Through the Cosmos

1. meet the space-squad

Time (GMT): 7:38 am.
Coordinates: Unknown.
Ship Status: Shields at 74%; all other systems fully operational.
Current Route: Departed from Sq'bai at 1:12 am; expected arrival at Yorvus IX in 3d, 22 hours.

I yawn and blink the remnants of sleep out of my eyes, attempting to focus on the impossibly small text scrolling across the screen in front of me. With two years of space travel under my belt, you'd think I would be adjusted to the early wake-up call by now. Sadly, a cold, metal sleeping pod doesn't really lend itself to a good night's rest, even when it's been lined with an abundance of fuzzy blankets. Stifling a second yawn, I stretch my fingertips towards the ceiling before settling them over the keys of a sleek white computer.

Yup, another day in paradise. If the endless void of space is considered as a paradise.

My hands still hover over the keyboard, but my thoughts wander back to earth, and specifically to the beaches of Los Angeles, a place I used to frequent back when I lived... well, on Earth. What I wouldn't do to be back on the shores, basking in the hazy mid-morning sun, sand warm against my back. Although we've had a much better view of the sun from up here in the spacecraft, it's just not the same as lying on a beach in L.A., revelling in the gold-hued glory of a lazy summer morning.

    "Ow! Who keeps moving the damn table?!?" A distinct male voice slices through the air, startling me out of my daydream. I look over my shoulder for the source of the noise, and I'm met with the all-too familiar sight of a robust boy doubled over in pain and clutching at his foot dramatically. Next to him stands an equally robust metal table, secured to the silvery floor by a few large bolts.

    "The 'damn table' is attached to the ground, Kace. It's always been there." I remark, rolling my eyes and turning back to the glass monitor in front of me.

"Hey, it was a rhetorical question!" Kace counters, and I can practically hear his cheeky grin. I simply smile and shake my head, not bothering to look back at him.

    "Well," I say, quirking an eyebrow. "I see you recovered quickly."

    "I see you recovered quickly," Kace mimics, waving his tanned arms around erratically as he enters my peripheral vision. I open my mouth to send a sharp retort flying his way, when a voice cuts me off.

"Actually, the ship's on autopilot right now, as it is 72% of the time." I slowly turn to my right to see Quenton, our resident red-headed mathematician, looking down at his lap, mouth pinched closed and cheeks already tinged red.

"Sorry, it's a habit." He explains timidly, reaching up with a freckled hand to adjust his glasses. "When most of your job is about calculations, it becomes second nature to spout statistics all the time." This statement catches the attention of the petite girl seated near the front of the ship, and she twists around in her seat to look at Quenton.

"Yeah, I think we've figured that out by now, Quenton." She says only half-teasingly before shifting her glare to Kace, who is still standing beside my seat, nursing his "injury".

"What is it, Ira?" He asks her flippantly, his cheeks dimpled by his little grin. Ira just continues to bore her gaze into him. Kace rolls his eyes exasperatedly before responding. "Oh, I'm sorry. Ms. Co-captain, how may I be of assistance today?" Ira simply sighs and gives him a pointed look before flipping her glossy black hair over her shoulder and returning to the sleek white control panel in front of her. Kace leans in close to me, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.