this time.

To the North-West was a collection of low buildings, with pale walls and tiled roofs - the farm. Presumably there would be a stable there with some riding tackle, even if the horses were all in the field. It would be pretty easy to avoid the farm hands, who, when one was visible, seemed to be carrying burning torches, though that did present an entirely different problem. They needed to hike the best part of a mile across broken ground in new footwear, in the pitch black of a night without the omnipresent light of a modern city and without the benefit of even a gravel path. There was the distinct possibility of a sprained ankle if people didn't move slowly and it would be inadvisable to try to gallop back with a horse... not unless you wanted the horse to trip and break a leg. The group would need to be quiet and try to get in and out before anyone noticed what had happened. They probably would before the crew got back to the ship at which point they would also need to keep their cool as they made their way back again.

[Grenartia]

Phoenix
"[i]Oh, how delightful. An actual Confederate. He's just as liable to cause an unnecessary fight as he is to prevent one." Phoenix thought to herself. "Speaking of leadership, have you decided on who's going to be the figurehead on this op, Hannah?" she asked.

Hannah shook her head, "No... I know what we need, but I'm not sure who. They must be a man to fit in with the conventions of the time. They must be a team player who isn't going to derail this mission. They should have a reasonable knowledge of Classical Greece. Honestly, I haven't had an opportunity to talk to people yet, but if anyone wants to stick their hand up, I'm open to suggestions."

Phoenix mused for a few moments while Hannah went and scolded at a few people, and helped a few others. It seemed like Hannah had the unenviable task of herding cats. Honestly, the only real disqualifying factor for Phe to play the figurehead was a lack of knowledge of Ancient Greece.

"What do you mean this isn't Greek? This is what the fancy voice from nowhere told me about when I asked about Greece. G-R-E-A-S-E."

The one word he could spell, and he somehow still whiffed it.

"I asked this here fancy...uh...what's that word...com-pew-ter? Yeah, I asked this thing called a com-pew-ter to tell me about Greece. Spelled it and everything. It showed me a bunch of odd fellows dancing about and singing, but that didn't sound right. So I went a searching through this here uh...date-a-base I think it said. And I went looking for something related to that. And I found this here funny moving picture called Animal House. And they was wearing these here toga things and they was part of something Greek. So if I got this wrong, it's the com-pew-ter's fault."

A few moments of silenced passed.

"Say, do you know these fancy moving pictures from the future have nekkid ladies in it? Used to be the only way to see a nekkid lady on the ranch was to make one of the more good looking slave girls work nekkid for the day. I mean, good looking for a darkie anyway. I still wouldn't touch them. Pappy though...I never said nothing cause he'd have broke my neck if I did, but there was a few light skinned slave kids on the ranch that looked a little like him..."

Phoenix walked over to Johnny Reb and snuck a Gibbs Slap on him. "A wise man once said 'It’s better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than open it and remove all doubt.'"

[The African Emirates]

Ted Jackson

Leona Helstrom

"By ‘poking around’, I meant to just look for stuff, but that’s secondary to fun right now,” he added, holding in a small laugh.

“Well, I’ve already told you a bit of my story, can I hear about yours?”

Leona thought about the cold moon of Triton and the domed settlements that she had been used to for almost her entire life in there, two worlds in one. She had heard Ted's story, at least the parts that he was comfortable sharing to someone who he had just met less than an hour ago in a timeship of all places.

Now that she thought of it, maybe someone she knew was currently entombed in one of the stasis pods, sleeping until some kind of happenstance causes them to awake. For some reason, some were still not open; maybe they were to awaken right when they're needed.

"I'm from a colony in the Neptunian moon of Triton." Leona replied to Ted as the two started walking towards the recreation room. She looked up at him; Ted had nearly a foot on her. At this rate, she was going to get a stiff neck soon. "It was called Kall Fästning... I lived in a domed settlement, with artificial gravity and atmosphere making sure everyone in there grew normally, lest they abnormally tall or have weaker physiques than people from Earth. Anyway..."

She started fishing her pockets in search for her locket... but she realized that she didn't have it. No one got anything from their old lives, after all. At least, that was as far as she could tell.

"Um, anyway, I was found to be quite gifted academically, so a foundation got me a scholarship and sent me to study in a university on Earth. I'd also get my Master's on that blue and green ball, and... well, I went back to Triton, spending pretty much the rest of my years as a researcher in the Triton Institute of Sciences. I did meet this boy though, who eventually became my husband and the father of my two children."

Leona chuckled. He had died only a year before she did, and the heartbreak of his passing was still coursing through her veins. Though that was not too apparent right now. "His name was Grisha, though I called him Greg, because Grisha is just short for Gregory."

“Huh, lucky guy.”

Ted cringed internally at that, but didn’t show it.

Really, "lucky guy"? Was that the best you could do?

He continued, “I always wanted to get off of Earth, but despite how easy it was I never did. Guess it was good that I didn’t.”

She continued walking, silently at first, and then stopped and looked up at Ted yet again. "We're from different universes, Ted. In my reality... the Ragons never invaded Earth. And in yours, they did... what was it like-, no, I'm sorry, I shouldn't..."

F*ck. Ted hadn’t really got the opportunity to think about his situation, but now that he did, it was like sighting a tsunami on the horizon. Ted stopped dead in his tracks.

“It… It’s fine.”

That was a complete lie. He had prepared for everything during his time alive, but that didn’t mean he liked change. Quite the opposite, actually. While his external emotions shut down after the Ragon invasion, his 12 years in New Lowell were exhausting to his psyche as he bottled up the lifetime of pain. Now, on this strange timeship, he felt as though a large boulder - no, the entire world - had been lifted off of his back. The constant stress was also what was keeping Ted from completely folding, and his eyes threatened to shed tears that hadn’t been felt for years.

No, no, no no no NO NO! I can’t break down now, not in front of some woman I just met!

The long-held surge of pain slowly subsided, but not before a few tears slipped out. Rubbing his eyes, Ted hoped Leona hadn’t seen anything.

“Well, we’re far from any Ragons now, right?”

Ted put on another smile, but it was visibly much more shaky than before. He hoped Leona hadn’t noticed that either as he opened the door to the rec room.

[Western Fardelshufflestein]

Teng Nuan

She fought the tunic for some time, until, after she had finally accepted her fate as its prisoner, someone helped her to her feet--Hannah. The Captain was everywhere, always helping everyone. But her help was short, and then she was gone. And then Nuan had to wait to see Hannah until after she had given short help to everyone else.

Hannah freed Nuan from the tunic. She asked Nuan if she knew how to hem a garment. Nuan nodded silently, still shaken from being trapped in a piece of clothing, and she knew she could not wear this tunic. It had trapped her; it was her enemy. Perhaps it was a lesson from the gods, or an omen, but whatever the reason, she could not wear it.

She did not want to bring bad luck upon the mission. She hastily removed the tunic, fortunately not getting stuck in it this time, and made her way over to the place where the garments were spread out, and looked for one with a tiger sewn into it. She examined each and every article, but no, none of them bore the sigil of protection. There was nothing that would bring good luck.

What kind of people were they visiting, people who did not understand the power of the spirits and the animals? Barbarians? But, no, she had to put these clothes on. The gods had sent her here for a reason. She had to fulfil their wish, and the wishes of her ancestors. She had to honor her family.

They all thought she was dead. They could never imagine she would be taken to this place, to go on such an unimaginable journey. And how could they? Such a thing was impossible...except for people who lived thousands of years down the road.

She picked up a tunic, small, simple, dark blue. One that also had no sleeves, but it was plain and coarser than the first tunic she had tried. A type of tunic that a soy farmer would wear.

She put it on, and had no trouble. It was perfect. Well, it was still too flowy, and she felt a bit exposed, but it stayed in place.

Now, the jewelry piece. She had no idea how to wear it, but she knew she must. Hannah was bedecked in lots of jewelry; there was nothing wrong with Nuan wearing at least one piece, and she would still be a face in the group. No one would pay special attention to her. But she would be there, going on the journey. On the road, as the gods needed her to be.

[Ameriganastan]

Phoenix walked over to Johnny Reb and snuck a Gibbs Slap on him. "A wise man once said 'It’s better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than open it and remove all doubt.'"

"What, what did I say? I even said they were cute for darkies. That's a compliment! "

He rubbed the back of his head in annoyance.

"Can't even say something nice about the coons without you future people getting offended. Makes me glad I died when I did. Now where is this thingamajig they was saying I need to wear?"

While he began digging, he decided to try and strike up a little conversation with Phoenix.

"So, future boy. You're from Louisiana, ain't yeah? I can hear a little of that accent. Means we're practically neighbors. Met a lot of you Cajun sorts during the war. So, where specifically is ya from? Me, I'm from a little town called Houston in Texas. Nice country out there."

[Nagakawa]

Kang Jae-hyun

Jean was still a little nervous around the former VietCong fighter, if only because of the animosity between Vietnam and its former colonizer. However, judging by how chill and nice Durong... Duwong... Young had been for the last few moments, he figured that there was probably nothing to be afraid of. "Aaahh, yes, we'll let you know if you're, ah, particular skill set is needed. Have a good smoke, I guess..."

"So, uh... I guess we'll just be hanging around here, then? Wanna get a drink first?"

"I think we should be sober if we're going to save someone from being assassinated by a Time traveler..." Jean remembered how he got drunk during academy, resulting in being disciplined by the guidance office for unruly behaviour and obscenity. Those were fun days indeed. "But, I'm done for something like... tea, or hot chocolate. Or coffee! Oh, and I don't remember... have you told me your life story? I already pretty much said mine back at the mess hall during lunch. Plus Hannah was already adding to mine as well. Or not, if you had a, um, traumatic life."

“My, uh, life story?”

Jay seemed to be mildly perplexed by Jean’s question- or rather, perplexed that Jean found it worthwhile asking. Not that it was particularly unusual or out of character for Jean to do so. It just so happened that Jay had never found his own life all that interesting to talk about. Not in recent memory, at least.

“There’s... uh... really nothing that interesting”, he replied in a soft voice, his cheeks turning red and his gaze shifting uncomfortably away from Jean’s. “I did all the usual things that kids do. You know, go to school, earn a degree, get a job...”

He fell silent for a brief second, hoping that Jean would ask about his adult life, so that he could have an excuse to rant and moan about how awful it had been, how nobody could understand the pain he’d had to put up with on a daily basis and how nobody bothered to even consider that his feelings then had been valid, just because it seemed as if everything was going fine for him on the outside. Almost instantaneously, as he cleared his throat, Jay decided to tell all anyway.

“I, well, didn’t have a very interesting job”, he explained, his voice indecisive and furtive, almost as if he was confessing a crime. “I was a public relations manager for a big bank. Everybody wants to work in a big bank because it pays well, so that’s kinda what I decided on. My parents were happy... heck, everyone was happy except me. I barely had any friends. It was just the same old shit every day. Go to work at 8am, slog my ass off in the office all the way to, what, 7pm? Maybe 6pm if you’re really lucky. And then I’ll just head to the bar and get wasted with Kyo-hong and Tae-chul and get wasted, like, every day... it’s such a miserable existence. Who cares if I earn more money than 90% of other people, when I’m too fat and depressed to spend it on anything but alcohol and sleeping pills? Hell, my girlfriend left me because I wanted the promotion more than I wanted to even talk to her. Honestly, for someone as boring as me, what’s the point of...”

Jay froze. He could feel searing hot steam rising from the bottommost pits of his chest cavity, crawling its way up out of his throat and boiling over out of his face. His breathing had become laboriously manual, like a bicycle pump attempting to inflate a tire that was about to explode.

“I... I’m sorry.” He chuckled. “I don’t mean to bore you with my life story. But that’s how it’s been for me, for over ten years. I haven’t got a clue why they found me interesting enough to resurrect me here.”

For a moment, Jay felt as if he had had all his energy sucked out of him. He felt like he wanted nothing other than to crash in his bed and fall asleep, never to wake up again. But he’d broken his fall by a mere thread.

“But I’ve been given a second chance at life”, he said, partly to himself and partly to Jean. “A chance to... I don’t know... try something new? A second life? Heck, may as well do something, right?”

In truth, however, Jay didn’t fully mean what he said. As much as he wanted to seize this opportunity to turn himself around, to live for himself rather than for societal expectations, something within him held him back, nudging him in the other direction. For as much as he wanted to take the plunge, an equal part of him wished to remain in the warm embrace of the familiar. To settle down and to stay put.

To return things to the way they were...

“Anyway”, he said, pausing again. You always say that word ‘anyway’ when you’re trying to distract yourself from these uncomfortable dilemmas. “Anyway, some tea sounds good. I could do with a bit of a boost before we head out into, well, Ancient Greece.”

...

[Europa Undivided]

Leona Helstrom

“Well, we’re far from any Ragons now, right?”

"They're 2 and a half million light years away from us, Ted." Living through Ragon occupation must have been a traumatic experience for the guy. From what she had heard from the Dhasath and Kiellar immigrants that had flooded into the solar system after the obliteration of the Ragon Empire at the hands of the Concord and the fall of the Command, those reptilian aliens were vicious predators. The Dhasath were driven to near extinction by those monsters, and the Jokari were mostly rendered into a horde of livestock until the Empire was finally crushed. Such was their threat to the Milky Way and Andromeda alike that a whole alliance of nations fought them until they bled dry. They were devils, hellborne spawns of Lucifer himself that left a trail of death and destruction in their wake. It is indeed a great blessing that her Earth never experienced the hell that was the Ragon. May comfort dwell in those that came from a world that was devoured by the reptilian demons; Ted, Jean-Luc, Hannah, and Marcus, to name those she recalled to have mentioned to have come from the dark timeline.

Ted put on another smile, but it was visibly much more shaky than before. He hoped Leona hadn’t noticed that either as he opened the door to the rec room.

Unfortunately (fortunately?), Leona noticed those tears that fell off Ted's eyes. She had seen those a thousand times, most commonly when a patient knew that they were dying, and couldn't accept it. Or when one of her kids told her about a terrible thing that had happened. Or when an alien immigrant was her friend told Leona about narrowly being devoured by a Ragon in a battle...

"Hey." Leona gently squeezed Ted's wrist. "I, uh, I know that we literally just met, but since we're going to spend a very long time here together with everyone else... I'll just say that you can tell me anything. Um. Yeah."

What are you doing?

"Anyway, what were we going to do again? Ping ping, was it?"

---

Jean-Luc Lafayette

“There’s... uh... really nothing that interesting”, he replied in a soft voice, his cheeks turning red and his gaze shifting uncomfortably away from Jean’s. “I did all the usual things that kids do. You know, go to school, earn a degree, get a job...”

Is he blushing?, Jean wondered, watching Jay's expression change as he started talking about himself. He honestly looked like one of those girls in those old Japanese cartoons that blushed while saying 'baka'. Except, he was talking about his life here. His... boring, life, according to him. Why does it look like he is... oh, he is. Why are you looking away like that... don't tell me-

Jean-Luc continued to listen to Jay's life story, from his boring job to the tiring routine of his every day. It sounded like his pain in life came not from catastrophes such as alien invasions or world wars, but rather, the monotony of life; the struggles of a salaryman with no purpose in life.

And now, he got a purpose. Save the world... isn't it now?

“I... I’m sorry.” He chuckled. “I don’t mean to bore you with my life story. But that’s how it’s been for me, for over ten years. I haven’t got a clue why they found me interesting enough to resurrect me here.”

You're as red as a tomato...

"Maybe that is why they resurrected you to begin with." Jean patted Jay at the head, being careful not to mess his hair. "You're someone that knows normalcy, a life that wasn't messed with by a great war or alien invasion. Most of us here seemed to have died through violent ways or lived through war..." Jean looked down at his own hands, vividly remembering them being torn off by a dozen mouths and a thousand teeth. "It could just be cold comfort, but at least you didn't live in fear every day like Hannah and I did. But of course... who would have known..."

“But I’ve been given a second chance at life”, he said, partly to himself and partly to Jean. “A chance to... I don’t know... try something new? A second life? Heck, may as well do something, right?”

"Might as well..." There were all given a second life, after all. They all died and were raised back from the dead. "Other than being time cops, I imagine we have a whole other purpose here. Maybe we can make it ourselves."

“Anyway”, he said, pausing again. You always say that word ‘anyway’ when you’re trying to distract yourself from these uncomfortable dilemmas. “Anyway, some tea sounds good. I could do with a bit of a boost before we head out into, well, Ancient Greece.”

"Tea it is then. Perhaps we can even get boba tea," Jean replied jokingly. "One more thing, though. Just for comfort." Jean-Luc quietly gave Jay a cozy hug with a smile on his face, lingering for a few seconds.

This is... nice.

"There, there, now... let's get tea. Hot or cold?"

[Voxija]

Cornelia Quinta

"Thank you!" Hannah took a few moments to take stock of her own reflection, looking faintly surprised by what she saw, "You know it is a pleasure to have found a few level headed and helpful people on the ship," she remarked, with a smile, "I'd normally say this is all very impractical, but since my job at the moment is mostly to just look pretty and hang off someone else's arm then this is the most practical getup I could think of. Having your help getting me looking right makes me feel a lot less nervous."

"Also with names, I was thinking of going with 'Artemisia'," she said with a slight smile, "If there was any woman in Greece, who I think I could do with a bit of inspiration from, it would be the first Artemisia."

Any further conversation was cut short by a number of people undergoing sartorial emergencies...

Cornelia smiled. Anyone would like being called level-headed and helpful, especially when Hannah said she was among the few. It was certainly the opposite of what people had said about her back in Ancient Rome. Her husband and his friends had accused her of levitas, or having too much fun. It was a very feminine vice.

Artemisia? Like the Artemisia who betrayed the Greeks to join the Persians? Cornelia had the same sort of dread as when she heard the ship was called the Icarus. But then again, Artemisia was very Greek, and Cornelia's own alias came from a slave. Before Cornelia had a chance to voice her objections to the name "Artemisia", some of Cornelia's fellow crewmates came in with wardrobe malfunctions and ill-fitting clothes. That was strange, since Cornelia considered Greek clothes easy to put on. But then again, anything was easy to put on next to a toga.

Emily, meanwhile was going to dye her hair, "I'm not sure if Greek women went in for tattoos or not," Hannah put in, "Either way your one looks pretty modern. We'll dab a bit of concealer over it and you'll be fine. I'm sure you'll make a lovely blonde... though we can always make you pink again later. I read the Greek men were into blondes... maybe we should switch places!" she joked.

Yeah. That's why Cornelia would stay blonde. She still didn't know why her hair stayed blonde, but she figured it was the same reason why this Emilia girl's hair stayed light red. Anyway, gentlemen preferring blondes was universal.

While she was waiting for Emily and Nuan to get themselves sorted she gave lute an experimental strum, before grimacing and fiddling with the tuning pegs. By the time the pair were ready she had managed to get the lute into tune, giving it an experimental strum, before nodding in approval to herself and beginning to gently strum an E minor, switching to a C and then a D as she hummed something to herself, before eventually singing over the top,

"All the time that's lost
What's the final cost
Will I really get away?
All my life it seems
Just a crazy dream
Reaching for somebody's star..."

She trailed off, nodding to herself. She had a reasonable voice; she had probably had some singing lessons back in the day, "I think I might be able to pull this off. It's not too different from a guitar... or a pandura. If I slow down the tempo and don't try to sing in Greek so the rhythm still works, I think I can pull of the 'sophisticated entertainment' bit... though they won't understand a word. Hopefully they won't be paying too much attention! If not, we can just claim it's a Sarmatian ballad or something. In any case it's the only thing that looks about right that I have a realistic chance of playing competently. Shall we see what the others are up to?"

No wonder she picked that cithara thing... Hannah was pretty good. A pandura? Cornelia had forgotten about the pandura. Heh. Hannah's singing sounded exotic. Perhaps... futuristic? Cornelia hoped the language barrier wouldn't be a problem, although the Greeks weren't too kind to barbarians.

Cornelia barely heard the Marcus guy voicing his objections about them dressing up like prostitutes, and Hannah's response as to why it had to be done. Cornelia excused herself and went back to the crew's quarters. She had to switch rooms.

Cornelia took out her comb and the clothes she wore before from the men's room and moved them to the room where she got her clothes from. Cornelia looked out the window and saw darkness. Maybe some trees, some light in the distance. It was the middle of the night. But it was afternoon just a few moments ago. Ah, jet lag was harsh, and it was even worse when you traveled through time.

[Talchyon]

The corridors below decks
Nawa Tatsuaki Ukita (13th century Japanese gainyo)

Walking down the long corridors gave ample time for Tatsuaki to think. Entering the various storage chambers was more of a mechanical process he did, noticing the various containers with not even the faintest thought about them. It was as if the slimmest part of his mind was recognizing that these chambers were indeed here and stocked, while the rest of his thoughts were elsewhere. Chamber after chamber, storage bay after storage bay, and yet the gainyo was simply trying to adjust to his new reality.

That he had died, he was at peace with. Death is natural. His death had been honorable, on the field of battle. Coming to life again in this fashion was startling, and Tatsuaki was not sure how to address everything. Did it rob him of some of the honor he had gained? Would anyone but him notice?

The people from these various other times all bewildered him. It wasn't only that they were gaijin. Even the man who lived in the same land Tatsuaki had lived, called that land a different name than the one he knew. "Japan" instead of Tatoma. Though they lived in the same land, the casual observer would never have guessed. Tatsuaki found that not the least disturbing, as if the land had moved on without him. He didn't know how to feel about that. And then, there were also so many unknown lands he had never heard of, that everyone else seemed to know. "America," "Germany," all the others. He was a stranger in a strange land, and with a sigh, he deeply exhaled a wearisome breath.

He thought back to the lands he used to rule over. He had gained the services of fifty samurai, which required a lot of favor and well-timed gifts. He thought of the serfs who worked the land, whose minds knew how best to cause rice to grow, whose hands were gnarled and tough, and who were thankful their lord could protect them. He thought of the political precision needed to turn an angry shogun aside, when to delay, when to object, when to distract, and how best to do each for each situation. He sighed again. Tatsuaki was starting over from scratch, with nothing to offer.

A door off to the left lurked up ahead. Again, mechanically, Tatsuaki spoke the simple command word to open, and was slightly puzzled to see not another of the seemingly endless storage bays, but another ladder leading up and down, like the previous one he had climbed down. Shrugging, he climbed down another level and exited onto another corridor. This corridor was quite different, though. A wall of glass stretched from the one end of the long corridor to the other. An equally long wall of metal stretched on the other side. The room behind the glass wall was lit by that strange light that never needed the sun. And inside, a great number of plants were growing.

Tatsuaki's eyes lit up at the sight. Pressing his hands on the glass, Tatsuaki was thrilled to see this display of green life on this ship. He didn't know how long he stood there, looking. Eventually, he reasoned that there must be a way in, so he moved down the hallway until he could find an entrance. A long way down, there was an opening, with letters written above a doorway in that same strange light. Tatsuaki could just make it out with concentration. It read, "Hydroponics." But the door opened just like any other he had found, and a waft of clean smelling air drifted out, filling his senses. Tatsuaki entered the room, beaming. Finding a larger tree, the gainyo sat down against it.

It wasn't home, and it never would be - but it was good. This was the perfect place to think and reflect. And that's what Tatsuaki did.

[UniversalCommons]

Adam Richardson stayed in the Engineering Section. The datapad had low volume speakers on it. He had found some some music that had an electronic quality to it. He had no idea what he was playing, but it was mellow . He played it anyways. There were a dozen songs all without words that he played repeatedly. While it played, he went through the drawers looking at the different tools and equipment. Most of it was unrecognizable.

There were some old fashioned sockets to plug in tools in additon, there was what looked like an antennae with several blue crystalline pieces sticking out of it. It looked a little weird to him. There were some odd clawlike markings on the antennae. He did not know what to make of it. It might even be alien. He refused to touch it. He plugged in some of the older tools to charge them. The ones he recognized. He also looked over the other ones. He left alone the things he did not quite understand. There were a lot of them.

Some of the drawers had labels on them. One of them drawers had the word Ragon on it. There was an empty place for something called a "Ragon Charging Station". All of it was weird looking. He did not know what the Ragon was, but it was a little creepy.

The variety of tools was strange. There were tools that looked like they might have come out of ancient Greece or Ancient Egypt. He was not sure. There seemed to be a variety of tools from the 19th century, even from his own time. It was both strange and fascinating. He was careful to look over each thing he found and try and find it in the datapad. He did not trust the mian computer. Maybe it had wiped out all the previous crew members. He was not sure. Something had happened to the previous crew. He wanted to stay alive and a potentially rogue A.I. was something out of his nightmares.

Some of the tools had to be cleaned and sharpened. Others in the databbase he could not figure out where the handle was or which button you were supposed to press. He might hurt himself if he mishandled them. It took him several hours.

He cleaned and charged what he could safely without calling on the A.I. carefully putting away what he took out. There were some tools he could not identify laying around. He did not know where they were supposed to go so he put them in rough categories and put them in some empty storage drawers. When he was done, he had put away what he could that was laying around and everything was clean in the engineering section. He went back and double checked the cleaning robots. The programs were not perfect. He had to scrub some areas where the cleaning robots had missed. When he got nervous he cleaned and organized.

There was quite a bit he could not access. It would pop up with the words restricted, place hand here. He wanted to see what was not restricted first. Some of engineering was not restricted. Maps of the ship, basic maintenance tasks, and a few other things. There was a preprogrammed switch which said simply said automatic maintenance. He pressed a button and the routine started. Cleaning disks would come out of closets and a few upright cleaning robots would move around the ships wiping things down and scrubbing the inside of the ship. A map of the ship appeared. There were a few red areas that simply said malfunction in red. Some of the cleaning robots had not been serviced in a very long time.

Adam Richardson put some tools on a floating cart including a nanomop, swipe away cloths, disk robots, spray bottles, cleaning equipment, and some basic tools. He had no idea why the cart floated. It was no different than magic to him. He remembered the famous quote, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is no different than magic." He did not know who made up the quote. He had the datapad playing the music in the background. He pushed the cart out into one of the hallways.

He ended up in a bathroom cleaning the floor, wiping down some mirrors and unclogging a toilet with a bottle of gewp he had found in one of the maintenance closets. It kept him occupied. He was doing it the old fashioned way with elbow grease. He did not want to go down to ancient Greece and he might as well try and make himself useful.

[Mercatus]

Marcus Lennox

...
Upon getting re-dressed in period appropriate gear, Marcus left his quarters to join the others, helmet off of course, knowing he'd look somewhat ridiculous waltzing in like some stage actor in full costume. Upon emerging to where everyone else seemed to be gathered, Marcus observed everyone's clothing choices. The Confederate, likely of very little education, had mistaken a toga for being a piece of Greek clothing. Others had on what he assumed were the chitons and himations Hannah had mentioned earlier. The women of the group who had come back from changing clothes were dressed like...

Oh motherfucking God, I can't believe they would choose to fill that role, even in the name of "saving reality" or whatever other bullshit they came up with. Seriously, ancient Greek hookers? I may or may not have seen a couple of cosplaying prostitutes in those outfits on my shore leave to Vegas.

Stunned at the roles they had decided to take, Marcus loudly addressed the women, "Um, I know this mission is like, important and stuff, and I know it's the world's oldest job, but really, Greek hookers? I'd think y'all wouldn't stoop that low to get this done."

Upon returning to the rest of the crew she then needed to square off against Marcus who had apparently been asleep during the briefing earlier and had decided to make a song and dance about her decision to play a hetaera. Most people seemed happy to rub along with each other and take what she had to say onboard. Even Clarence was playing ball, even if he hadn't quite got his head around how not to offend the other crew members, "Zapp! Inciteful comments, as always," she said, squaring off against him, hands on hips, "I suppose you have spent your time researching another suitable role where I can get into a male only simposium? No? Oh... I get it! You'd rather I was back here, pining for the men folk and possibly cooking up a nice steak and chips to worshipfully serve up to our conquering lads upon their heroic return. Maybe a little bit of red wine to go with it? Couldn't have me looking like the classical equivalent of one of the girls you watch going at it online. That would just be crass and totally erode any legitimate claim I have to leadership! A level head, sympathetic attitude and commitment to the mission are, as you so rightly pointed out, far less important than the way I have chosen to dress in front of a whole bunch of strangers I'll never see again. Oh what a silly woman I am!"

"I don't care about my 'personal pride'. That died years ago," she said bluntly, dropping the sarcasm, "I will do whatever is necessary to complete the mission I have been given. In this case, the best route forward involves me dressing up as someone's expensive courtesan and hanging off his arm in a party so I can get close to a man whose life I am going to save. Even were I not trying to save human history, even were I not trying to stop the meddling of a rogue time traveller, saving a man's life is worth putting on some colourful clothing and pretending someone is paying me to be his lover. So no, I wouldn't stoop 'that low'. I will do whatever it takes to get the job done. Nothing less."

Even though it was he who had provoked this reaction from Hannah, Marcus became still more indignant, "Oh, come on! We're both not idiots, let's be sensible here! We both come from the same goddamn time period, and you think I'M a supporter of the cult of domesticity?! Really, you never had a legitimate claim to leadership in the first place!"

As Hannah dropped her sarcastic tone, Marcus had more to say, "So, I suppose you actually still have someone or something worth fighting for, huh?! Saving reality? You think you or I or anyone else here is up to that task when most of us couldn't save ourselves? When I couldn't save the lives of my buddies or even my own fucking family? Believe me, if it's my purpose to fight for your bullshit then I'll take whatever I can get, but with this bunch our efforts won't last very long."

Reminded of his failure and the mistakes that led to him being here, Marcus no longer had any will to stay and fight with Hannah, and he angrily stormed off. Having nowhere in particular to go, Marcus wandered through the halls again. The ship's layout had been easy to memorize, for the Icarus was only slightly larger than a light frigate of his time. Deciding he had nothing better to do, Marcus went off to the rec room in the hopes he'd find something to occupy his time before the mission was supposed to begin.

I'm really starting to hate everybody on this motherfucking small-ass piece of shit tin can! Civilian lady who bosses everyone around, an asshole hillbilly, at least Jay and Lafayette are nice, and Cornelia too. Still, I'm going to go insane aboard this ship. I may as well just pitch myself out the goddamn airlock...

When he entered the rec room, he noticed two people were already in there, a man and a woman. Their voices sounded familiar, it was the two from the pod bay who tried to console the screaming Dane. From what he could hear, they were engaged in a rather serious conversation. Marcus decided that maybe it was a good break from the drama of everything else that was going on. Hell, it was like one of those shitty sitcoms they still had on TV for over a century. A depressed look bore itself on Marcus' face, as he couldn't get his mind off of the faces of his family and friends. The images were burned into his mind, and now their voices seemed to taunt him like ghosts. He remembered their laughs, their smiles, their memorable quotes. It was all too much for him, and it was enough to make his face go from one of depression to one of downright pain.

Deciding to show more humility in his voice than he had before, Marcus spoke to Leona and Ted, "Hey, uh, y'all mind if I sit in here?"

[Dyelli Beybi]

Hannah Brown

Hannah frowned after the departing form of Marcus. He didn't like her taking charge, that was for sure, and sooner or later that would lead to conflict though she wasn't about to chase after him. Enough had already been said and, right at the moment, the impact of his words on the others in the hold were more concerning. She sighed, then turned back to them, "So our resident pilot has expressed his opinion that we are all manifestly unqualified for what I am asking you to do... and yeah, we are," she agreed.

"But it reminds me a little of another group of people, outnumbered by legendary soldiers they had no hope of facing, people who decided they were going to fight anyway because the small chance of victory was better than the inevitability of defeat. We aren't qualified to save the timeline and there's a pretty strong chance something will go wrong, but we are the only ones in a position to do it. So if you're feeling a bit lost after waking up, don't be. You have a purpose and it is a pretty important one," Hannah declared, a slight wry smile forming on her lips, "One might even be tempted to say it's about as important a purpose as any human has ever had."

"That other group of people I was talking about before were the Thebans, and their allies, at Leuctra," she added, just in case people hadn't been paying attention, "Someone didn't like that fact and decided to meddle with history to stop that happening. I don't know why, but this moment is a reminder that in human history it isn't always the fittest, strongest people who win. Sometimes it is the underdog with guts and a reason to fight who comes out on top," she motioned about the group, they were the Thebans in the other scenario playing out, "Think back on the happiest moments of your life, then imagine all of that never existing, blown away by someone so arrogant that he thinks he can play God. That is your reason to fight! Hold onto that reason and it will give you the guts to come out on top. No matter what the other side throws at us."

She let that sink in for a moment. It hadn't been her plan to try to give a motivational speech today, but Marcus had been so damned unmotivating that it seemed like one was in order, "Marcus has also said I don't have any right to be in charge. Well, I beg to differ. My right comes from the fact that I stepped up to the plate when everything was in chaos. I woke up first, which definitely helped. Now there might be some of you who haven't been won over by my natural charm and good looks," she said, with a bright smile, "If any of you think I'm doing a really rubbish job at holding this group together and giving direction, then speak now. I might pout a bit, but I won't be too offended. Otherwise I'm going to assume that I've got your tacit consent to call myself 'Captain' of this ship and get myself a parrot and a pointy hat."

[Grenartia]

Phoenix walked over to Johnny Reb and snuck a Gibbs Slap on him. "A wise man once said 'It’s better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than open it and remove all doubt.'"

"What, what did I say? I even said they were cute for darkies. That's a compliment! "

He rubbed the back of his head in annoyance.

"Can't even say something nice about the coons without you future people getting offended. Makes me glad I died when I did. Now where is this thingamajig they was saying I need to wear?"

While he began digging, he decided to try and strike up a little conversation with Phoenix.

"So, future boy. You're from Louisiana, ain't yeah? I can hear a little of that accent. Means we're practically neighbors. Met a lot of you Cajun sorts during the war. So, where specifically is ya from? Me, I'm from a little town called Houston in Texas. Nice country out there."

"A backhanded-compliment is still an insult. Besides, we don't want to hear about your dad raping innocent black women and treating his own flesh and blood like garbage." she responded, and then sighed. "As for me, I'm from New Orleans." Phoenix figured he wouldn't have a chance in hell of knowing where Metairie was otherwise, and she also figured not correcting him on the gender issue, at least for now, was for the best. Plus, people who have extreme prejudice against black people also tended to not be very understanding about transgender people. Not that Phe feared for her safety. Even if the traitor could overpower someone with special forces training, there were at least half a dozen people on board who would come to her aid.

[Ameriganastan]

"What, what did I say? I even said they were cute for darkies. That's a compliment! "

He rubbed the back of his head in annoyance.

"Can't even say something nice about the coons without you future people getting offended. Makes me glad I died when I did. Now where is this thingamajig they was saying I need to wear?"

While he began digging, he decided to try and strike up a little conversation with Phoenix.

"So, future boy. You're from Louisiana, ain't yeah? I can hear a little of that accent. Means we're practically neighbors. Met a lot of you Cajun sorts during the war. So, where specifically is ya from? Me, I'm from a little town called Houston in Texas. Nice country out there."

"A backhanded-compliment is still an insult. Besides, we don't want to hear about your dad raping innocent black women and treating his own flesh and blood like garbage." she responded, and then sighed. "As for me, I'm from New Orleans." Phoenix figured he wouldn't have a chance in hell of knowing where Metairie was otherwise, and she also figured not correcting him on the gender issue, at least for now, was for the best. Plus, people who have extreme prejudice against black people also tended to not be very understanding about transgender people. Not that Phe feared for her safety. Even if the traitor could overpower someone with special forces training, there were at least half a dozen people on board who would come to her aid.

"Wow, really? You're from New Orleans?"

He actually seemed genuinely impressed.

"Wow. I always heard stories about it. Now don't get me wrong, Boyd Ranch is a little slice of heaven. But I always did wanna go see a big ol' city like New Orleans...oh, does that mean you speak French? Parce que je connais assez bien la langue (Cause I know my way around the language pretty good.)"

Of the thing anyone would expect for him, speaking fluent French was probably low on the list.

"Yeah, grandpappy was from France. Fought right there next to Napoleon he did. He came to the states right after the war over yonder ended. It was always fun hearing his stories. He never learned a word of English, neither. Went to his grave speaking nothing but French. Telling his stories on those long marches always perked the fellas up."

For a few moments, Clarence almost seemed human...but of course he had to ruin it by going and saying...

"And by the by, Pappy never raped no one. You can't rape property. He owned them, so he could do as he saw fit within the bounds of the Code Noir. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it."

[Khasinkonia]

Madame Emmelot de Langres
Une question d’anciens Grecs

Although many aspect of this afterlife, or revival, as it were, were terribly disturbing to Madame de Langres, she ultimately found herself most shaken by the realisation that few around were of any particular noble bearing, yet there was a rather popular notion that they were all, to some extent, to be treated as equals.

As she was neither a particularly fond scholar of Greek, nor particularly athletic, Madame de Langres was able to find the vestment room with little inspection, as the flurry of other people aboard the ship prepared for their departure to Greece. Having been able to find a kirtle, chemise, and gown that would be considered passably fashionable when she was in her youth, she made haste to don the new outfit, and then found a single ribbon which she used to bind most of her hair back into a simple bun after braiding it. Though this aspect of her outfit was rather less so fashionable and more an attempt to make a passable hairstyle given the circumstance. Had she been in a setting she was more native to, she would have been rather bothered by the fact that she was unable to find what she wanted to style her hair with, but given that few among the crew were likely to care, or frankly even notice, she was more at ease with a quicker hairdo.

After dressing herself, Madame de Langres took her leave from the larger group. At the first interface she could find, she tapped buttons as she had seen others do, and then enquired, “A garden—Is there a garden somewhere?” to the ship’s computer. “Hydroponics” seemed to be the word the men of the future used for it, though something suggested to her that it might be somehow different. Nonetheless, some fresh, clean air without the concerns of the crew, to her, were just what was needed to process the chain of events that had led to her appearance in some vessel which traversed time like a ship could the sea. After some time searching and several wrong turns and subsequent re-enquiries at other interfaces, she found the area said to be “hydroponics.”

Although resembling in many ways a garden, it seemed as if there was largely still artificial lighting in the room, though she knew not how they had created lanterns that could produce light that felt at least as bright as that of a summer’s day. As she had progressed through the ship, she learned how to open doors as well—they too opened by command. Over the course of her walk, it came to feel as if the vessel itself was somehow acting as a servant to those aboard it, though perhaps there were tiny people in the walls, or maybe magic to blame. It was beyond her to even begin to understand the mechanics of how such a thing might work without the assistance of one of those things, but perhaps it was possible.

Upon her entry of the “Hydroponics” garden, she soon spotted another individual already present. He was certainly not European—perhaps he was from the Far East or New World? She had never seen anyone from either of those places with her own eyes, but harkening back to the occasional accounts she’d heard, the shoe seemed to fit. It was hard to tell whether he was dressed or not, but since the robes he donned were unlike what they had been initially provided with, it stood to reason that he must have chosen them. She imagined few people would choose only to wear underwear while out and about. In the spirit of politeness, though, she approached him and greeted him with a small curtsy, as it would have been presumptuous to simply assume that he wasn’t possibly also of noble bearing.

“I pray I am not imposing,” she began, “But would you* mind if I also enjoyed this garden?”

*The formal version of you (vous) is used here, rather than the informal version (tu).

[The African Emirates]

Ted Jackson

Leona Helstrom
Unfortunately (fortunately?), Leona noticed those tears that fell off Ted's eyes. She had seen those a thousand times, most commonly when a patient knew that they were dying, and couldn't accept it. Or when one of her kids told her about a terrible thing that had happened. Or when an alien immigrant was her friend told Leona about narrowly being devoured by a Ragon in a battle...

"Hey." Leona gently squeezed Ted's wrist. "I, uh, I know that we literally just met, but since we're going to spend a very long time here together with everyone else... I'll just say that you can tell me anything. Um. Yeah."

Knowing that there was someone Ted could at least talk to freely was a huge relief. His confidence returned, and Ted was able to clear his throat and steady his voice.

“Um, thank you for that. And if you need any help yourself, just ask.”

"Anyway, what were we going to do again? Ping ping, was it?"

“Haha, it’s called ping-pong, an old game my grandpa used to play with me. Wasn’t any good at it, but that didn’t stop my gramps from destroying me every time.”

As Ted and Leona entered the rec room, he saw that it was devoid of any ping-pong tables, more like the makeshift military ready rooms he’d seen in New Lowell, but not made of bolted storage containers.

The two of them flopped onto a sofa, looking at each other sheepishly, if a bit unsure of what to do next. However, an interruption arrived in the form of Marcus, entering the room in a considerably more subdued manner than what he sounded like at the bridge.

Marcus Lennox
When he entered the rec room, he noticed two people were already in there, a man and a woman. Their voices sounded familiar, it was the two from the pod bay who tried to console the screaming Dane. From what he could hear, they were engaged in a rather serious conversation. Marcus decided that maybe it was a good break from the drama of everything else that was going on. Hell, it was like one of those shitty sitcoms they still had on TV for over a century. A depressed look bore itself on Marcus' face, as he couldn't get his mind off of the faces of his family and friends. The images were burned into his mind, and now their voices seemed to taunt him like ghosts. He remembered their laughs, their smiles, their memorable quotes. It was all too much for him, and it was enough to make his face go from one of depression to one of downright pain.

Deciding to show more humility in his voice than he had before, Marcus spoke to Leona and Ted, "Hey, uh, y'all mind if I sit in here?"

“Not at all, go ahead.”

Either Marcus was completely oblivious to what was happening before he entered, or he was too preoccupied to care, but he situated himself right between Ted and Leona on the couch.

Goddamit, everytime I’m starting to really enjoy something, somebody comes and puts a stop to it.

Ted suppressed his frustration, and decided to be nice to the guy. After all, you never know when you might need their help, or their friendship.

“So, I never caught where and when you’re from...Marcus, right? You ok with telling us?”

[Mercatus]

Ted Jackson

The two of them flopped onto a sofa, looking at each other sheepishly, if a bit unsure of what to do next. However, an interruption arrived in the form of Marcus, entering the room in a considerably more subdued manner than what he sounded like at the bridge.

Marcus Lennox
When he entered the rec room, he noticed two people were already in there, a man and a woman. Their voices sounded familiar, it was the two from the pod bay who tried to console the screaming Dane. From what he could hear, they were engaged in a rather serious conversation. Marcus decided that maybe it was a good break from the drama of everything else that was going on. Hell, it was like one of those shitty sitcoms they still had on TV for over a century. A depressed look bore itself on Marcus' face, as he couldn't get his mind off of the faces of his family and friends. The images were burned into his mind, and now their voices seemed to taunt him like ghosts. He remembered their laughs, their smiles, their memorable quotes. It was all too much for him, and it was enough to make his face go from one of depression to one of downright pain.

Deciding to show more humility in his voice than he had before, Marcus spoke to Leona and Ted, "Hey, uh, y'all mind if I sit in here?"

“Not at all, go ahead.”

Either Marcus was completely oblivious to what was happening before he entered, or he was too preoccupied to care, but he situated himself right between Ted and Leona on the couch.

Goddamit, everytime I’m starting to really enjoy something, somebody comes and puts a stop to it.

Ted suppressed his frustration, and decided to be nice to the guy. After all, you never know when you might need their help, or their friendship.

“So, I never caught where and when you’re from...Marcus, right? You ok with telling us?”

"Thanks." was all Marcus said in reply to Ted's granting of permission to sit on the couch.

Sitting down, Marcus let himself fall onto the middle section of the couch. He tried to force a smile, but couldn't, not in light of the "recent" events of his life, so the depressed look on his face stayed.

Acknowledging Ted's inquiry, Marcus figured he may as well tell someone, because at least then some of it might lift itself from his chest. "Yeah, I guess I'm fine with telling y'all. I was born on May 7th of 2099. I was a fighter pilot, I lived and breathed combat spaceflight. It was in the military that I found my wife-to-be, and after we got married we had a kid. I died on August 20th of 2128. Th-those... those fucking space lizards! They shot me down! But that's nothing in comparison to what else was stolen from me!"

Breathing heavily and beginning to sweat, Marcus was evidently having a rough time even giving a basic synopsis to Ted and Leona, "They killed my wife and son, dammit! Now here I am, stuck on this piece of shit ship. I get to live huh? Why can they bring me back and not my family?! I failed to protect them and for some reason I'M the one who gets brought back?!"

Sure, being this emotional likely wasn't a very good first impression, and Marcus was barely managing to hold back tears, but the mind of a traumatized soldier was a mind that the soldier in question oftentimes could find themselves having no control over. In an attempt to remove any aura of perceived weakness, Marcus' expression turned from depression to extreme anger, anger at the fact that everything he knew was now gone, that nobody on the Icarus had any respect for him (even if that was from his own doing), and at his own perceived failure to live up to his stated duty as a member of the US Armed Forces.

"I, uh, I'm sorry I made you guys look at that. That was highly unprofessional."

However, Marcus' words didn't represent the sweaty, heavily breathing mess he was as of now.

[UniversalCommons]

Adam Richardson went to fix a room in the ship with the indicated flashing signal. It was an environmental reclamation unit, an air recycling unit was offline. There were several wires sticking out of the device. It was a matter of matching up the colored wires to the right outlets. It was surprisingly simple to do. Everything was color coded and modular designed to be simple to repair and take apart. There had been an old idea applied to many of the systems in the ship. Design things to be upgraded, easy to repair, take apart, hard to break, and recyclable. Some of the components looked like they could last forever. There were many minor kinks to work out in the ship.

One of the doors was stuck. He had to wiggle it a bit and pull out a piece of plastic which someone had jammed into the door to keep it open. He looked around in the room. There were a few books marked history on them. They looked like they had been printed yesterday with blue plastic covers and what looked like thin plastic pages. On the back were the words please drop in the automatic recycler for reuse. They will be used again in the automatic printer.

He read the books. They read like science fiction, it reminded him of a combination of Battlefield Earth and a techno thriller. Ragons, what were these things. Then he remembered the strange looking device in the tool area of engineering. Ragons had apparently invaded earth. Was he stuck in a simulation of a science fiction novel. It reminded him of the movie, The Matrix. Wherever he was, he did not trust it. Was the artificial intelligence running the ship an alien. It dawned on him that humans were not alone. He lost track of time and read for five or six hours. There were a number of black and white pictures of a ragon, a human spaceship, a glass dome on Enceladus, and a reclamation crew taking apart old buildings on earth. He put the books back on the floating cart.

He rummaged in the cargo hold to find some new light sticks for the illumination strips. There were a few strips out in the recreation area. He pushed the cart into the recreation area. Then went up to the wall. There was a button you pressed and the strip opened up. He reached in and took out the light stick, then he dropped in a new one and it closed when he pressed the button. It was quite easy to do. He tried to ignore the people in the room. He had several more light sticks to put in. You could bang the light sticks against the wall or jump on them and they would not break.

[Parcia]

Steven.

Contrary to popular belief, one can indeed feel things in their sleep.

Like cardiac arrest.

He gasped, gaping like a fish as he tried to shoot up out of his bed, only to slam his head on the metal roof of his coffin as it slid down. For the first time in nearly 40 years, he panicked. Steven panicked. His lungs burned, his muscles ached and his head swam as he began to kick and grab for the sides of the coffin. Finding purchase, he heaved him self up and out of the small box he had awoken in, catching his knee hard on the rim and landing face first on the cold, metal floor.

His lungs, holy gods did his lungs burned like they had been filled with liquid fire and he could barely breath. He squeezed his eyes shuts and curled in to a ball, coughing and wheezing as his mind tried to get used to lung capacity he had had in 4 decades, slowly taking in breaths he, by all rights, should not be able to.

In some deep, dark corner of his brain, a corner that hadn’t been shown the light in a very long time, something happened. A piece of his psyche woke up and began to look at things subjectively. As it did go over the bits of data his 5 senses had collected, it came to a vary startling realization.

He was alive.

[Lessoni]

She let that sink in for a moment. It hadn't been her plan to try to give a motivational speech today, but Marcus had been so damned unmotivating that it seemed like one was in order, "Marcus has also said I don't have any right to be in charge. Well, I beg to differ. My right comes from the fact that I stepped up to the plate when everything was in chaos. I woke up first, which definitely helped. Now there might be some of you who haven't been won over by my natural charm and good looks," she said, with a bright smile, "If any of you think I'm doing a really rubbish job at holding this group together and giving direction, then speak now. I might pout a bit, but I won't be too offended. Otherwise I'm going to assume that I've got your tacit consent to call myself 'Captain' of this ship and get myself a parrot and a pointy hat."

Paul Goodwin

He didn't quite trust Hannah. Not to any fault of her own; she was nice, if a bit more mouthy than the ladies of his age, but that wasn't exactly a dealbreaker for him. No, he didn't trust Hannah for the same reason he wouldn't trust anyone else who woke up first. He couldn't be sure they were telling the truth. But while he didn't trust Hannah, he didn't trust or like Marcus, and so Hannah got his vote. He offered only a salute that would've had his drill sergeant on his ass, but with just enough effort to show he meant it, and left. He knew things would be getting much more interesting, before long, considering they were prepping up to take a jaunt into hundreds of years ago, but for the moment he needed a break. He'd be ready when the time came, for sure, but for the moment he just wanted to clear his head, try and piece together... something. Make sense of something. Why he was back, why the assholes had been brought back, why... why, anything.

He found himself back in the spot he'd woken up, staring at the coffin... the pod, he'd woken up in. Or, was resurrected in? Hell, maybe even born in. Who knew? But his philosophical little musings weren't to last, as a new guy emerged. Paul gave a slight wince as the man managed to bang himself three times in the few seconds it took him to escape the pod. He didn't blame the guy for curling up, like he'd taken a punch to the lungs. Paul took a quick stride forward, crouching down next to the man.

"Woah, woah, deep breaths buddy. I'm sure you're confused, 'cause I was confused when I woke up, but, assuming you just died, here's the long and short; you're on a ship called the Icarus, and apparently, you just joined a crew that's supposed to... dammit, what was it... yeah, a crew that's supposed to keep the timeline intact. Basically, someone's going around messing with history, and we're the ones who've got to put it right. Take a second, get used to being alive, and I'll take you to the captain. Real nice woman, named Hannah, she'll explain better than I did."

[Parcia]

Steven.

His world was small, his vision swam a bit and he caught movement out of the side of his eye. It was a guy, some random dude he didn’t recognize who now stood over him. He said some things, things that didn’t make sense.

Well, the advice about breathing worked, and Steven found his rhythm returning to him. For the first time in what felt like in a long time, he spoke. “W-what...” His throat was dry and scratchy, and his voice croaked in a way that made him wince.

“What....the fuck are you going on about...i-is this some practical joke, taking an old man a-and locking him in some box. Who you with, young man, the Lodge? You one of my bud’s kids? O-or did i just imagine the last 40 years and this is some joke from those fuckers in signals...”

Steven slowly rolled from his side to his ass, leaning back up against the metal box and finally meeting the young man’s gaze.

[Grenartia]

Phoenix

Johnny Reb's defense of the indefensible was the last straw for Phoenix. She knew that if she stayed in his vicinity any longer, she would be unable to resist the urge to outright deck him. She also knew that he was also one of the few people on board capable of managing a horse in this time period without anachronistic technology. So she wordlessly walked away. Wandering down the corridors, she happened upon the rec room, and heard Marcus's story.

"Thanks." was all Marcus said in reply to Ted's granting of permission to sit on the couch.

Sitting down, Marcus let himself fall onto the middle section of the couch. He tried to force a smile, but couldn't, not in light of the "recent" events of his life, so the depressed look on his face stayed.

Acknowledging Ted's inquiry, Marcus figured he may as well tell someone, because at least then some of it might lift itself from his chest. "Yeah, I guess I'm fine with telling y'all. I was born on May 7th of 2099. I was a fighter pilot, I lived and breathed combat spaceflight. It was in the military that I found my wife-to-be, and after we got married we had a kid. I died on August 20th of 2128. Th-those... those fucking space lizards! They shot me down! But that's nothing in comparison to what else was stolen from me!"

Breathing heavily and beginning to sweat, Marcus was evidently having a rough time even giving a basic synopsis to Ted and Leona, "They killed my wife and son, dammit! Now here I am, stuck on this piece of shit ship. I get to live huh? Why can they bring me back and not my family?! I failed to protect them and for some reason I'M the one who gets brought back?!"

Sure, being this emotional likely wasn't a very good first impression, and Marcus was barely managing to hold back tears, but the mind of a traumatized soldier was a mind that the soldier in question oftentimes could find themselves having no control over. In an attempt to remove any aura of perceived weakness, Marcus' expression turned from depression to extreme anger, anger at the fact that everything he knew was now gone, that nobody on the Icarus had any respect for him (even if that was from his own doing), and at his own perceived failure to live up to his stated duty as a member of the US Armed Forces.

"I, uh, I'm sorry I made you guys look at that. That was highly unprofessional."

However, Marcus' words didn't represent the sweaty, heavily breathing mess he was as of now.

"Sorry to intrude, but I was walking by and couldn't help but overhear. I'm sorry that happened to you." Phe said. Part of her felt a twinge of regret that the Defiance crew hadn't been able to avert conflict with the Ragon after their return home. "And its perfectly ok to feel and express those emotions. I imagine everyone whose death was traumatic is going through something similar. Especially those of us who died to protect Earth."

She had begun to suspect her initial impression of him was a bit uncharitable. Sure, he had come across as cocky, arrogant, and a host of other adjectives, but hurt people sometimes hurt people. At least, that's what her therapist said once, a lifetime ago.

[Lessoni]

Soldiers once, schmucks now
Starring Paul Goodwin and Steven Dunaway
By Lessoni and Parcia

“What....the fuck are you going on about...i-is this some practical joke, taking an old man a-and locking him in some box. Who you with, young man, the Lodge? You one of my bud’s kids? O-or did i just imagine the last 40 years and this is some joke from those fuckers in signals...”

Steven slowly rolled from his side to his ass, leaning back up against the metal box and finally meeting the young man’s gaze.

Paul wasn’t sure what reaction he’d been expecting, though he’d been hoping for a little more of an open mind. Still, the man wasn’t violent, so that was something.

“Never met your buds. Certainly ain’t one of their sons. Don’t know what signals are, either, but I’m telling you truth. Now, I get it’s tough to swallow, but you’ve gotta. Ah, shit, where’s my manners? Name’s Paul, Paul Goodwin. Let’s get you something to drink.”

He reached down a hand, trying to get something like trust out of the guy.

A pause, then Steven took it. “Signals Intelligence? Next to the Battalion CP...” he sighed. “I’m not back in Vietnam, am I?”. A look around, taking the younger man in. This place was strange, like he was in some sort of ship. A ship. The lad did say they were on something called “Icarus.”

“Right then, a ship.” Steven got to his feet. “By the authority of the department of the Army, I demand to see your captain.”

Great, another soldier type who thought he still had his rank. Hopefully he wouldn’t be as insufferable as their resident jackass.

“Not Vietnam, no. And this ain’t an army ship, friend. Army myself, served in France... died there, actually. That’s beside the point, point is that your rank means about as much as the Bible to a bullet. Still gonna take you to meet the captain, ‘course, but thought I’d clear that up.”

That caught Steven’s attention. “France...the first or second time we went over there?”

“First. I think. Depends what you mean by second. You know, I heard that we kicked off a Second World War from a Frenchman we’ve got on board, France get the shit end of the stick second time around?”, answered Paul.

“Yea, same deal...some angry German guy again, did a lot of bad things. Say, humor me friend, just so I can get my baring, what year were you born in?”

“Lord’s year 1895, last year I was in before all this was 1918,” he said, a slight sarcastic inflection starting his sentence.

“What about you? Guessing some time after me, at least.”

A long pause, with the information being processed, analyzed, and filed away for later use. “1937...and I think it was...2015? Yea, my grand son had just graduated....your telling me we died?”

“Shit, you got a longer run than me. Yeah, we died, I think. Or something saved us last second? I dunno, wish I did. 2015, you say? God damn... had an artillery shell dropped on my head. You?”, asked Paul.

“I went in my sleep...I think. I was sick for a long time. I think that was the end of it."

“Hell, going to sleep and never waking up ain’t the worst way to go. Alright, alright, that’s enough chat. You’ve got a captain to meet,” said Paul, already walking out of the room, gesturing the man to follow. The man had never given his name, but that didn’t bother Paul greatly. Name wasn’t all that made a man, after all.

“You say that.” Steven nodded and fallowed him out of the room, eyeing the decks and bulkheads wearily. “So, any idea what type of ship this is? Some Russian boat? Chinese?”

“No idea who was on it before. Well, no idea for certain. The captain lady mentioned an international organization being the owners, before we got here. We’re not the first crew, I don’t think. Captain’ll explain. Though we’ve got all kinds of people wandering around. Hell, there’s an honest to God confederate who woke up with the rest of us. Lotta orientals, too,” answered Paul.

"Orientals...what type, if I can ask?"

“Can’t tell the difference, and I didn’t think it would much be polite to ask. They speak English, for what it’s worth. But, so does a lady from Greece way back when, so that’s a moot point,” answered Paul, now himself wondering exactly where they were all from.

"I see." Steven wasn't really sure how to take all this. This young lad still struck him as the type to play him if he could.

Still, he followed the younger man to were the captain lie, making a mental note to memorize the path as he walled, mapping out the ship in his mind.