Episode 95, One for All
01 Sep 2024Ryuko Ntsikana
Episode 95, One for All
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The galley of the Type-8 was silent, the kind of silence that felt heavy, pressing down on you from all sides. Meredith sat alone at a small table, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. The luxury modules in the ship were designed to cater to the wealthy, to offer comfort and ease. But there was no comfort here tonight. The soft lighting, the polished surfaces, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee did nothing to ease the tight knot in his chest.
His mind kept drifting back to the events of the night before. Ceri’s face, pale and drawn, haunted his thoughts. He couldn’t shake the scent of her quarters or the image of her unconscious form, the way she’d seemed so small, so defeated. He didn't believe in prying into another's affairs but if he could go back he would ask her what was driving her to that point.
Aby stood by the door, his presence a constant reminder that nothing was truly private anymore. The android’s amber eyes seemed to bore into Meredith, analyzing, assessing. Aby had been assigned as his boatswain, and though Meredith understood the necessity of it, the android’s presence felt like a shackle. Another chain in the long list of constraints that had been placed on him since he’d joined Ryuko’s crew.
The coffee was strong and bitter, the way he liked it. But tonight, it tasted like ash in his mouth. He stared into the dark liquid, his reflection distorted on its surface. He’d known this life wouldn’t be easy, that there would be challenges, but he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to watch someone unravel so early on.
Aby broke the silence, his voice flat and emotionless. “Ceri’s condition is stable. She is under observation in the medbay.”
Meredith didn’t look up. He didn’t need to see the android to know that Aby was watching him closely, waiting for a reaction. “She shouldn’t have been left alone,” he muttered, more to himself than to Aby.
“She was monitored at all times,” Aby replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “However, her actions were unpredictable. There was no indication that she would attempt to self-medicate in such a manner.”
Meredith clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to throw the cup across the room. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything. But the frustration was there, simmering just beneath the surface. “What’s going to happen to her?”
“She will receive the necessary treatment,” Aby said. “The medical staff on Ryuko’s carrier is more than capable of handling her case. However, her future will depend on her ability to recover and reintegrate.”
Meredith finally looked up, meeting Aby’s gaze. The android’s face was as expressionless as ever, but there was something unsettling in those amber eyes. “And if she can’t? What then?”
Aby tilted his head slightly as if considering the question. “If she is unable to recover, it is likely that she will be removed from active duty. Her value to the crew will be reassessed, and alternative arrangements will be made.”
It was the cold, clinical response Meredith had expected, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. He looked back down at his coffee, the steam rising in thin tendrils, and took another sip. “She’s not just a piece of equipment, Aby. She’s a person.”
“A person who has compromised her effectiveness,” Aby replied, his tone unchanged. “My primary directive is to ensure the safety and efficiency of the crew. If she poses a risk, I must report it.”
Meredith shook his head, the knot in his chest tightening. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from the android—sympathy, understanding?—but this wasn’t it. “I’m not asking you to ignore protocol, Aby. I’m asking you to see her as more than just a liability.”
For a moment, Aby didn’t respond. The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Finally, the android spoke, his voice softer, though no less precise. “I will do what I can to assist in her recovery. But I must remain objective in my duties.”
Meredith nodded, though the gesture felt hollow. He could imagine what awaited Ceri if her current actions were reported to Beau. He knew enough about his kind and those he worked for to understand what her fate would be and he didn’t want Ceri to be one of them. But he also knew that there was only so much he could do. Only so much any of them could do.
He finished the last of his coffee, the bitterness lingering on his tongue. “I’m going aboard the carrier to go check on her,” he said, standing up. The chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it back, the sound jarring in the quiet galley.
Aby stepped aside, giving Meredith a clear path to the door. “I will accompany you.”
Meredith glanced at the android, seeing the resolve in his posture, the unwavering commitment to his duties. “Yeah,” he said, his voice tired. “I figured you would.”
Together, they left the galley, the door sliding shut behind them with a soft hiss. The corridors of the Type-8 were dimly lit, the ship in low-power mode for the night. As they walked, the silence between them grew heavier, filled with unspoken thoughts and unresolved tensions.
Meredith’s thoughts were a jumble, a mix of concern for Ceri, frustration with the situation, and the ever-present weight of responsibility that pressed down on him. He knew he had to keep it together, for the sake of his daughter, Ashlyn, and for himself. But with this one event, with a person he didn't really know, the cracks were starting to show.
As they reached the medbay, Aby paused, his amber eyes fixed on Meredith. “If there is anything I can do to assist, you need only ask.”
Meredith looked at the android, seeing the sincerity in his offer, even if it was buried beneath layers of programming and protocol. “Thanks, Aby,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The medbay doors slid open, and Meredith stepped inside, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling his nostrils. Ceri lay on one of the beds, her breathing steady, her face peaceful in the dim light. The medical equipment hummed softly, a reminder that she was being monitored, cared for.
Meredith pulled up a chair beside her bed, sitting down with a heavy sigh. Aby remained by the door, a silent sentinel. As Meredith watched Ceri sleep, he felt the weight of the night settle over him once more. There were no easy answers here, no quick fixes. Just the slow, uncertain process of healing, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, they could all find a way to keep going.
***
The soft illumination of Ryuko’s office cast long shadows over the charts and graphs cluttering the display on the bulkhead. His eyes drifted from the data to a potted air plant, its wide leaves catching the light in a way that made it appear almost otherworldly. The plant had been a gift from one of the crew, grown aboard the carrier’s botanical gardens. He didn’t recognize the species, but its presence in the corner of his office offered a quiet contrast to the technological hum surrounding him.
Tara lounged on a nearby couch, her synthetic form blending into the shadows as she studied the distant stars through the large reinforced window. The silence between them was thick, almost contemplative, broken only by the occasional soft sigh of the ship’s systems.
“What will you say when Beau asks why Meredith brought the ship back here instead of running around with his station’s business clientele?” Tara’s voice was soft, almost teasing, but there was an underlying tension that Ryuko didn’t miss.
Ryuko huffed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The idea that he owed anyone an explanation, least of all Beau, was almost laughable. Meredith was his crew, and as far as he was concerned, that made Ceri part of his crew as well. Beau could take a long walk out of the nearest airlock if he had an issue with that.
“We’re pirates, my dear,” Ryuko said, his tone laced with amusement. “I don’t care how good a client is, we answer to no one.”
Tara giggled, the sound light and musical as she stretched her lithe frame on the couch. She sighed, her synthetic muscles mimicking the relaxation of a human in a way that was almost convincing. “He has been becoming… what’s the human phrase? Yes, too familiar.”
Ryuko moved away from his desk, crossing the room to the plant. He ran his fingers along one of its broad leaves, feeling the cool, smooth texture beneath his skin. The plant’s subtle, earthy scent reminded him of the forests of some distant world, a place far removed from these harsh realities.
“I can make his faction’s cargo ships more familiar if he needs reminding of our arrangement,” Ryuko murmured, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.
Tara turned her head, her synthetic eyes focusing on him with a curious intensity. “You would dismiss him over a single person?”
Ryuko leaned closer to the plant, inhaling its scent as if seeking some hidden wisdom within its leaves. “One person or none. I’d do that and worse to anyone who thinks they have the right to question my business.”
Tara’s giggle returned, softer this time, almost affectionate. “There’s the pirate I’ve grown to love.”
Ryuko didn’t respond immediately. He let his fingers linger on the plant, his mind drifting back to the years that had shaped him into who he was now. The countless battles, the betrayals, the moments of fleeting joy. It all merged into a hardened resolve that had kept him alive for this long. Beau was just another piece on the board, one that could be moved—or removed—depending on how the game played out.
Finally, he turned to face Tara, his expression softening as he looked at her. “The galaxy is large and Beau’s clientele are not the only ones."
Tara’s synthetic lips curved into a smile, her eyes glinting with something that might have been admiration—or perhaps something more complex, more evolved. “Sounds adventurous."
A devious smile crept onto Ryuko's face as he walked over to Tara, looking down at her, as her eyes rose to meet his. The room fell silent again as Ryuko lowered his head to meet hers as she lifted, their lips meeting in the middle.