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[sexting]

Right, chaps. Cambridge here

I'm looking for a small group - a posse, if you will - of intrepid (preferably childless and unmarried) explorer and/or hero types to pop back in to the depths of that terribly interesting lab to retrieve whatever hard drives and assorted interesting bits of shit you saw there on my behalf

Reason being that there seems to be some kind of horribly intriguing and potentially nasty virus sitting around in that hardware and I do believe it warrants a bit of a poke (no jokes please, let's be professional)

Top tip: don't try anything stupid like plugging whatever pretty little bit of cybernetics you might have hardwired in to your brain straight in to it because I have a strong suspicion you'll end up thoroughly fucked

And I'm talking very thoroughly, like three orifices and both hands

You know what - let's play it safe, shall we?

- Don't press too many buttons
- Don't put your comms devices too near the equipment
- Don't even think of walking in to comms or the science department with so much as a bloody USB stick from that lab

In fact, just don't fuck with it at all - just bag it and tag it and bring it back to room 015 of passenger deck 011

Tea and medals for all upon a successful return



PRIVATE: CILLIAN QUINN
I do realise that the concept of an honest day's work is utterly abhorrent to the likes of you and I but if you fancy putting that attractive little brain of yours to work then let me know

Comments

[sexting]

[ There are enough replies on his broadcast - some helpful, some aggravating, nearly all warranting a good expletive or two - to keep Cambridge occupied in the mean time. When the rap at the door comes he picks himself up from his lounging position on the bed and briefly ducks in front of the mirror to rake a hand through his hair. No point in looking unpresentable - although 'presentable' was always difficult to achieve in the horrendous lycra concoctions that were the standard issue Tranquility jumpsuit. He straightens his collar with a wince of disdain before abandoning his efforts and making for the door.

He isn't ready for what stands on the other side. When the door slides aside Cambridge's expression rapidly falls from 'cool interest' to 'vaguely horrified' in a matter of milliseconds - if Josias's neural implant had been the warm, bass buzz of a cello on his senses then what stood before him was a fully-fledged orchestra with a pipe organ on the side. ]

...Jesus shitting Christ. [ He rocks backwards on his heels and hisses a little exhalation of acute surprise as he struggles to take in the swarm of electrical signals that swarm beneath the skin (skin?) of the man (man??) in front of him. ] You're David?

[nubilate]

[ hollow's foot discreetly slips into the door frame, understanding cambridge's expression before he has time to fully question it.

that's unexpected. there's no mistaking cambridge's expression for anything short of shock, and he doesn't understand why that would be at all, especially when it's just at the sight of him. he looks fairly nondescript, doesn't he? did he dress poorly? that wouldn't really warrant a reaction that severe in his home, but then, that was his home. maybe standards are different here, with this melting pot of different origins, cultures. it could be his hair, or his eyes, or his glasses. it could be anything, really.

at least it's easy for him to pick an expression: he looks stunned, his bland smile turning into a quizzical, worried frown. ]

... Ah, well, yes. I'm David. That's okay, right? I mean, I don't mean to put you on the spot right as I meet you, but I feel like you're a bit [ disappointed? no... ] — taken aback.

It might sound weird to say, but if there's anything about me that's offending you, I can take it off before I come in. That is, if it's all right to come in! I don't mean to be presumptuous.