When he returned to the hold after his "meeting" with Shaw, Marcus had a new found respect for the man, in the same way that someone would respect a large dog, or a sharp knife. Shaw had lured Marcus into giving away any tidbit of information, if it meant it would clear Marcus of suspicion. The young engineer wondered if he was actually under suspicion, or if it was just a ploy to make him as uncomfortable as possible. He ran his hand over his shaved head as he walked in, deep in thought. Shaw was intimidating, for sure. Wyatt was intimidating, but in a different way. Marcus felt he could have a drink with the older commander, but thinking about such an activity with Shaw just made Marcus shiver. The other officers had widely known careers, but Shaw's background was a mystery. Some had mused that he was actually an Intelligence agent working aboard the Enoch, or he perhaps he used to be in Intelligence. It was undeniable that the man was sagacious, and he seemed to be everywhere. It was said that "there are no secrets aboard the Enoch," and typically Marcus agreed with that. If there were no secrets, it was because Shaw found them. And if there were secrets, Shaw was the one to keep them.

  Walking into the hold, he saw Penske working on the newly named Chuma, the Hrungnir suit. She had cleaned most of the front, and was now working on heating and bending a ruined armor plate back into place. Hearing the door open, she glanced at him, but said nothing, and went back to her task. Marcus decided he would do the same. Penske was wiser than she seemed, and she likely knew what occurred. The young engineer went back to cleaning up the suit's circular saw. The two worked throughout the day, with no words said between the two. Many would consider this an awkward silence, but Marcus was something of an introvert, and didn't mind silence between two people. If anything, he took comfort in it sometimes. When two people force themselves to uphold a front of conversation to keep the room from being silent, he thought as he worked, they're lying to each other. Silence is honesty, sometimes, when two people simply don't want to talk.

  They took no lunch breaks, though when Marcus' timepiece chimed for dinner, he heard the blowtorch Penske had been using turn off. He turned to see her stretching her back, blowtorch and protective helmet on the ground.

  "I don't know about you," she said, "but I could do with dinner. Would you mind fetching me some while I go check on the reactor?" Marcus looked back at the saw he'd been working on. He had completely removed any trace of gore from the large tool, though the smell still remained, and likely would for quite some time. He had taken apart the saw to clean out any grit or grime or gore from the interior of the saw that may have wormed its way inside, though he found it mostly perfect. He cleaned it anyway, enjoying the task. He considered getting Penske her dinner and then returning to the saw, but his stomach rumbled in protest, and he decided it was best if he saved it for another day, and ate something.

  "Yeah, I'll get us dinner. Do you know what it is?" he asked her. Penske shook her head.

  "Nope, I've been too busy repairing this beauty to check the menu for the day. But I'm not opposed to surprises." She took off her gloves, letting them drop to the floor. She began collecting the tools she kept on her toolbelt, and Marcus did the same. When he had collected his tools, he removed the belt, intending to leave it in the engineering bay. Penske held out her hand.

  "If you want, I'll take your belt for you and leave it on your workstation." Marcus nodded, thanking her, and handed her his toolbelt. She left the hold with toolbelts in hand, and Marcus left, going in the other direction, towards the galley. Others milled with him as he walked, including Van Pelt, the hilarious Workman, Brogers, the marine he had been on the expedition with, Burns, the communications expert. As they walked, Marcus sped up, catching up to Brogers.

  "Hey Brogers, have you seen Locke?" he asked her. She had a candy of some sort in her mouth, and it clicked against her teeth. Before dinner? Marcus asked. Brogers was well-known for playing hard and fast with boundaries, so the candy before dinner didn't truly surprise him. She shook her head.

  "No, Thaler has kept him pretty sedated since we returned. I was going to go see him tomorrow though, Dr. FeelGood said he should be more alert as his sedation drugs start wearing off." She walked with her hands in her pockets, and she kept her face forward. Marcus nodded.

  "Ah, ok. I'll go see him sometime too, then." he said. She said nothing, and the two walked into the galley. Marcus saw a line had formed at the galley counter, where the food was doled out. He got in line behind Brogers and waited as the line quickly moved forward. Already, Van Pelt was cracking jokes with anyone that was willing to engage with her. She was lanky, and had red hair she kept short. Copious amounts of freckles adorned her face, and she had large green eyes. Even though he had heard she had been injured in the attack, suffering spalling wounds, she appeared to be well, and in good spirits. Marcus mused she must have suffered small wounds to be out of the medbay so soon, for which he was glad. She was a crew favorite, much like Locke, and was friends with just about everyone. Including Elon Phillips, Marcus thought to himself. Phillips, in extreme converse of Van Pelt, was widely known as a shithead and miscreant. Rumors bounced around that he was an ex-con, and his parole included military service, or that his parents were wealthy and powerful, and had sent him to the military to shape him up.

  Whatever the case, it obviously hadn't worked. Phillips was almost ubiquitously hated amongst the crew. He had gotten into at least a loud verbal disagreement with every enlisted member of the crew, if not an outright fight. He picked on people smaller than himself, and taunted relentlessly. Many crewmembers accused him of going through their belongings as well, and sometimes things went missing that people attributed to Phillips. Shaw was very familiar with the miscreant, but no evidence of wrongdoing is ever found when Phillips is accused, and save for when fights break out, he's never punished. However, during a fight, the individuals are usually tossed in the brig. The time Locke had stood up for Marcus and knocked Phillips clean out was an exception, as Shaw hadn't asked too many questions about the incident. Marcus resisted the urge to smile at the memory of Deknost saying that Phillips had "tripped over his big feet and hit his head." Shaw had accepted the answer, and had sent Phillips to the medbay.

  Deep in thought, Marcus suddenly found himself in front of Finn, who had plates of burgers and fries, with side salads available for those that wanted them.

  "Good afternoon, Marcus. Burger?" Finn asked with a smile.

  "Yes, please. No pickles or onion on mine, though, if you would kindly." Marcus said with a grin. Finn chuckled.

  "Would the young master like a foot rub while I'm at it?" he said. It was Marcus' turn to chuckle.

  "Yes, thank you. Immediately after you draw me my bath." Marcus grabbed the two plates of burgers and fries, though he also put a small bowl of salad on his plate. Usually, Finn tried to keep a balanced menu available, to keep the crew as healthy as possible, but they had "cheat days" where the food was something like this. Burgers, pizza, fried fowl, ramen, etc. Marcus enjoyed burgers, but the refreshing greens in the salad appealed to him as well. Marcus thanked Finn for the plates, and turned to leave the galley. As he was walking out, passing the tables full of talking crewmembers, Marcus' thoughts returned to the expedition to the Methuselah, where the galley looked just like this one, where Mason had-

  Something struck Marcus' right shin unexpectedly, and he went down hard. He fell to the grated floor with a thud, his ribcage and chin taking the brunt of the impact. He looked up to see that he had managed to keep the plates mostly even, so the burgers were intact, but the forward momentum had sent the fries and his salad flying. The food littered the floor in front of Marcus. His heart sank as he saw the wasted food. He let the plates rest on the floor, and clambered to his feet. The galley was silent now, and all eyes were either on him, or averted into the food that sat before them. Marcus turned around, trying to understand why he tripped. He understood exactly what happened, when he turned to see Phillips sitting behind him. The oily-faced miscreant had a mouthful of fries, and he grinned at Marcus.

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  "You should watch out where you walk, Rhyne. Would be a tradgedy to have another death in the crew." Phillips said. Something deep inside Marcus strained almost to the point of breaking. A blood-curdling fury stoked up inside him as his adrenaline spiked. His heart throbbed against his ribcage. His fists clenched. Marcus had had a very rough few days, recently. He had been conscripted to leave the tank, wander the irradiated wastes of the surface, and fight off hostile wildlife. He had watched a good kid die, bleeding out in a room just like this. He had been intwined in some sort of conspiracy involving a nuclear weapon, and the loss of another tank. His quiet, humble life had turned on its head in just a few days. And this fucking degenerate dares invoke Mason's memory, Marcus thought. The strained thing inside him snapped, and he grabbed Phillips by the collar, dragging him from his bench and throwing him bodily to the floor.

  Marcus was an average size, but he was a mechanic. He was strong, and he kept himself in shape. Phillips was taller, and had at least fifty pounds on Marcus, but much of that weight was fat. The galley remained silent, expecting a fight. Phillips got to his feet, all rodent-like mirth absent from his face. Instead, a toothy scowl replaced it, turning rapidly into a snarl. Phillips got in Marcus' face.

  "Want to fuck with me, Rhyne? I don't give a fuck how badass you think you are, you fucking wrench jockey, I will fuck you up, understand?" he said to Marcus. It took every fiber of willpower Marcus had to keep from slugging Phillips in his smug face. He felt himself breathing quickly, and his heart threatened to thrum out of his chest. He felt as if his body was building up pressure, and the only way to relieve that pressure was to reduce Phillips to a grimy smudge on the floor of the galley. Marcus felt his restraint waning when Finn ran up, forcing the two men away from each other. Finn was older, and he was somewhat heavyset, but he was widely respected for his quality food, and the fact that he cared about the crew's wellbeing. The two men stepped back, held apart by Finn.

  "Yeah, none of that now. Not in my galley, understand?" he said, talking loudly and with authority. Marcus and Phillips stared at each other, glaring. Finn looked at Marcus.

  "We'll get you and Penske's food whipped up again Marcus, alright? No need for a fight, now." he said. Marcus felt his blood pressure lessen at the words. Finn turned to Phillips next.

  "And you, dickwad, are going to clean up the mess you made." he said. Phillips snarled in Finn's face.

  "My mess?" he said with an air of incredulity, "Rhyne was just fucking clumsy, it's not my mess." Finn grabbed Phillips' lapels. The miscreant was taller, and Finn pulled him down to his face.

  "I was fucking watching, you sad sack of shit. I'm sick of you picking fights in my galley. Do it one more time, and I'll have Shaw tie you to the front of the fucking tank, you hear me?" Finn said, snarling back. Seeing the other man's anger, Marcus felt his own anger flag. Finn let go of Phillips' collar, who stood, his face plasted with a scowl. Marcus bent down to collect the plates, and walked back to the counter with Finn. The galley's conversations resumed, albeit in more of a hushed manner than before. Finn went behind the counter and seeing the burgers were uncompromised on the plates, began shoveling fries onto the plates to replace the ones that had been lost.

  "I'm sorry about that, kiddo. Thank you for not swinging at him, though between you and me, he would have deserved it." Finn said as he plated the food. Marcus could only nod. He felt exhausted now, as his adrenaline waned. Finn also placed a bowl of salad on Marcus' plate to replace the salad that currently adorned the floor of the galley.

  "Thank you, Finn. I appreciate it," Marcus said. The older cook smiled.

  "Yeah, you're welcome. Enjoy, and tell Penske I said hello." he replied. Finn also looked tired now. He went back to his cooking, and Marcus turned to leave the galley once more. He walked past Phillips without looking down, as the other man knelt, cleaning up the food on the floor. Marcus couldn't see his face, but he imagined the workman wasn't pleased with the outcome of his prank, and this lightened Marcus' heart somewhat. He went to the engineering bay and seeing that Penske sat at her workstation hard at work, he placed her plate nearby. She mumbled her thanks, and Marcus sat at his station to eat. He ate the burger and fries first, enjoying the quality taste the meat provided. Typically, aboard the Enoch, the meat was plant-based, and while it wasn't bad, it wasn't meat. However, Finn had connections, and working with Yukon, he occasionally acquired lab-grown meat, which wasn't easily attainable, though certainly more attainable than real meat. Yet another reason the crew respected Finnegan Moneaux.

  Marcus finished his meal, and set out to finish the garbage desposal for Finn, the same one that he had agreed to repair almost a week prior. He felt bad about that, but decided to fix it, considering how kind and understandable Finn had been during the ordeal. The young engineer worked for several hours, until eventually his timepiece chimed for rest period to begin. Marcus had almost finished the part, but decided he'd finish it early tomorrow. He wiped his eyes, and decided to go to sleep. He unfolded his cot, rolled into it, and went to sleep. Penske continued to work at her station, her food picked at.

  The next day, with a night full of good sleep, Marcus rolled out of his cot to see Penske gone. Considering he hadn't seen her turn in, he wondered if she slept. Sometimes she wouldn't, and just stay up all night fixing things. He shook at his head at his superior, wondering if he should convince her to try to sleep more. He stretched, changed back into his jumpsuit, complete with torn sleeves, and left the engineering bay. He swung by the galley, grabbing two coffees. However, the other coffee wasn't for Penske, as was customary, but for Locke. Marcus had decided he would drop by the medbay to see him, if he was awake. After thanking Finn for the coffee, Marcus walked fore, towards the medbay. After walking up the steep flight of stairs, he went down a hallway and turned to enter the medbay. The door was open, as it often was. The medbay was spacious, much like the galley, and had room to accomodate many cots. At the moment, only Locke lay in one, as everyone that had been injured in the attack before had only suffered minor wounds.

  Thaler looked up from his desk as Marcus walked in. The old doctor stood up and walked over to him. Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but the doctor interrupted him.

  "He's asleep," Thaler said quietly, "and shouldn't be woken if it can be helped. He suffered a severe injury, and must rest for as long as he is able." Marcus was surprised at this, but figured he would just come back later. As he was about to respond in the affirmative to Thaler's words, he looked over to see Locke slowly trying to sit upright from his supine position. Marcus gestured towards Locke in a sort of "are you sure he's asleep?" gesture. Thaler looked at Locke and sighed.

  "Alright, if he's awake now, you can speak to him. You did want to speak to him, right?" the doctor said. Marcus nodded. "Alright, I'll let you speak to him. But he shouldn't be drinking coffee. So you should leave that with me." Thaler gestured towards the extra coffee Marcus carried. The young engineer resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man. You're joking with me, he thought. But looking at Thaler insisted otherwise. The doctor's eyebrows were raised, as if he had specifically ordered the coffee and had been waiting for it. Marcus breathed deeply, and handed the coffee to Thaler.

  "Enjoy," he said, doing his best not to sound sarcastic. Thaler took the coffee without thanking Marcus, and went back to his desk, continuing to scroll through his terminal. Marcus shook his head slightly, and walked over to Locke, who looked extremely drowsy. The other man smiled at Marcus' approach.

  "Ah, Marcus," Locke said, "I'm glad you showed up. Everyone that's come to see me has been brass, and you know how that is. Is that coffee for me?" Marcus shook his head.

  "Sorry, but not. Thaler's orders. If I had known, I wouldn't have brought mine. Didn't mean to entice you like that." Locke shook his head.

  "Naw, man, drink up. You've got work to do today. I get to sleep in all day." He grinned at Marcus, and gestured at the cot opposite his. "Pull up a seat, man." Marcus sat on the cot and sipped from his coffee, slowly feeling the malaise from his slumber disappearing with every injection of caffeine. The two began to talk.