funky station

You're sprawled in one of the old chairs, the kind that's molded to fit whoever sits in it long enough... Your friend is in the one next to you, sideways, legs draped over one armrest, head resting on the other. The stars stretch out in every direction...slow, silent, endless. The only light comes from them and the faint glow of the plant on the sill.

Neither of you has spoken in a while. It's that kind of place. The kind that makes you talk less and think more.

Your friend's voice comes low, unhurried, as though the quiet itself granted permission.

"Random-"

You glance over.

"But I've been thinking."

They don't look at you. Their eyes are on the stars, tracing something only they can see.

"What do you think happens?" They nod toward the glass, toward the dark between the pinpricks of light. "After. When someone doesn't walk it off."

They let out a breath...not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. Something in between. Something that knows.

"I've seen people go out," they say. "More than I count. Hull breach. Fires. Science accidents. And every time, I wonder if they went somewhere. Or if somewhere came to them first."

A long pause. The plant rustles slightly. Maybe the vents. Maybe not.

Your friend shifts, pulling their legs in, sitting up just enough to look at you properly. In the starlight, their face is calm. Thoughtful. The way people look when they've been sitting with a question for a while, letting it settle.

"What's the bet? Void? Something else? Nothing at all?"

A small, tired smile. The kind that comes after too many shifts, too many close calls, too many people who didn't make it to cryo.

"I'm not trying to get philosophical on you. Just..." They gesture vaguely at the stars. "All this. Makes you wonder, right? What do you believe?"

When you look over to Relilikav, he has that look on his face again. The one he gets whenever you ask a question like this- like you just punched him in the face. All his feathers askew, like a puffed-up cat.

"Some peace and quiet, for once," he snaps, moving to leave the chair he's in.

"We've been here too long," he says, leaving, "We need to get back to work."

You're not really sure what you expected, really. Just when you think you've achieved the status of friend, he always snaps those walls back up again like a clam's shell. Even getting him to just sit down for a while was a chore and a half. Besides, this was probably a better question for a drunker Reli- that's one of the few times he'll actually talk about himself.

Speaking of a drunker Reli, you can't help but think to the last time he had drank. It wasn't just one of those shifts where everything seemed to go wrong- he had also been roped into becoming Acting Research Director, which you know for a fact he despises. He had told the bartender that he didn't care which drink he had, as long as it made him drunk. You had to loop an arm around him and help him half-stumble to a quieter part of CentComm, all while he complained about the shift in a voice so slurred you couldn't hear half of what he was saying. You had waited until enough alcohol had left his system that he could actually be understood (but not enough that he'd clam up again- it was a fine art, getting Reli to talk) to pop a different question that had been gnawing at you.

"Why do you push everyone away?"

"What's the point of making friends?" he countered, still slurring enough that you really had to listen, "I'll just get a dose of MindWipe at CC. Or they'll die. It's all pointless, really. Why should I care about anyone? Why should they care about me?"

It's this memory, along with your (admittedly, scant) knowledge of Reli, that lets the truth click into place-

Relilikav is terrified of the answer.