Zorya heard Zultak's footfalls as he left the armory, and chalked it up as nothing more than another soldier preparing for battle in his own way. People came and went all the time in her life. Such was the way of the healer, upholding a vow to tend the injured, no matter their gender, credit, creed, or color. The same held true for her skill on the battlefield, although one could say she was then "saving" lives at the expenditure of others. In the time she had served on the Dalus, she knew the crew inside out, perhaps better than she had ever known even her closest squad mates while serving in the Navy. Nevertheless, maintaining what she considered a proper patient-doctor relationship with her fellow comrades, she seldom gave much thought to anything or anyone outside her duties. When she did, she generally kept the thoughts to herself.

Still, there were certain nuances and varying subtext in human communication that did not exactly translate across species due to the subtle nature of the Nerebusian language which consisted of many intonations, clicks of the tongue or flexing of the vocal chords which could be used to pronounce the same term in several ways, each a different meaning alone. Humans, however, had a strange, limited form of speaking that equated to, "Hear what I mean, not what I say," so when she felt eyes on her, albeit briefly, she resisted the urge to startle the inventor by outwardly noticing his presence. Instead, she continued polishing her rifle parts as she assembled them, occasionally check down the sights or length of each piece, ensuring their proper care and condition for the upcoming fight.

It was exceedingly difficult for anything to go unnoticed by a person whose senses, naturally acute and honed to near-perfection within range, were cybernetikally enhanced to pick up nearly every detail. Detecting the slightest change in his breath and rustle of fabric, Zorya looked up just in time to see Monty divert his attention to a shotgun on one of the displays. Though she said nothing at first, her mind racked through numerous possibilities as to why he might have taken three seconds longer to look away, and none of them seemed to add up in a way that made sense to the doctor.

"Monty," she asked, by way of his first name, which she rarely used, holding up the front portion of the sniper. "Will you have a look at this rifle? I believe there is something trapped in the barrel."

Saphire had taken her leave of the Dalus, reveling in the thought of wandering the city and seeing what there was to see. Her mind kept going over the vague details of the mission, wondering what it was exactly that the Captain was after. Whatever it was, she knew she was going to stick with him no matter what. The thief walked down the street, her eyes wandering the shops and her swift fingers pocketing little goods along the way. She saw several little statues that might interest Zorya, those she tucked away as a later gift for the Nerebusian. Other trinkets and odds and ends she thought would be wonderful for Monty, he had a way with bolts and screws. Besides, they might need them for repairs to the Dalus.

Finally her eyes set upon an unimaginably pricey gift. Something she knew she couldn't afford, but her fingers would buy nonetheless. All the while her mind on what her Captain would think of it. Saphire enjoyed getting things for her comrades, but as she stood there staring at the simple silver ring except for a small swirling design over it, she realized something. Her Captain was always on her mind. He was the subject of most, if not all, of her thoughts. Where would she be without him? Probably in a prison, rotting away. Or, perhaps even dead having pick-pocketed someone who was a ruthless pirate, the complete opposite of Luke. Saphire would die for him. The realization of her feelings, how much more than just a Captain he was to her hit hard. Her heart clenched slightly and her fingers trembled as she slowly slid the ring into her hand.

"Miss?" The voice startled her as she held the ring. Quickly, she plastered a bright smile on her face. She moved the ring around in her hand before she slowly reached out to replace it. "Would you like it?" The older man asked her softly, he smiled at her. Saphire's eyes dropped to the ring again.

"I would, but I'm afraid I don't think I'll have enough to pay for it."

"Ah," he said in reply. Pushing his glasses up against his face, he reached over and took the ring in his dark tanned skin, "Ah, yes. This is nice," he moved the thick banded ring so it caught the sunlight, "Thirty credits."

Saphire's mind drew a blank. Thirty credits... only? What... she noted the wry smile on the old man's face. Then she too smile and offered him the small amount. He took it and handed her the ring. The thief felt an even greater bond to the ring than she had before. Wether it was because she had actually bought the item or not, she wasn't sure. Either way, she was excited about giving it to Luke.

She finished her self-guided tour of the city and made her way back to the Dalus. All the while wondering what the Captain would think of the ring that she kept fingering in her pocket.

Monty froze when Zorya called his name. His first name, no less. The Nerebusian wanted him to check on her sniper rifle, even though she was perfectly capable of doing so herself. To say that this was out of the ordinary was an understatement, and the inventor's mind was running rampant with theories as to why this was the case.

"This is a test, isn't it?" he began. "This is another one of your subtle psychoanalysis things, right? Right?" Looking at Zorya's reaction, this clearly wasn't it, so he moved down the list to number two.

"Maybe this is a mind game? Are you just toying with me for... fun? I... thought you'd be a little above that, to be honest..." Monty's voice trailed off as he realised that this also wasn't the right answer. Determined to figure this out, Monty stroked his chin a little while he desperately tried to think of something, eventually coming to, in hindsight, a rather foolish conclusion.

"Wait a second, don't tell me... Is this some kind of Nerebusian courtship thing? I'm not exactly refusing, but..." The inventor stopped right there when another thought crossed his mind. A thought that began with a 'What if...'

"You just wanted me to take a look at the gun, didn't you?" he finally asked. With the answer confirmed, Monty went to work on the weapon in silence. It didn't even take that long. Afterwards, he leaned back against a free space on the wall, putting some thought into what to say next. "Why ask me to take a look at that thing, anyway? Was it really a test?" he joked.

Zorya just shook her head, a tiny smirk forming at the corners of her mouth, her raised eyebrow accentuating the faint ridges in her forehead as the inventor finally reached his own conclusion with no input from her. She took back the rifle and leaned it against the worktable.

"Maybe. Then again, perhaps I merely wished to gauge your reaction," she answered simply, though 'to see you squirm', might have been a more befitting response. "Courtship thing..." she half-muttered, sniggering at the thought. "Courtship for females of our species consists of florid choreography in effort to seduce the males, and," she gestured offhandedly at her torso. "As you can see, this armor was not designed to meet the form desirable to a Nerebusian mate. I attempted the ritual only once when my mother and father tried to marry me off shortly after I reached adolescence, and it was quite awkward for those involved."

She furrowed her brows slightly at the memory, still all too recent in her mind. As with her need to establish an in-depth profile for each of her patients in order to maintain order and safety on the Dalus, she had informed the inventor of her genetic disease, should the need for replacement parts or technological upgrades arise. She had not told him the extent of the disease and its less obvious effects, however. In fact, only Zultak knew the full story, having, on one of his many walks, dropped in to her office only to overhear a rather heated conversation between her and her military supervisor, whom she touched basis with whenever a secure comm channel was available. In short, her suitor had been too afraid of injuring or killing his 'sickly' wife to consummate their relationship, and needless to say, out of convenience, they maintained the guise of a happy couple for three Nerebus years before people started wondering why they never had children.

Faced with a slow genocide, Nerebusians, almost physiologically incompatible with every other species with the exception of a few similar DNA strands in other humanoids, placed a high value on bearing viable offspring. But, by then, she had lost nearly all internal organs associated with reproduction, and their window for annulment had long passed. Eventually, their contempt for each other grew, and they could not keep up the facade. Zorya, barely considered an adult by her people's standards, ended up shouldering the blame for their failing relationship. Rather than suffer her spouse to publicly admit his shortcomings, she took the first opportunity to go abroad for a year on a covert mission, the only way to automatically terminate their legal binding on Nerebus, since spouses were never expected to return from lengthy military operations. She had never explained to the Ixian exactly what kind of mission she had undertaken, but then again, he never asked.

Zorya picked up the assembled rifle, and shook her head again, no longer entirely sure why she had called the inventor over. There was never anything in the barrel to begin with, and she knew it. How easily a PhD could turn the tables when confronted with questions they either had no answers to, or to which they decided not to reply directly.

"If one's martial prowess were the deciding factor in selecting a mate, combat would no doubt make for some interesting courting," she added with a chuckle. "Nevertheless, Mr. Flet- Monty, your own consideration of such a notion, while somewhat flattering given the circumstances, I am certain you could find something a little 'closer to home,' no?"