ashes to ashes, stardust to stardust

MY BOSS HATES ME???? (NOT CLICKBAIT)

After a long day of tours, exploring, and endless introductions, Daryll finally retired to the armory to prepare for his guard duty shift, leaving Rain to settle into his new room alone. The first thing he did was collapse on his bed, the softest thing he'd ever touched. He was tempted to just stay there and sleep forever, but he forced himself up and walked to the closet, looking through the contents. Cotton shirts, wool sweaters, baggy pants made of a rough material he couldn't quite place, and the nicest pair of boots he'd ever seen. He made a mental note to thank the Doctor next time he saw her.

The Doctor had, as was her nature, taken the liberty of stocking his room with necessities such as toiletries, blankets, and clothes, and although Rain was incredibly grateful for her, it made him a little nervous. The tiny unit didn't feel like his own, regardless of how many times he fluffed the pillows, paced around, or tried on his new shirts. He missed his bunk back on the ship.

This unit was a small one, with a living area, a bedroom with a single mattress on the floor, a bathroom, and a kitchen (which he would never use because ovens scared him, and his cooking endeavors often ended in flame and tears). Rain wasn't complaining though, because despite the unit's cramped nature, it was the warmest place he'd been since he arrived. Daryll had mentioned how lucky he was, most of the other living quarters were in the older wing of the base and thus did not have heaters. He'd gotten a window too, one overlooking the forest beyond the base's walls.

As Rain laid in his bed that night, he couldn't help but replay the day of the attack in his head. Everything in him hoped and prayed and begged that he wasn't the only one, that someone, anyone, had gotten out besides him. Even though he didn't particularly like all of his crewmates, they were still family, and no one deserved to die like that. Drifting off, he imagined a world where none of this had happened and he would wake up at his station like always.

Except, of course, that world did not exist, and rain was rudely awakened the following morning by the General powering his lights up and ripping his blanket away from him.

"On your feet, boy, we have work to do." He commanded, giving Rain his signature stare.

Rain groaned and covered his head with a pillow, which too was quickly stolen.

"I said up, soldier. Or would you prefer to sleep outside for the next month?"

With a dejected sigh, Rain dragged himself out of bed and tugged on his shiny new boots while the General watched, ever silent, ever judging. Rain was tempted to make a sarcastic remark, but he quite liked having his head on his shoulders, so instead he followed the General wordlessly down the no-less unfamiliar hallways.

After maybe ten minutes of walking the seemingly identical corridors, the General stopped in front of a shiny metal door. Rain recognized this one, this was the door to the armory, one of the most secure rooms in the base. The doors were solid steel, and required voice authorization to open. While Rain was busy pondering the mechanics of the door, Patrick typed a few things into a small keypad next to the door, then elbowed Rain in his still-healing ribs.

"When the door prompts you, say your name loud and clear. This will grant you soldier's access to the armory." He instructed, stepping back.

Words flashed across the keyboard, then a robotic female voice spoke.

"Name?" It (she?) prompted in an almost annoyed tone.

"Uh, Rain." Rain said, mildly intimidated by the talking door. Sure, he considered himself tech-savvy, but these new machines were something else. The doors on the cargo ship were model 17s, whereas these were at least 30s. It was fascinating how quickly machines could progress in the span of a few decades.