Writing Prompt - Ker & Mako'rian'thrys

49. “It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.“
Ker’ith’wyn (Ker), Mako’rian’thrys (Oriant)

Polishing boots, polishing guns - there was only so much operational preparedness that Ker could fit into a single day on the Rose, only so much time she could check snaps, check buckles before the rig needed to be stripped and the work checked again. And it was work, sitting in one place with stillness trained into her by years in Imperial Intelligence, to be silent and yet part of the Rose. Observing. Watching. Judging, a fixture on the deck who preferred to spend her hours kitted up in CEDF blue that she’d left behind the last time she’d left the Rose. Someone who quietly asked questions in her own head, who skirted the lines where she could, who floundered in the changed galaxy.

“You’re going to wear the buckles out, Forty-Two, if you continue this method of action.”

It was the old handle from Intelligence, adapted to her call-sign on the Rose. Few people knew the significance - they lived and breathed secrets though, so many might have guessed but none put the words to their lips, put speech to them, let the reminder drip from their tongues. She wasn’t sure why she kept it - but it was a leftover for her. Ker’s brilliant red eyes looked up, locking on the thin waif of a technician who stood at a polite remove with a datapad in her hands.

“And you are...?” Ker read the briefings when possible on crew of the Rose, but names slipped by her sometimes, the way years had without meaning in the wastes she’d been stranded on.

“Mako’rian’thrys.” At Ker’s look the young Chiss shrugged. “Firewall.”

“You inherited my blockers, then?” Ker still remembered the stick handed to the Director - before she was the Director, before she was a Hado - of programs that she shouldn’t have handed over. The night on Kaas had been dark but that time was... swathed in confusion for the former agent, a feeling she channeled into picking up the pieces of her blaster and starting to fit them together again.

“You should speak to someone about your agitation, Forty-Two. If you remain like this you will be unable to function in your role.” The technician’s voice was polite, distracted - her head was bent over her screen, messy blue hair barely near some measure of regulation, almost like a personal defiance to the mandated Way Things Were.

Ker liked it. It was a spark of... difference. What she didn’t like was the reminder that things were... always different. She’d gone home, the shambles of her Imperial conditioning around her ears, and seen her family. Strangers, strangers who shared her blood, her name, who wept quietly at seeing her alive - the Aristocra’s words had been believed, but it was different to see the truth. Her brother, her mother, her father.

“What is the issue, Forty-Two?” Mako’rian’thrys had let the tablet lower, looking at the former agent who seemed lost, swathed in drab browns with her brilliant blue and black set aside, hair tightly pulled back.

“Nothing is the issue.” Ker’s voice was even and flat, the faintest hint of an edge.

“Is that why in the past three days you’ve disassembled your firearms, sharpened the armory, and run so many test protocols that you’ve generated over a crystal of additional logs? The logs, by the way, were insightful, but protocols have changed and you should brush up on the new coding for better call checks.” Mako’rian’thrys shot a look at Ker, a sly side-eye that the agent saw and frowned at.

“You obviously believe something is wrong, with your paranoia.”

“It’s not paranoia, it’s preparedness.”

“And when you verified all of the seals and locks, all code terminals for unauthorized access - that was simply preparedness?”

“Yes.”

“And reviewing the footage of visitors to the deck, the landing pads, as well as checking the histories of all cleared visitors?”

“Yes.”

“What are you concerned will go wrong, Forty-two?” Mako’rian’thrys spoke softly, inviting confidence.

“Nothing will go wrong, we just need-”

“-to be prepared,” the tech interrupted, turning and looking at Ker, holding her gaze. “You are preparing very hard for something you will not face. What do you think will go wrong?”

A beat of silence. In the stillness Mako’rian’thrys was aware that Ker held the barrel of a blaster up towards her, the targeting flicked on. She stood still, feeling the skittish desire to back away then, as Ker held it aimed at her before it finally lowered.

“Nothing.” Ker holstered the weapon. “Nothing will go wrong.”

“You’re trying to convince yourself of that, aren’t you?” The question earned the technician a furious look, a cold look, something like ancient predator reminded that it could hunt and kill. “Why?”

“Somehow it always does, and always will.”