ACTION TIME

[aphelionix]

The two days had come and gone since Locke stayed over at Weiler's. He was tipsy when Weiler had called that night and made their two day check-in rule - not that he forgot, but he couldn't stop the nagging feeling that something was off when he went to bed that night.

On the morning of the third day, he remembered.

The rule was to get out. He tried calling Weiler once, in case he had forgotten his own rule, but Locke was sure by now that it wasn't like him. It was all the sign he needed when the call went straight to voice mail. He headed right out the door of his room, only gathering his pistol and communicator. Through the bustling of the soldiers' morning routines, he managed to keep himself fairly blended in. No one seemed to be looking on him any differently. Locke was on the last stretch of the emergency escape route of Gladsheim's base - for Circle members, that was - when someone called his name.

His real name.

Comments

[tactician]

Weiler's first chance for a real bout of sleep came only after a handful of errands on Boriniat, ranging from returning the junked ship to Ace (it almost gave out half way there) to getting their injuries finally looked at by some unlicensed medic in the back room of some pharmacy building (it was clean, at least). They couldn't afford to be checking into officially outfitted hospitals, having no records they could fall back upon, but the medic seemed to be well suited to his job and well acquainted to having dress injuries of this sort for clientele of theirs.

For all the hubbub Weiler made about avoiding shots, that was the first thing the medic did to him anyway, though whatever numbing agent he had was at least three times as strong as the stuff in the first aid kit of the Gladsheim aircraft. Almost even before he was done expressing his doubts about jabbing sharp, pointy objects into his back, Weiler found his strength from waist down giving out, forcing him to flop face-down on the sterilized medical bed, breathing in the scent of laundered sheets, alcohol and iron.

Weiler frowned, taking his cup out from under the nozzle of boiling dark liquid just as it cut off its constant stream. There was no need to dwell on that - they were well-rested, medically treated, on their way to recovery and a few hundred thousand miles away from Boriniat by now. That was far, far away from needles and the uncomfortable sensation of something wedging into his flesh when he couldn't quite feel it. On the other hand, it was much, much closer to small luxuries like the small mugs of coffee he was holding in either hand.

Of all the foods that had carried down from more archaic human times, coffee was definitely one of the best of them.

Leaning against the co-pilot's seat, Weiler tapped the bottom of one of the mugs gently against Locke's shoulder, careful not to spill any. "I don't know how you take it," he cautioned, as the drink was still rich and dark, devoid of sugar and milk, which was how he usually took his. "But we don't have much back there anyway."

idk where they're headed but I'm putting erclesse for now

[aphelionix]

"It's fine," he said, not one to complain when someone else went out of their way to make him something in the first place. (He was pickier about tea, anyway.) Locke pulled his hands away from the controls, having finished up some ship permissions for him and Weiler, taking the mug carefully. "Sleep well?"

Weiler had gone to rest almost immediately after becoming spaceborne, leaving Locke to pilot and mess with the settings of the ship. After things became smooth, and they were on course for Erclesse, Locke had nodded off himself. It was much easier to rest knowing they had a plan now - and supplies on top of that. Fueled up with a full water tank as well, food, and a couple changes of clothes. (And, only because Weiler's complaining, Locke gave in and budgeted in a thing of hair gel.)

sounds good to me

[tactician]

"Like a baby," Weiler answered, sitting on Locke's armrest rather than in his own nearby seat. It was true, too - he looked much better, less pale and less like he was always trying to squash down an ever-present ache. The combination of treatment, sleep and coffee apparently did medical wonders good enough to patent, if it were possible.

The position put him right up against the other man's arm, which gave him the perfect vantage point to peer both at their flight plans (which had gone a little dull in power-save mode due to inactivity on the holographic screen) and at the pilot's face, which looked a little nap-muggy itself (that mustache was a little askew, which really only pointed to one conclusion). "Did you sleep here?"

cool beans

[aphelionix]

Locke nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. The initial bitter bite was enough to start edging away that grogginess. He rested the cup on his lap in his hands, leaning his head back and to the side, up against Weiler's arm.

"For a couple hours, 'til something started beeping."

[tactician]

Weiler smiled down, rolling the head against his arm a little. "What was it?"

[aphelionix]

"The coffee maker."

Locke let his head lull against Weiler's arm for a bit, until he pulled away to take another drink of his coffee.

"Good choice, by the way."

[tactician]

Chuckling, Weiler clinked his cup against Locke's. "A man must have his coffee and hair product," he recited solemnly, before emptying his mug. Then, "Why didn't you sleep in bed?"

[aphelionix]

"You live by interesting standards," he said, half smiling. Locke glanced up, and sure enough, Weiler's hair was once again immaculate. "I didn't actually intend to fall asleep here."

[tactician]

"It's not a bad thing, to have standards," said Weiler, pushing off of Locke's chair and slipping into the one adjacent. "You can continue your nap in the Captain's room. I can watch over things here. If there's any sudden asteroid collisions or deep-space attacks, I promise to come get you, Captain."

[aphelionix]

"No, it's fine." Locke waved a hand, looking across at Weiler. "It'd defeat the purpose of the coffee, wouldn't it?"

[tactician]

"Sleep is more important, Herr Locke." Settling back in his chair, Weiler set the empty cup on the floor and kicked his feet up on the dashboard, folding his hands across his stomach. Sometime over the course of their errand running, he had managed to change out of his ripped and frayed dress pants and into a more casual pair of trousers. The two of them couldn't really run around in one standard-issue T-shirt forever. His shoes, however, remained the same, having long since lost whatever polished luster they might have had pre-arrest. "Wouldn't you say?"

"YES, SIR," said a voice that was distinctively not Locke's.

[aphelionix]

"I can run on-" but Locke stopped when a voice overlapped his, eyes wide. "What was that?"

[tactician]

Weiler, who had frozen, slowly put his feet back on the ground. "I don't kn-"

"THANK YOU SIR, I MUCH PREFER PREVENTING DIRT GETTING ON THE DASHBOARD."

[aphelionix]

Locke went silent, leaning forward and looking at the dash.

"You're kidding," he mumbled. "I think it's... talking to you."

[tactician]

Weiler turned to Locke. "I thought you said you opted out of an AI program."

[aphelionix]

"I did," he said.

"SURPRISE," the AI said. Locke slapped a hand to his forehead.

[tactician]

"Very much so," Weiler murmured absently, before smiling absently. He leaned back in his chair, glancing quickly at Locke with another, 'Well what can you do?' expression, and asked, "What's your name?"

[aphelionix]

"AIs don't have-"

"MCGRAW," it declared.

[tactician]

Making a low amused sound in the back of his throat, Weiler nodded along to the introduction. "Guten Tag, McGraw. Call me Weiler."

He set a hand on Locke's arm. "And this is Cupid, your pilot."

"HELLO, WEILER, CUPID."

Weiler couldn't look more pleased if he tried.

[aphelionix]

Weiler got a smack to the shoulder.

"Sorry to override your information this early, McGraw, but it's Locke. Not..." He frowned. "Not Cupid," he said quietly. God, he hated saying it.

[tactician]

"HELLO LOCKE," said the AI after a brief second. "THOUGH I DO INSIST THAT 'CUPID' IS A SATISFACTORY NAME. THE ETYMOLOGY OF IT HAILS FROM THE ANCIENT ROMANS, LONG BEFORE THE SPACE AGE..."

Weiler just grinned, but he knew not to push a point after it had been made. "Yes, McGraw, thanks for that, but I think the Captain might want to skip the history lesson."

"UNDERSTOOD," said McGraw, but damn if it didn't sound the slightest bit disappointed. "THE SHIP IS CURRENTLY HEADED TOWARD U.U.F. PLANET D-3-5-7-0-F-6, ERCLESSE. ALL FACILITIES ARE PERFORMING AS USUAL. DOES THE CAPTAIN WISH TO CUSTOMIZE THE REST OF MY SETTINGS OR PROCEED WITH DEFAULT?"

[aphelionix]

Cupid Locke looked very perturbed by the sudden enthusiasm the AI had. This was why he disliked them - they didn't get cues like humans did. Actually, this was perhaps why he didn't like other humans as much, as they didn't program their AIs to recognize them in the first place.

"Where's the switch that turns you off, McGraw?"

[tactician]

Weiler raised his brows but didn't interfere. It wasn't his place to, as he wasn't the Captain, and he was used to taking the backseat in such decisions.

After a second, McGraw responded as it was clearly obligated to. "I CAN TURN MYSELF OFF UNTIL YOU AUDIBLY REQUIRE OF ME, CAPTAIN," it admitted, though its mechanical words began trailing off near the end.

[aphelionix]

A sigh.

"If you're only located in the flight deck, then I suppose it won't be a problem." He really didn't like the AIs that followed you around the ship, asking if your shower water was acceptable, or if you needed your bed just slightly firmer when it could sense you weren't falling asleep right away. It creeped him out.

[tactician]

Weiler smiled and turned his attention to the dashboard. "Stay out of the bedroom, is what he means. We need our privacy there."

"OF COURSE, CAPTAIN. I WILL KEEP MY INTERJECTIONS SETTING TO A MINIMUM AS WELL." McGraw sounded somewhat relieved.

"Pushover," Weiler whispered to the side, cupping a hand over his mouth.