Their usual lack of chatter drew the loneliness of the vacuum about them as they soared through the deep, far off sunlight turning them half golden with glinting, unbearable brightness, obscuring the other half of each of them in blackest night. It was a sight to bewitch lesser souls, that dichotomy of light and absolute dark they each portrayed. An observer might even have said that it was a true vision of their being, but there was no one there to see it.

Chapter 8

Mikhail was bored. Not just a little bored, it was the sort of mind numbing lack of something to do that ate at the mind, that encouraged thoughts of doing something, anything just to break the monotony. It didn’t help that he had no friends here, but he didn’t really think he was lonely, for after all he had never really known any other way of being. He had shuffled from one set of emotionally distant foster parents to another his entire childhood, never really attaining any sort of closeness. It only seemed natural for him to join the Marines when he finished school early at 17, and even there the air of aloofness he seemed to project kept others from approaching him.

He had read of friendships and thought that he might like to try one, but he was so socially inept that he never seemed to be able to connect with anyone other than on a very casual basis. It wasn’t that he was an uncaring person, it was just that he had no way to compare what other people cared about to his own interests. There were others like him in his unit, just as insular and distant as he. They worked well together, the only chatter over the coms related to the task at hand, which at the moment was waiting. Waiting to be told where to go, which particular piece of the ruined station’s hardware to remove for transport back to the ship.

None of them spoke, simply floating in position, variously absorbed in their own thoughts or gazing at the panorama of the Uranian system. There was beauty to be seen here, but only a few of them saw it and even those only saw what their own experience and enthusiasm lead them to see. Cairns saw the rings, to him it was a delicate gravitational dance, doomed to blur into something less distinct, to eventually dissipate. Stevens focused on the atmospheric storms which had persisted since before humankind had made the first tentative leaps off the home planet, and mourned for the fact that they too would die within just a few more centuries.

They each had their own unique view of what was spread out in front of them, and none of them had the ability to share that with the others who shared their units, their danger, their odd form of bravery which all of them simply considered normal, for none of them knew any other way to react or to share what they saw and felt. They had one thing in common. They all took pride in a job well done, and after a fashion, they all cared for each other, though not a single one of them knew how to put what they felt into words.
They all took pride in being Fleet Marines, and especially, they took pride in being Mikhail’s Misfits, the most decorated unit in what was left of a once proud military organization. None of them were quite aware that they were considered an elite unit, they simply didn’t communicate with others outside the unit enough to have ever been told this. They didn’t understand that others tried to emulate them, tried to be as cold and efficient as they appeared to the rest of the detachment of marines aboard Hermes. They were truly misfits, if not quite the sociopaths they might appear to be.

A sudden burst of chatter broke through Mikhail’s consciousness, rousing him from his state of comfortable sameness. The voice had clipped British overtones to it. “Lieutenant Moscovitch, you are directed to proceed to sector 17 delta and prepare for evacuation of personnel from sealed compartment 17 alpha Zed 14. Be advised that there are no personnel in this compartment with pressure suits, pressure docking components and transport are en route. Your mission is to secure and assist. Appropriate facilities are en route now, ETA, 5 minutes. Do not, repeat Do not breach containment in any way. Acknowledge instructions.”

Mikhail sent off a quick acknowledgement. An equally terse command to his team sped in its heels. “New orders, follow”. He didn’t even bother to check behind him, certain in the knowledge that his team was fast on his heels, coasting through the blackness. Their usual lack of chatter drew the loneliness of the vacuum about them as they soared through the deep, far off sunlight turning them half golden with glinting, unbearable brightness, obscuring the other half of each of them in blackest night. It was a sight to bewitch lesser souls, that dichotomy of light and absolute dark they each portrayed. An observer might even have said that it was a true vision of their being, but there was no one there to see it. They were all too absorbed in considering the mission.

An intolerable time later, checking the seals of the emergency airlock, shepherding the occupants of the compartment to safety, their shift ended. Still with no comment among themselves, they headed for the airlock that would allow them entrance to the world they had no way to cope with, the place that they all viewed as alien. It was time to eat.

There was some comfort in the action of eating for Mikhail, but it was not the idea of eating or even the flavors so much as the notion that when he had finished this necessary task he could go and lose himself for a while in the lush environs of the ships gardens. That had been his retreat since he was a small boy. No matter where he went, there were always gardens, and that was something that filled his soul with contentment. The plants never judged, they simply repaid kindness with enthusiastic growth. He was comfortable there.

He was wandering among the lush greenery, lost in his own thoughts, when suddenly the alarms broke into his reverie. “All hands, brace for acceleration, repeat, all hands, brace for acceleration.” There was nothing to hold on to, no handholds, so when the sudden acceleration hit, he was thrown into the air and slammed against a bulkhead, the unyielding hardness crushing him. Darkness began to overtake him as he strained to reach for some sort of safety. The acceleration ceased, but he still could not bring himself to move through the pain. There was something wrong with him and he had enough sense to simply wait for medics to reach him. A long, agonizing, foggy time later, they did, and he felt himself being carried to what he knew had to be sickbay. There he received blessed relief, fogging his mind and allowing him to accept the sickening pain the doctors inflicted on him as they set his broken bones. It did not, however, keep him from the odd sensation of grating and popping as they manipulated him back into shape. He wondered why they didn’t just put him under for that. Still, despite the moans of pain, he did not complain. He was after all, a Fleet Marine, and Marines did not bitch about a little broken bone here and there. No matter how much his toes hurt.

When he was finally able to think straight, he took a look around. To his right was a severely injured sailor, casts all over his body and traction gear appended to him. He felt a momentary flash of relief that he was not wounded as badly as the poor sailor. Looking to the other side, he was astonished to find what appeared to be a young teenage girl wrapped up in casts and bandages from the chest down. He would have readjusted himself, but the casts on his own limbs kept him from acting on the impulse.

He found himself staring at her face. She was so beautiful and innocent looking, laying there asleep. He was uncomfortable in his arousal and longing. He wanted her, and at the same time he knew there was no way a woman as beautiful as her would ever even look twice at him. A sort of despair overtook him, and he lapsed back into sleep. A part of his separation from others meant that he never knew that he was truly attractive to women, and more than a few men. His trim physique, a face that was just a little too angular to be called handsome and a great beak of a nose had been enough to keep him within himself. He never knew that many of his classmates at the Academy had considered him just the wrong side of attainable.