This week I wrote from Bishop’s POV. I’d probably split these portions up somehow if this story is ever published, but that’s what first drafts are for.
Spoiler
Bishop, before
The day began like any other.
Bishop’s alarm went off. They groaned and rolled over in their bunk, stretching out an arm to silence it. They’d never been a morning person. Taking this job hadn’t changed that, even years later. But they knew it was important to stick to a schedule – if not to keep up the illusion of a circadian rhythm, then to avoid pissing off Adelaide more than they usually did.
Bishop didn’t know how the woman could function so early in the day. It wasn’t like they had coffee here. Or anything else with caffeine, for that matter.
Christ, Bishop missed coffee.
They swung their legs over the side of the bed and stepped onto the ladder, haphazardly making the bed before making their way down. After that they made their way to the kitchen. Checking the food storage, they had enough rice left over to make a porridge. Bishop grabbed the container and started to prepare it. They could hear Adelaide in the other room, doing whatever she needed to prepare for the day. If they’d been planet-side the sun wouldn’t have been up. If, if, if.
It couldn’t be helped.
The porridge was plain but filling. Bishop portioned it out as Adelaide and then Evangeline rolled in, the latter still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“G’morning,” they said, not quite awake yet themselves.
“Morning,” Adelaide said.
Evangeline grumbled and took a bite of her breakfast. “Thanks for the food.”
“Don’t mention it.”
They ate the rest of the meal in silence. Bishop gathered the dishes, scraped off what little organic scraps remained into the compost collection, and popped the plates into the sanitizer.
The ship had moved, then. Not quite a sudden motion, though not a constant one either. Like a dog rolling onto over to expose its belly.
This happened sometimes. It was why most of the ship was bolted down. For now, it was minimal. The dishes rattled in the sanitizer. The chairs creaked on their tracks. This was the extent of things. Bishop grabbed onto the nearest hand-hold and moved to the next room.
“Adelaide,” they called out. “Evie. You two good?”
If there’d been a response, Bishop couldn’t remember it. The room had shifted -- the gravity lurching somewhere their feet just couldn’t find.
There’d been a blur of something, some object, as it flew in an arch around the corner. Heavy and dull, it had crashed into them. Bishop didn’t have time to react. There was a wet, crunching sound. The world went black around them and that was that.
Bishop, interlude
Looking back, Adelaide had told them that there had been signs. It was the temperature, she’d said. It was the way the water recycler had hummed, like an insect flying around someone’s ear, rather than a purr.
None of this was completely unusual. A nuisance, sure. But it was an old ship. Nuisance was the name of the game, especially once Evangeline was added to the mess. (As much as Bishop loved her, the kid was a logistical, resource-straining nightmare.)
A part of Bishop wished they could remember it.
Mostly, they were just glad that they didn’t. They had read the incident reports. They’d seen the footage of the crash and of the escape pod touching down. It’d been a complete and total shit show by anyone’s account – least of all their own.
Bishop was lucky to live through it. They all were. How Evie and Adelaide had managed to spirit them away into the escape pod was beyond them.
(They hadn’t even known that the escape pod was an option – none of them had - the thing was supposed to be inoperable. The realization stung. It’d taken Adelaide a long time to tell them. Bishop couldn’t blame her for that, but even still. They all could have left years ago.)
An alarm went off. It was on the other end of the room. Bishop ignored it and got to their feet. Their quarters here were pretty bare bones. They weren’t surprised. It was a miracle that they’d been given anything at all, given that they were (technically) legally declared dead.
Luckily, Bishop had friends in high places. More importantly, so did their partners. Though they had all tried to keep one another at arm’s length distance, word travelled quickly on the ship. Bishop knew Adelaide had to have pulled some strings for them. They wouldn’t have been surprised if Riley had too.
(Not if the rumors of them being seen together had any truth to them.)
(Which, ouch. Bishop wished they could be there with them too.)
They crossed the room in a few short strides and shut off the alarm. Sighing, Bishop sat down in the chair beside their desk. It wasn’t particularly comfortable. Bishop had never thought they’d miss gravity being optional, but now? The sloped backs of the chair’s legs made it impossible to lean back in comfortably.
It was a constant balancing act. Being in a perpetual free-fall sounded far more appealing. At least then they wouldn’t have had to worry about sitting wrong and cracking their skull open (again).
Nonetheless, Bishop leaned back in the chair. It gave them a good view of the ceiling. The pale, popcorn-looking paneling was reminiscent of what one might find in a classroom. It didn’t do much in the way of insulation. The room was often cold, and Bishop never had a problem eavesdropping on their neighbors. (Who were, by all accounts, nice people.)
They’d accumulated a number of blankets. Most of them were hand knit by one or the other members of the crew, who sold them in what could have passed as a black market — had the higher-ups cared enough to pay attention to it.
Their favorite was the green one. It was warm and soft and it reminded them of the quilt they’d had back home. Today, Bishop wrapped themselves up in it. If they closed their eyes and concentrated they could hear the hum of the ship. It almost sounded like home.
The day began like any other.
Bishop’s alarm went off. They groaned and rolled over in their bunk, stretching out an arm to silence it. They’d never been a morning person. Taking this job hadn’t changed that, even years later. But they knew it was important to stick to a schedule – if not to keep up the illusion of a circadian rhythm, then to avoid pissing off Adelaide more than they usually did.
Bishop didn’t know how the woman could function so early in the day. It wasn’t like they had coffee here. Or anything else with caffeine, for that matter.
Christ, Bishop missed coffee.
They swung their legs over the side of the bed and stepped onto the ladder, haphazardly making the bed before making their way down. After that they made their way to the kitchen. Checking the food storage, they had enough rice left over to make a porridge. Bishop grabbed the container and started to prepare it. They could hear Adelaide in the other room, doing whatever she needed to prepare for the day. If they’d been planet-side the sun wouldn’t have been up. If, if, if.
It couldn’t be helped.
The porridge was plain but filling. Bishop portioned it out as Adelaide and then Evangeline rolled in, the latter still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“G’morning,” they said, not quite awake yet themselves.
“Morning,” Adelaide said.
Evangeline grumbled and took a bite of her breakfast. “Thanks for the food.”
“Don’t mention it.”
They ate the rest of the meal in silence. Bishop gathered the dishes, scraped off what little organic scraps remained into the compost collection, and popped the plates into the sanitizer.
The ship had moved, then. Not quite a sudden motion, though not a constant one either. Like a dog rolling onto over to expose its belly.
This happened sometimes. It was why most of the ship was bolted down. For now, it was minimal. The dishes rattled in the sanitizer. The chairs creaked on their tracks. This was the extent of things. Bishop grabbed onto the nearest hand-hold and moved to the next room.
“Adelaide,” they called out. “Evie. You two good?”
If there’d been a response, Bishop couldn’t remember it. The room had shifted -- the gravity lurching somewhere their feet just couldn’t find.
There’d been a blur of something, some object, as it flew in an arch around the corner. Heavy and dull, it had crashed into them. Bishop didn’t have time to react. There was a wet, crunching sound. The world went black around them and that was that.
Bishop, interlude
Looking back, Adelaide had told them that there had been signs. It was the temperature, she’d said. It was the way the water recycler had hummed, like an insect flying around someone’s ear, rather than a purr.
None of this was completely unusual. A nuisance, sure. But it was an old ship. Nuisance was the name of the game, especially once Evangeline was added to the mess. (As much as Bishop loved her, the kid was a logistical, resource-straining nightmare.)
A part of Bishop wished they could remember it.
Mostly, they were just glad that they didn’t. They had read the incident reports. They’d seen the footage of the crash and of the escape pod touching down. It’d been a complete and total shit show by anyone’s account – least of all their own.
Bishop was lucky to live through it. They all were. How Evie and Adelaide had managed to spirit them away into the escape pod was beyond them.
(They hadn’t even known that the escape pod was an option – none of them had - the thing was supposed to be inoperable. The realization stung. It’d taken Adelaide a long time to tell them. Bishop couldn’t blame her for that, but even still. They all could have left years ago.)
An alarm went off. It was on the other end of the room. Bishop ignored it and got to their feet. Their quarters here were pretty bare bones. They weren’t surprised. It was a miracle that they’d been given anything at all, given that they were (technically) legally declared dead.
Luckily, Bishop had friends in high places. More importantly, so did their partners. Though they had all tried to keep one another at arm’s length distance, word travelled quickly on the ship. Bishop knew Adelaide had to have pulled some strings for them. They wouldn’t have been surprised if Riley had too.
(Not if the rumors of them being seen together had any truth to them.)
(Which, ouch. Bishop wished they could be there with them too.)
They crossed the room in a few short strides and shut off the alarm. Sighing, Bishop sat down in the chair beside their desk. It wasn’t particularly comfortable. Bishop had never thought they’d miss gravity being optional, but now? The sloped backs of the chair’s legs made it impossible to lean back in comfortably.
It was a constant balancing act. Being in a perpetual free-fall sounded far more appealing. At least then they wouldn’t have had to worry about sitting wrong and cracking their skull open (again).
Nonetheless, Bishop leaned back in the chair. It gave them a good view of the ceiling. The pale, popcorn-looking paneling was reminiscent of what one might find in a classroom. It didn’t do much in the way of insulation. The room was often cold, and Bishop never had a problem eavesdropping on their neighbors. (Who were, by all accounts, nice people.)
They’d accumulated a number of blankets. Most of them were hand knit by one or the other members of the crew, who sold them in what could have passed as a black market — had the higher-ups cared enough to pay attention to it.
Their favorite was the green one. It was warm and soft and it reminded them of the quilt they’d had back home. Today, Bishop wrapped themselves up in it. If they closed their eyes and concentrated they could hear the hum of the ship. It almost sounded like home.
