With tired eyes, a tired mind and a tired heart I finally make it back to Atropos after a long, grimy day of klaxons
blaring, sparks flying, servo grease and conduit coolant spraying on the bridge of the Sally Clarke as we gather the fine people
of Reed's Rest in their escape pods and whatever little is left of their lives.
On the trip back to Blackmount, I kept the intercoms open between the bays so that the occupants had a chance to speak to
their loved ones who until then, would have been entombed for who knows how long, just watching the wreckage
of their ruined homes float on by.
Now unfortunately, the only way for bidirectional communications to be established across all cargo bays at once requires
them to be opened over the entirety of the ship, which means that round after round, CMDR Roe and I got to listen in on what
Roe so aptly compared; "the traumatized, incoherent ramble of lunch hour at Cubeo Palliative Millitary Hospice".
It was fucking hell. Children asking desperately around for their missing parents, missing pets. The wailings of the injured.
the deluded howls of those who were rendered mad by the atrocities they must have seen bobbing by the prthole of their pods.
I just want to hold my child, scrub the grease out of my hair, have a shower-beer and a fucking cry.
But first, I'm going down to the fitting dock and having the techs rewire the intercom. It's the only way that I can bring myself
to do this again tomorrow...