Stranded: Chapter 1

Day 1



The first thing Gareth was aware of, was pain. His whole body, despite being strapped into the harness of his seat, felt like a giant had squeezed him in its fist. One side of his face felt wet, warm, blood no doubt, and his nose was filled with the smell of ozone, ears assaulted by the chirps from his computer and hiss of sparks. His eyes were screwed shut in pain as he tried to focus, his head pounding like every hangover he had ever had suddenly ganged up on him at once. He could hear more coughing, low and weak from elsewhere in the tiny bridge of the ship, Star Runner.

Opening his eyes, he almost immediately regretted it as another flash of sparks from a damaged console lit up the darkened room, and sent ice picks of pain straight through his eyes. Coughing, he wheezed out "Who's alive? Captain, you there?" Someone moved, the click of a harness unlocking audible, and he heard someone, not the captain speak. "Captain's dead," said the voice of their second in command, Adams. "Shit..." Gareth groaned, reaching up to undo his own harness. "Find something that still works," Adams said, his voice quaking slightly as he tried to move over to Gareth. Two other forms sat limply in their seats, and whether they were alive or dead was unimportant for now. Gareth cracked open his eyes again, and was thankful that, despite the cracked screen, his station had power. "Rerouting sensors to my screen," he mumbled, tapping out commands. Readouts came up, though the damn image blurred in and out of focus. "Fucking christ......the ship.....Adams, she's torn in half," Gareth said. "We've got auxiliary power from the batteries but I can't tell you how long they'll last. Lost communication.....basic sensors are working, I can do a scan of the immediate area; maybe we'll be lucky and we can breathe."

"Do it," Adams said, leaning over the side of Gareth's seat. Performing the scan, Gareth reviewed other tidbits while waiting for the results. "Got open compartments here, here, and here; we sealed them before the crash, but they got torn open when she split. Life support is functioning--barely--but it's gonna die when the batteries do. And......oh, oh fuck no," Gareth said, clambering out of his seat, scrambling over to a panel in the floor. Adams helped him lift it up, the XO knowing full well what Gareth was looking for....and dreading the results. Underneath was their transponder for the ship, their beacon really for emergencies just like this. It had been damaged, the lights no longer on, and very clearly not active. "Fuck. FUCK!" Gareth screamed.

Her breathing was ragged. It felt that a huge weight was laying on her chest. Her mouth was dry. Every time she had moved her tongue, it felt as though her tongue was scraping against sandpaper. She felt something run down her arm. Water? She thought to herself as she let out a grunt of pain and tried reaching for whatever it was. Her hand brushed against her left arm and then up to her mouth. Before she could even think about tasting whatever it was on her hand, her nose was assaulted by the distinct smell of blood. Her eyes flutter open desperately trying to focus in as best they can. A red stain on her hand ells the rest of the story. She turns her head, trying to get a read on what had happened. Her mind trying its hardest to recollect the events, but she can come up with nothing. Her eyes take in all they can amidst the evident chaos that had happened. All around her were people and as if her ears had just woken up, everything begins to tune in. People weeping and screaming. The sound of footsteps all around. What happened? She thought over and over as if that was the only thought that could possibly come to her. She tried moving, but was held back by something. She reached for her chest to feel a belt and allowed her fingers to run down it to find the lock. An audible click and the pain had subsided momentarily.

What was replaced by it was a feeling far worse as she fell from her seat and onto something squishy with a thud. Her hands buried themselves into her cushion as she tries to see what she had fallen on. Her eyes go wide in horror as she stares face to face with a man with half of his face sunken in. Her breathing becomes ragged once more as she realizes this man's fate. She can't help but gag and then dry heave over the man's corpse as the smell worms its way into her nostrils. She flops over and touches her face and then the left side of her head. A surge of pain shoots its way through her body as her fingers feel ripped skin and the wetness of warm blood. Alarms begin to blare in her head as she begins to cry out for help. Please, anyone take me away from this nightmare. She cried to herself. Evidently, someone had heard her heaves and gags as the sound of footsteps grow louder and louder. She sees the form of a man and her tongue smack her lips, trying to get any saliva she could moving. Deciding it would be faster to mouth the word "help" she does so. The man bends down, reaches under her and lifts her with ease.

"We'll get you patched up like the rest of them. Don't worry." He says in a comforting voice as he leads her away from the terror she had to endure. With the shock and awe of it all just too much to bear, she passed out in his arms.

"Let's see where we are," Adams said, moving to the front of the small bridge. The main viewport up front, a thick pane of plexi-quartz glass framed there, covered now by the blast plating meant for debris and emergencies. He thumbed a control and the covers slowly began to lower with an audible grind of metal. As they did, bright sunlight seeped in through the growing gap and cut through the darkness in the bridge. They shielded their eyes as more light came in, and for a moment Gareth wondered if they were staring into a star. As his eyes adjusted though, he came to realize what it was he gazed upon. It was a desert. A massive, open desert of sand and rock.

The console beeped, and he rushed to see the results of the scan. "Okay......we've atmosphere, and the good news is it's breathable. Beyond that, can't say." Nodding, Adams headed for the door. "Let's check for survivors," he said. "Assess our situation....and move from there." Right, Gareth thought as he followed. Our situation is fucked....

The man who had picked her up, Jamison Whitmore, trudges along the sea of sand and people in the wreckage of the ship. Before the crash, he was an acting crewman of the Star Runner. He had entered his second year of employment with no signs of stopping. Not once had something on this scale happened, at least, not without his knowledge. The man glances down at the small woman in his arms. Visibly she appears to be only five foot five, her small stature making her seem younger than she actually is. He had spoken with her once or twice before the crash and found her out to be in her mid-twenties. It had seemed as though it was her first time flying from how she acted as he was tasked with calming her down a couple of times. A small spurt of sand lands on top of his head and falls gracefully down onto his shoulders. He tries shaking it off as he continues on his way to a makeshift site inside the ship housing the injured. Efforts to quell the pain of the wounded began near immediately as people slowly regained consciousness. He was among the injured, but he pushed the pain aside to fulfill his duty and protect the people aboard as best he could.

Nothing could prepare him for the sight he beheld as he was brought back to the plane of the living. If anything, he could scarcely believe he was awake at all, let alone alive. He had been awoken by the sound of screams, his back to a chair and a red hot sun beating down on his face. To him, at first, he believed he was at the beach on his homeworld soaking up the sun and listening to his children play. When his eyes finally adjusted after his hand had shielded his face for a time, the sight he held caused a mountain of despair to form in the pit of his stomach. Through the hole of the ship, he could see a vast desert and a small distance away the other half of the ship. Were we attacked? What... what in God's name happened? He thought to himself as he tried to move. Pain shot through his body, but he forced his way out of the shock. He went for his communication device to hail the captain, but was unable to find it on his person. He rallied the survivors and tried his best to find hope in the chaos.

Whitmore had arrived at the station at the back of the ship acting as a medical outlet, spoke to one of the doctors there and parted ways with the woman whom he had helped.

Os slowly came around; the area of the ship flashing red with emergency lights. Once his head had stopped spinning, he gave himself a quick patdown, looking for any serious injuries. Aside from a gash on his head and on his side, he was fine. He could always stitch those up later. He stood up, but was brought back down to his knees by a pain in his ankle. It didn't feel broken, but it was still a problem. With one hand on the wall, he began moving further into the ship, only to stop after a few steps. His eyes widened as his hand brushed his side.
"Fuck!" He shouted, his voice seething with rage as he realised what was missing. His knife, one of his most prized possessions, was no longer in her sheath. It couldn't have just fallen out, so that meant he'd been robbed.

With renewed energy, Oswald stormed his way toward his room.

Adams left the bridge while Gareth stayed behind, surveying the people still in their seats. Both occupants were dead, and he left them there--there wasn't much he could do for them now. Trudging down the corridor behind the bridge, his boots clunking dully on the metal flooring he began sweeping each room he passed. Star Runner was an older, bulkier model of freighter, being built with capacity in mind. She originally appeared as a bulky, triangular vessel, a main corridor running the length from the bridge to the engines with smaller ones branched out. Getting progressively wider from front to back, the bridge capped the ship, with a thick neck for crew quarters and medical room, leading to the passenger area then cargo bay, ending with the actual engine room.

He remembered before departure the usual status quo given to passengers; remain in the assigned areas, keep out of the crew areas and engines, and everyone would have a smooth ride. But things had been different on this trip. Their last stop had been at Alteo IV, picking up cargo and passengers for what should have been easy credits. Then the captain told them that they were being paid more than the usual rates in exchange for taking a different route. It wasn't unheard of; lots of times they had smuggled people through star-ways to avoid authorities. But this person had been particulate.....and if Gareth found them, he'd kill them.

In the meantime, Adams had arrived at the passenger section, surveying the damage. From this side things seemed....well, not okay but not as dramatic as one would think for a ship torn in half; there were areas that had been caved in from impacts, the bulkheads dented and metal bent inwards. The passenger and cargo areas were the largest parts of the ship, and he had just entered from his half after all. People were up and walking.....well, stumbling, and he did what he could to help.

But they needed their medic, and he had been down in the passenger bay's mess area to eat when things had hit the fan.

Whitmore passes from the expanded medical bay into one end of the passenger section once more and begins barking orders out, "Come on everyone! Help out the injured and take them to the back! Make this priority one." his pointer finger extended and pointing towards where he had just come from. He had managed to get most of the people the attention they needed so it wasn't too much of a problem anymore, but there were still people who needed to be identified. He didn't want the conscious ones wandering out in the desert for fear of what may lay below the sand. That fear mixed in with his unknowing of how hot this galaxy's sun is with its rays beating down. He didn't want to risk them burning alive, however, they will have to do something about the dead. His mind began to swirl with everything happening around him. The pressure and the fear finally getting to him, he slams his hand against a wall and very nearly loses his balance. Keep it together, Jamison. Come on, it'll be fine. He tells himself, trying to get into the proper mindset once more.

Stumbling as he rounded the corner into his room too quickly, Os noticed two things. Someone was already in his room, and they were searching. The next thing he noticed was the knife the intruder had left on his writing desk. His knife. He strode forward, alerting the other man to his presence. Oswald let him jump to his feet and pick the knife back up, only getting angrier at the sight of the intricately patterned blade being pointed at him.
"So it was you?" He demanded, "You're the cheeky fucking kaffa who stole my knife right off of my fucking belt?" When no response came, aside from the knife slashing out at him, Os began to loosen his neck and shoulders. "Alright then, have it your way."

When the knife came at him the second time, Os was ready. He grabbed the arm holding the knife and kept hold, launching his knee at the other's stomach. He heard the knife hit the floor by his foot, and pushed the other away. He wiped some blood away from his own mouth. He didn't remember taking the hit, but it didn't matter now.

Ash coughed himself back to reality, his hazy vision clearing. Lights were flashing and there was an alarm loudly ringing elsewhere. He coughed again, dust clogging his throat. Ash blinked hard and reached up to wipe his eyes, trying to clear them, but his right arm was unresponsive to the signals being sent by his brain. Ash took a deep breath in.

"Not now."

He tried to move it again but again nothing. So he settled for clearing his eyes with his left hand instead, which did respond. He rubbed at the squidgy balls for a few moments before opening them. Then he looked down. Sure enough, his right arm was almost completely shorn off, just below the elbow. He gave a grunt and a sigh of irritation and, taking ahold of the lower portion with his left hand, gave a strong tug. The last few sinews holding it on came apart and he was left holding the lower portion of his right arm in his left hand. Ash brought it closer to his face and inspected the damage. It looked as though it had been pretty cleanly sliced off, but he might be able to fix it up if he could get back to his quarters. At least enough to last until he reached a proper mechanical medical facility.

As Gareth began moving through the corridors of the passenger area, he heard what sounded like a commotion. Thinking someone needed help, he darted for the source of the noise, and saw quite the counter to his expectations. There in the room were two of the passengers, clearly alive and in a fight. A knife lay on the ground, an intricate looking weapon though Gareth didn't care much as he looked at it. "Hey!" he yelled, staying where he was though as he recalled one of the passengers: a mercenary, which meant that they were better at killing than he was--not someone to pick a fight with. "That's enough, we've got more important things to worry about!"

Her eyes flutter open to see multiple people running to and fro in front of her. Her mouth is noticeably less dry than it was when she had first woken up and the pain in her head and arm has been lowered to a mere throbbing. Her hand moves to her face then to the side of her head, repeating the motions of earlier. Her fingers brush against what feels as a bandage on the side of her head. Wherever she is, they must have a enough medical supplies for whatever had happened. She closes her eyes once more and the image of the man she had seen dead underneath her flashes in her mind. New details she hadn't thought about until now present themselves. Blood mixed with bits of brain mixed together to make a sickening concoction of putrid death. She shoots up from her position. Her breathing returns to its previously erratic state. Someone notices her and approaches, a woman with a somber look on her face takes to one of her knees to match her level. "Everything alright?" She says in an equally somber voice. It's very apparent that she isn't a staff worker and was recruited to help the efforts. The injured woman shakes her head and replies, "Where... are we? What happened?" The woman sighs and gives her a pensive look. "We're in the medical room of the ship. I don't know anything else beyond that. I'm sorry." As the somber woman begins to stand, the injured woman grabs her arm. A deep concern and worried confusion plastered all over her face. Her eyes shift to look downward before locking with the woman who she had just grabbed before asking in a quiet voice, "Who... am I? Do you know me?"

Oswald glared at the newcomer, twirling the knife in his hands.
"This fucker stole my knife," He said, "Right off my fucking belt. You think I'm just gonna walk away?" He pointed the knife at the fucker as he approached him on the floor. "No, no, this bastard's gonna die for that, aren't you, bastard?"

Ash made the decision to finally sit up and so he did, using his ripped off limb as a block from the large shaft of light coming from the end of the corridor he was in. He squinted, his face grimacing as he looked around him. There was no-one to be seen, but that alarm was louder now and so he decided he should go find out why the alarm was going off, why he had awoken on the floor, why his arm was torn off and what the bloody hell that light was.

"Right now? Yes, you are," Gareth said. He drew the gun holstered at his hip, non-lethal sadly but it was the best he had for now, what with their weapons locker....well, locked. It had a lot of punch though, but the batteries didn't hold a lot of shots.

So, he wanted to use it as sparingly as possible, and especially not waste it on day one. "We'll get to him later; for now though I've got better things to do than babysit."

"Go on," Os dared Gareth, opening his arms for an easy chest shot, "Show us how big your cock is and shoot me."

Os kept his own eyes fixed on the others, seeming not to even blink. He recognised the weapon's brand, and knew that they fucking hurt, but that was about it. Non-lethal weapons rarely interested Os, you could accomplish non-lethal takedowns with a lethal weapon, if you were good.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Gareth sighed, squeezing the trigger. A bolt of blue energy shot from the gun, the stun bolt hitting the mercenary square in the chest and sinking in. He waited for the man to go down, before turning to the thief and shooting him too. "We can sort this out later," he muttered.

From the grip of an ice cold sleep, few began their journey home, toward the light. With the original journey abruptly ended. Those in cryosleep woke from their slumber. Or they did not. Twelve men in cryosleep. one broken chamber. A trail of blood and liquid led from the broken chamber to the nearby locker room. The cold naked body of a man, shivering, in shock, battered from the landing. The first crew members to enter the room tried to awaken the men in cryo-sleep. Few responded. Less survived. Of the twelve in the cryo-chambers, five responded to the waking up procedure, 3 survived. Or rather, eleven. The fourth survivor was already in the locker room. Though he was cold as a man at deaths door in winter. In the panic - he was forgotten. Though this was temporary, it was long enough. He died. For three minutes. Then he came back. Due to a flaw in the life-detection of his bracelet. It would read that he died - but in truth, his heart beat fell below one beat per minute. Below the detection threshold. When he finally pushed himself from the slanted floor. His muscles and joints creaking against the newly applied gravity, moved his body to an upright position, leaning against a wall. This is how they found him. To complete the awakening, they had to put him back into the cryo-chamber. So that more blood could be pumped into his body. Strange, it was, that he did not die shortly after leaving the chamber. When he did awake, when Nikul Ausch awoke, he stared emptily at the crewmen standing in front of him. Dazed from all that had transpired. Ignorant of the crash, and how he had left the chamber to begin with.

A loud snap woke him up next. Someone was snapping their fingers in front of him. Followed by "Hey!" His senses were groggy. His mind was slow. He felt a pressure in his arm and the effects of the contents of the syringe were not immediate, but when the blood reached his brain his brain was awakened as if a bolt of electricity had surged through it. He had had a negative reaction to the initial cryo-injection - but without access to medical records, no one would know that. Not that it mattered anymore. a cocktail of hormones and other biochemicals were found in his locker with instructions to wake him up. It was by luck the lockers had not been destroyed on entry to this planet. Awake, conscious, and aware. Alive.

The first thing Os noticed when he came back to his senses was that he was lying on his back, the second was that his chest hurt. Despite that, he managed a pained laugh.
"So you've got a big cock," He coughed, still smiling, "Careful where you stick it, eh?"

"I'll do that," Gareth said coolly. "Look, tell you what; you still want to kill this guy, then save it for later. Right now we need every able body that can walk helping us get a handle on things. And I think a big scary merc like you could fit the bill. Deal?"

The woman's head tilts. Her somber expression turned confused as her head begins to shake. "No, miss. I don't know anyone here." She tries to shake her hand away, but the amnesiac woman's hand holds firmly. A mixture of emotions swirl on her face, seemingly trying to remember anything at all from before the crash. The woman can see this struggle and whispers almost to herself, but just enough for the other woman to hear, "What about your name?". Then she repeats herself with a bit more confidence as if she was proud to have come up with some kind of solution. "Name..?" The amnesiac repeated in a soft voice. Her free thumb slowly comes up to her forehead as if trying to transfer any information she has onto it. Name Name Name she repeated the word over and over until she began to feel a sharp pain in her head. Her grip on the other woman releases as both hands fire up to her temples. She whimpers and her eyes close as if running on a defense protocol to prevent any information from leaking out. Her heart rate increases rapidly. She feels a hand on one of her shoulders, then the other.

The previously somber woman had been quickly molded into caregiver, something even she didn't see coming. "Shh. Shh. It's alright. Don't push yourself" She says, pausing. "I... uh... read somewhere that if you force these things, it'll have a negative effect. So just... take it slow and let it come to you. Alright?" The amnesiac's hands drop and her eyes open. For a brief moment, the woman before her changes and in that instant her heart began to show signs of calming. She nods and gives a small smile. The other woman stands and flashes her own smile. "My name's Karri, I'm sure we'll need to work together so it might help if you know my name." Another nod from the amnesiac, "Thanks Karri. It's nice to meet you." With those parting words, Karri wanders off to another part of the room to aid someone else. I wonder if that was a real smile? It had to be. She wouldn't have helped me like that if it weren't She thinks, chewing on the idea that perhaps Karri was lying in order to get away. Deciding she wasn't, the amnesiac shifts her legs in order to get off of the bed.

Whitmore had decided to take a seat against the wall he had abused and allowed himself to catch a breath. He hadn't spoken a word to the captain since the crash to give his report, but it wasn't like the captain couldn't already see the damage and losses they had suffered. That is, if he were still alive at all. He moved to get up on shaky legs and gave himself more time to let himself stabilize. This stress inducing situation is awful on his heart. He's never been good with these kinds of things on an emotional level. He wants to save anyone he can, and when he can't it feels as though his world is crushed. He begins a quick breathing process to help his nerves and when he was done, he continued his work helping out where need be.

Oswald started to laugh. This was too funny.
"So, you stop me from getting even with this fucker, shoot me in the chest, and then ask for my help? You can get fucked."

Out of the corner of Whitmore's eye, he can see the Star Runner's second in command Adams. Whitmore finishes the job he was doing for one of the recently drafted medical personnel and approaches Adams from behind. He taps Adams on the shoulder to get his attention. "Sir, near everyone on the ship is currently undergoing some form of attention. The able bodied are aiding the effort. I've seen the situation outside to an extent. Are we able to hail for assistance?" He says doing his best to give a situational report in one drawn out breath.

The amnesiac woman moves from her position on the bed back to where she had woken up at. If I can find something I recognize, that may help me. She does her best to not get in the way of anyone. After a few minutes, she finds a rough estimate of where she had been and begins looking around for anything. She takes note that the man she had fallen on had been moved at some point, but his bloodstains remain. She scans the space and sees what appears to be a pin. She crouches down over it after making her way to it and picks the circular object up gently. It appears to be made of silver at first glance from the back. When she turns it over she sees the design of two gears made of what appears to be gold. Her brow furrows as a dull pain begins to form in her head. She tries her best to ignore it as she attaches the pin onto her collar and stands up.

A soft, womanly voice rings in her head along with the pain. A faint, far off voice. It represents our people. The pride and joy of our country and no matter what happens to us the gears will keep turning in our favor. It is a speech show knows she has heard before. "The gears keep turning" She repeats the words she had once heard to herself perhaps to commit them to her current memory.

Shrugging, Gareth simply said "Look around. We're all fucked at the moment."


Looking behind at Whitmore, Adams sighed and said "No, we're not. Our beacon is down, as is long range communication." He looked past Whitmore as people were being helped or giving it to others. "First priority is the wounded, but I also want to keep people confined to the ship until we know just how badly the situation is."

Whitmore nods and gives the second in command a positive smile. "Roger, everything will be alright. We'll pull through. God is watching over us." Whitmore turns around about halfway before turning back to face Adams. "If you need a survey team, I'll gladly volunteer when the time comes." He says with confidence, puffing his chest out a little.

The amnesiac staggers around the space a bit more searching for anything else she might find useful. She rummages around some stacks of assorted rubble with no luck. It is as if she came here with nothing to her name besides the pin. She had even checked her own pockets to only come up with lint. The feeling she got when she heard that voice cemented the idea that it was hers. I'll have to ask around. Someone must know something about this pin. She thinks to herself before leaving the space. The words play in her head over and over rewinding and playing back. She becomes so lost in thought as she leaves she very nearly runs into someone. With a swift movement and apparent knowledge of her surrounding area, she dodges the incoming person and moves past them towards the destroyed end of the ship.

"For now let's just focus on getting this clusterfuck in order," Adams sighed. "No telling what's on this blasted planet, so the sooner we've gained our heads the harder it'll be to loose them..." He walked off, shouting orders as he went.

With their conversation completed, Whitmore fades back into the mess of humans. He curses himself for not asking about the captain.

The amnesiac moves through the ship. The deeper she goes, the more sand she begins to find. Curiosity takes her over as she continues trudging forward. Eventually she has to stop. The feeling of immense heat replaces her curiosity and then the sight of complete and utter carnage befalls her sight. A sea of neverending brown and course sand. A sun beating directly down upon the exposed portion of the ship. Her eyes begin to sting. She closes them and rubs them. When she opens them, she sees grains of sand on her hands. The pain in her head amplifies and a voice calls out. A voice much different than the one that had greeted her earlier.

Anna Christine, you've done exceptionally well. Using the sandstorm as cover led to your success. A man's voice says in a stern manner. Despite offering kind words, the delivery is cold and obtuse in a way. "Anna... Christine...?" She repeats the name she heard. The pain in her head increases once more to unbearable levels. Her knees grow weak and eventually buckle. She drops onto the floor of the ship and lets out a sharp cry. Her head being covered by her arms. The feeling of the dam built around her memories cracking due to the waves of said memories fills her head, but no matter how hard she wishes for the dam to break, it holds.

"Well kid. It looks like your luck has run out." Nikul opened his eyes. He sat idle, his back against the former wall of the ship. People were running around - looking for survivors. With no artificial gravity to ground them, some crewmen slide across the floor - as it was too steep to walk on. He watched silently as men and women scurried about. Busier than a roused ant hive. Except for him. He sat staring at nothing. Waiting for nothing.

The amnesiac woman, now blessed with the name Anna Christine, slowly regains her wits as her headache begins to fade. The cracks in the dam of her mind being repaired to her chagrin. She flops onto her rear end facing the world of sand. She hears footsteps behind her. From the sound of them she discerns them to be the same ones from the man who had saved her. Taking his height and weight into example, it's the only answer. Her guess is confirmed as she hears a semi-familiar voice. "Orders are to not let anyone out of the ship. I gotta ask ya to leave." Her head turns to face him as he moves to her left side. A face of discomfort and sadness enter Whitmore's line of sight as his own voice fills with surprise. "Ah, it's you! I wondered where you ended up since I couldn't find you in the medical room." She sits there, her face unchanging. Her lips part, but the words refuse to come out. She sighs, steeling her resolve. She hated the idea of having another sudden headache, but she needed answers. "Do you know me? Who I am?" She asks the man. He shakes his head after a second of thought. "Nah, we spoke a little bit before the crash though." Realization suddenly hits as he remembers a quick conversation he had with Karri. "You've got amnesia. Sorry." He says, concern on his face and in his voice. It's her turn to shake her head, "Don't be, I don't think it was your fault we went down." Surprisingly to her, he laughs at this as he takes it as a joke to only have her staring with her head cocked up at him like a confused puppy. "Sorry for laughing like an idiot." He says, sitting down beside her. "The name's Whitmore. Jamison Whitmore. I think I can give you a bit of information to help you if you need it." Anna reads his eyes as he speaks. She gets a sense of truth from them as if this man wears his heart on his sleeve. "It's nice to meet you Mr. Whitmore. My name is Anna, I believe. Anna Christine."

Oswald laughed even harder.
"You really think that? I'll tell ya right now, I'm not fucked. I'm already going to live forever," Oswald took a deep, calming, breath to stop himself from laughing, adopted a serious look and looked again at Gareth.
"Get fucked."

Whitmore nods and flashes her a smile before saying, "Ah, you learned your name?" She nods back at him, "It... came to me right here." She says. "Strange place for a memory dump, but we'll take what we can get. You have anything on ya I might be able to tell ya about? Any questions?" She smiles and scratches the side of her nose. "I've got enough to last us until we're old, probably." He gives a chortle, "Well. so long as I can get back to the wife and kids for dinner. I'll be fine. Hit me." She takes in a deep breath. "I heard we're on the Star Runner, can you tell me where our destination was going to be?" He shakes his head after spending some time to think, "I'm sure they told us, but in all this madness I've forgotten. I can remember where we were last. We had picked up some cargo and passengers at Alteo IV, I don't believe that's when you boarded." He says as he chews on his thoughts for another moment. "I believe you were picked up on the stop before that on Caldis III." He stops to get a read of her face, trying to see if anything sparked in her head. Her brows furrow as this new information comes to her. The name rolls on her tongue before she feels chills run down her spine. "I think there's something familiar about it, but I'm unsure." Her gaze turns to the sand, perhaps in an attempt to warm herself from the chills she had just experienced. Her hand moves to the pin on her shirt and she removes it deftly. Her gaze shifts to it then to Whitmore as she shows the item to him. She begins reading his face for any change only to find none. He's seen this before. Meaning that when he said we spoke before, he noticed it from then. She thinks to herself. This must be mine. "Do you know anything about this?" She asks him. "Space is vast. We cover what we can here and I try to learn about all of the passengers we get, but a lot of it doesn't stick. Sorry. Though, something tells me that I would remember an emblem like that if I had seen it before prior to meeting you." He says in a disappointed and apologetic tone.

"Suit yourself," Gareth said, not willing to argue anymore. If he tried dragging the stunned thief, odds were good the merc would try and kill him, take the weapon. And the guy was clearly a thief.....he could trust him less than the merc. So even if it meant leaving the man to die, he left him there.

He had more important things to do.

Heading for the passenger area, he ran into Adams who was heading in the opposite direction. "Gareth, where were you?" the man asked, to which Gareth said "Arguing with that mercenary we picked up. I got held up though." Waving it off, Adams said "We're good, Whitmore managed to get a good grip on things. I found Jenkins and he's already working with two more to lock down the valuables."

Frowning, Gareth said "Is money and cargo really on the top of priorities right now sir?"

"Valuables as in food, water, tools, meds, and weapons. Our weapons locker is still up front and I'd like to make sure it stays locked for the time being."

Anna matches Whitmore's look of disappointment as she pins the circular emblem back onto her shirt. "Tell me about Caldis III. Anything you might know." She asks suddenly going back to the topic of one of the last stops. "Well, Caldis III is known as a prime vacation world. Damn near every continent on that planet is a picturesque place to spend on leave if you have the time. Though, I did hear tell of a company trying to industrialize one of the continents through a cross planetary event of some kind. A sign of good will if you understand my meaning." Anna shakes her head to which Whitmore replies rubbing his chin, "This just might be ramblings, but whenever I hear something like that it's usually that the imposer, in this case the company or maybe even a government, is pressuring the receiver or the planet's government. Things may get messy if the receiver denies." She nods, taking this information in. "You're being very helpful, Mr. Whitmore. I appreciate it." She says graciously. "Nah, no problem, it's what I do." He says with a smile as he stands up. "If you need anything else, Karri should be able to help you. Despite her off-putting demeanor she's shown herself to be pretty helpful." With this, Whitmore leaves Anna to her own devices and without much else for her to do Anna continues to sit and stare out at the world in front of her.