Pioneer IV

"Oh, goodmorning," Cristov muttered goodnaturedly, a tip of the head the last evidence that he was still paying attention, even if his gaze had turned to the ink well temporarily. He had already noticed the entire room, of course, and pondered the absence an hour before and mulled over what circumstances could rid their roommate of her bed. Was it an illness? A transfer? A ship back home? And then, when Cale had found the paper, he was certain on which it had been.

Without looking up as he finished the page with a flourish, his free hand was thrust forth beckoningly for the paper. Curiosity killed, and he had to see it for himself. Was there a fine print or something in the way it had been written that screamed a true testimony? Cristov had long been interested in handwriting analysis, but he couldn't ever be sure without conferring between a book, his mind, and the object in question. "I would imagine she was transferred back home given the previous night. What would you concur, Master Townsend?"

A brow was lifted in silent repetition of the question at hand, head shaking with a sigh as his book was shut and pushed aside. "It really is a pity. It's only the second day here, but better soon than later when we'd all have grown into much more than aquaintances, such as we were with the Earth, and found the detachment unbearable." Shoving the pen, ink well, and book aside without much concern as he spoke, Cristov was on his feet in mere moments, dusting off his suit as if it had been dirty and sighing. "I didn't think anyone would go home so soon. Did you?" Of course, he felt he should have pegged it all from the start. What good was he as a recorder if he couldn't assume what would happen and know without a doubt? Thus, a mental note was once more put into order that he would have to confer with the behavior and handwriting analysis books to better his skills. What room was there for slip up on such a large ship? Afterall, there were only two recorders, and he aimed to be the best.

Cale relinquished the paper to Cristov when he extended his hand for it, though there wasn't much to see - just the three bold-print words that served as the only sign that America had even existed. His mind bounced back and forth between two possibilities concerning her fate, both of them equally likely. She had been either switched to another ship or sent back to Earth - of that he was sure - but beyond that he had no clue. The Pioneer Program had selected America for a reason, and he doubted they would be so quick to give her up. On the other hand, if she had been switched to another ship, then a Runner from that ship would most logically be transferred to the Pioneer IV, and that seemed like a bit of a hassle. Then again, Cale didn't know how the minds of the DPE operated. This whole experience was new to him.

The sound of his name stirred him, and he focused his gaze on Cristov, eyebrow raised. "It's Cale," he corrected, shifting uneasily. "And I'm not entirely sure. From the sound of it, you saw her little episode last night. As a result of that, Dr. Zhao could have sent her home or she could have requested a transfer herself. I guess it depends on what caused that outburst..."

Craning his neck to look at the ceiling, Cale tried to recall every detail of the previous night's events. America had thrown her tray against the wall and stormed out, and from what Cale gathered from his nice little chat with Chris Hubbard, he guessed that Chris and Nina hadn't caused the temper tantrum. When he went to talk to America, she had seemed distant, unfocused...certainly homesick. And she had shown a weaker side of herself, a side unfamiliar even to her. What had she said?

"I think I have already made a bad reputation here Cale... I suppose... that people just do not understand me... "

"I think she felt out of place here on the Pioneer IV," Cale said. "I wouldn't be surprised if she just asked to be transferred."

When he talked, his voice sounded professionally detached. He didn't care about America as much as the mystery she presented. He liked having questions to answer and clues to find. It made him feel like he was training his brain to become a proper scientist. To him, America's disappearance wasn't troublesome or relieving, but simply peculiar and a little exciting. At the same time, he found himself frustrated because he couldn't come to a solid conclusion.

"We could ask Dr. Zhao about it," he thought aloud. "He might not tell us, but it's worth a shot."

After staring at the bold words for a moment, Cristov let the clip of paper waft to the floor with a sigh. There went his idea on analyzing the handwriting to discern what had truly happened, but then again, the paper would be good for his writing memoirs. Leaning over, it was quickly snatched from the air and sandwhiched between a pair of pages in his book. "I like Master Townsend better. You're going to be a scientist or something, aren't you? I'd like to think I'm rooming with the next head scientist that will lead us on to a great discovery and save our lives someday." Smile in place only for the sake of those comments, his expression sunk back into a serious demeanor, back stooping so he could hunch and rest fingertips on his chin; elbow on his knees.

"Why would she do that so soon? Not all of us here are the epitomy of jerks. Perhaps maybe she missed home too much. We're all likely to go through such happenstance at one point or another. I only yearn for my vast collection of books, though." Nodding along to what Cale had said, though, fingers curled back into the dip pen, urging to write it all down for further reference later. Did Cristov really need to scribble every last detail? No, but it made it feel more like they were playing a game of detectives together and made things more exciting. Cristov could easily empathize with the professional detachment. He, himself, was guilty of it on more than one occasion, especially earlier that morning. "I've analyzed you with the detachment of an analyst, but we've raided the same kingdoms and the secrets are ours now," he muttered with a hint of satisfaction.

The thought was shaken off quickly, though, with a shudder and fast shake of his head. "I agree. Let's do it. It can be our own, little pet project on the resident mystery. Afterall, if no one else is to notice, we might as well be ahead of the game. It gives us a dynamic edge that no one can fluster. At least, unless they get to Dr. Zhao first, which I highly doubt as America was our roommate afterall." With a shrug and wave of the hand, Cristov was on his feet, stuffing his three favorite items into his pockets and lacing the book into an arm. "If we leave now, we can ask and still make it in time for breakfast. No one'd notice we're missing, except other observers of course. Seems I'm not the only one to cast a keen eye on all who are aboard."

"Okay...Master Townsend, then." Although Cale didn't let it show, Cristov had delivered him a huge compliment. For a moment, his thoughts drifted to the idea of become Head Scientist one day, but he wrenched his focus back to the issue at hand. "Anyway, she did seem kind of homesick, but she was also talking about how nobody understood her. People started gossiping about her as soon as she got here." As soon as he voiced the thought, he allowed himself to daydream.

Head Scientist...the words echoed like chimes in Cale's head and brought an unwilling smile to his face. Of course he wanted to be Head Scientist, but he also assumed that he shared that dream with eleven other trainees. As far as he had seen, he was the youngest among them. His goal was by no means unreachable, but he definitely had his work cut out for him for the next year. The Search for the Missing Roommate was the first step. He felt like a little kid wearing his father's too-big clothes, like the whole situation was just a game, but he tried to take it seriously. It was like an exercise for his mind, and on a more superficial level, it gave him an excuse to catch the attention of Dr. Zhao.

Cale already had his hand on the doorknob before Cristov had agreed with him, but as soon as he got the word he turned the handle and stepped out into the lounge. Sitting right there in a nearby chair, Dr. Zhao head his head turned toward Cale as though he had expected him to open the door right at that moment. Briefly turning to make sure Cristov was behind him, Cale crossed the lounge to approach the Head Supervisor, who rose from his seat to greet them.

"Callahan, Cristov. It's good to see you up and about. How are you this morning?"

"Good, sir," Cale replied. "And you?"

"Just fine." The doctor seemed to notice the tinge of impatience in Cale's voice, and a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

"We're really excited for orientation."

Dr. Zhao's smile broadened just a little more. "No need for small talk, Callahan. How can I help you?"

The lightest shade of pink flushed over Cale's cheeks. "Right. Well, Cristov and I, we had this roommate, America. But all her stuff is gone and the paper on her bed said she got transferred." He looked over his shoulder at Cristov. "Do you still have that paper?"

"Good. Now that that's in order. I wish there were something special you could call me, but I'll just be a writer all my days. No real competition there unless you count penmanship and detail. Do you believe in yourself, though?" A brow was raised at the question, the thought left to linger on his own mind until Cale spoke again and led them back to the topic at hand. America. "They gossiped about all of us. We've all put the proverbial knives into each other's backs without even getting aquainted first. Serves us -- well, a good deal of the less educated ones -- right for being so cruel. I do wish America had rather put a boot up the asses of whoever messed with her so."

Cristov was fast to cross the space by the time he had declared it a search, right behind Cale in a heartbeat or less. For what shortness he had, he was fast on his legs. But could he really call himself short? Probably not, standing as tall as he did if he ever were to stand straight. Instead of speaking a go ahead, though, he was content to nod at Cale's checking. Cristov was definitely there and would be until they got to the bottom of it. "Quite well, as the trip is finally underway," was his only muttering, skipping the "you?" portion as Cale had already jumped on it.

While Callahan was already going for the small talk, Cristov was busy fishing free the paper, waving it like a flag the best he could from beside Cale. Holding it out for the Doctor at the question, he gave a short nod and pressed a slight smile onto his lips. "If you don't mind my saying so, sir, there's details to be desired. She wasn't most dear to us as we had hardly met her, but we found it our bound and laden duty to find her and make sure she was safe. Afterall, what shipmate disappears without others being aware is a poor mate indeed. We thought it best to check further and make sure she was safe."

[Delete!]

[Same as previous. Delete-o.]

Chris, ever eager to be introduced to his lab, had woken before the alarms even went off. Judging he had enough time, he headed to the gym to get in an hour of exercise before starting his day. It was a ritual he had started at training. Though he was a scientist and book worm, Chris had grown up on farms, doing lots of heavy labor. He liked the feel of staying active, and as he got older, he liked the look it gave him. He found it important to maintain an exercise regimen since starting the training. He had initially started to get soft, and - especially with co-ed dorming - that would never do.

So it was that he was showered and waiting patiently as the crew began to assemble. He noticed Cale arriving, and at first he felt a flush of angry pride that he'd beat the boy to the punch when he'd been so sanctimonious, but then he shook those sinful thoughts from his brain and prayed that they could start fresh with this new day. For better or worse, they were fellow scientists. He really hoped the boy wouldn't make his dream job a lot worse.

To his surprise, he overheard Cale and and unnamed boy speaking to the Dr. about America, the girl who had created the problem between he and Cale to begin with. She was gone? Why on Earth? Chris snorted at the mental choice of words. Perhaps 'why on PIV?' was more appropriate now, but it just didn't have the same ring to it. He wondered what it was that had made her explode the night before. He really hoped that it hadn't been him. He hated having his friendship rebuffed. It bothered him that she had disappeared in the night, and he eagerly awaited the doctor's response. Chris had also entertained the notion of asking for a transfer, but he'd decided he would at least give it a week first. Had she truly been transferred? Was it her own will? He really hoped that she hadn't been sent back to Earth. Something about that whole situation really bothered him. He kept his head down and his mouth shut, hoping to learn something.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cale caught sight of Chris Hubbard, the hot-tempered scientist, eavesdropping on their conversation. He made no effort to conceal the scowl on his face, and he almost snapped at the older boy to mind his own business. Chris's presence not only irritated Cale, but for some inexplicable reason, it made him feel threatened. Perhaps he thought Chris would try to steal his fifteen seconds of fame in front of the Head Supervisor, or maybe something about him simply intimidated Cale. For now, he ignored Chris, breathed out the tension in his body, and focused on Dr. Zhao.

"Ah, yes. Miss Johnson." The doctor's eye's brightened in recognition. He took the folded slip of paper from Cristov and read over it, though he knew precisely what was on it. Then, he looked up at the boys. "She came to me last night to request a transfer to another ship. Now, normally we don't allow switches - it would cause too much disorder, you see - but in America's case, I had to reconsider."

Dr. Zhao began to walk slowly toward the Dining Hall, motioning for Cale and Cristov to follow. "America is one of the Pioneer Program's most promising Runners, but she simply didn't fit in with her peers on the Pioneer IV. When we were sorting the three hundred of you onto ships, we made our decisions loosely based on your personalities to minimize conflicts." At this point, he turned over his shoulder and cast a knowing smile in Cale's direction. "But from what I witnessed at dinner last night, that's not working out very well."

Cale's cheeks darkened, and he looked away. Memories of the previous night's fight with Chris and Nina flashed in his mind. "You...? Well, you see...um, I'm sorry..."

"Don't worry, Callahan. No one's accusing you of anything. We can't completely avoid friction. However, America did seem particularly out of place here on this ship, so I reevaluated the situation. Last night she was transferred to the Pioneer IX, where I think she will feel much more at home."

At this point, the three of them reached the door to the Dining Hall. Cale reached out to push the door open, but Dr. Zhao moved nonchalantly in front of him. "However, if she encounters the same problems there," he continued, "I will be forced to send her back to Earth."

When he said this, the Head Supervisor's eyes seemed to bore into Cale's - like he was giving a warning. Unsure of what to say in response, Cale simply nodded and looked to Cristov. Suddenly, any questions he had thought to ask were wiped from his mind.

Cristov had made a mental note of the one Mister Hubbard after following Cale's gaze, a hand clapping onto his shoulder with a sigh. He didn't mean to disrupt communication, and his own gaze remained glued to the doctor while he murmured in his roommate's ear. "Told you I'm not the only eyes aboard the ship." It was true, too. Cristov knew all too well that he wouldn't be the only one making observations and recording on who did what. Did he care? No. He could do it better, if he tried hard enough, and that was all that mattered to him.

"There will always be conflict of personality, of course. Hidden traits no one knows about and past instances can really put a dent into the planning. It'll work out. We have to live with one another now, don't we?" Cristov shrugged, turning a blind eye to his partner in justice's blushing. He hoped it didn't seem too rude an interjection, but it was the truth, afterall. If Cale was to be blamed, he couldn't let him take too hard of a fall too fast. "I hope she does feel moreso at home there. It'd be a shame for her to go home," he finally added with a sigh.

"Cale here and I won't be any trouble," he continued fluidly after a moment, an arm dropping around his roommate's shoulders with a wink and tilt of the head. "I'm sure America won't either. Will we be able to communicate with her again? See, we wanted to send her our well wishes, and it just isn't right to go on otherwise. Though some people may have disapproved or disagreed with her," he paused here for a glance to be cast in Chris' direction. "She will most definitely be sorely missed. Afterall, we have lost a promising associate and colleague all because of a few indecent actions and a terrible first day." So, maybe Cristov wasn't right on the spot, but he hoped it sounded perfect enough to keep them off the cutting block. "If there's anything you'd like us to look into or ask around further, though, Dr. Zhao, I'm sure we can put our heads together and investigate. Afterall, with a scientist and recorder on the job, you simply can't go wrong." With that, a finger was waved and lid closed in a wink.

If Cristov could use dazzlement, he would, and if it worked, even better. "Thank you for your time, sir. I hope you know the gained knowledge won't be wasted." If it was all about sounding good, he had hopes that he had rung the correct bell for the time being, head dipping forward toward the cafeteria with raised brows as if alluding to the question on whether they could go to eat. "Please, excuse us."

As he listened to Cristov, Dr. Zhao shifted out of the way of the door, returning to a less foreboding and more welcoming stance. "Unfortunately, Mr. Luminnaire, the only communication among the ships goes on between Navigators and Head Supervisors. We find it best to isolate the ships to keep the students' focuses on their jobs. However, all ten ships are on the same route to the first planet, so you will be able to find Miss Johnson then."

"And when will we get there?" Cale piped up, his curiosity stirred.

"A little less than a week."

"And since America was transferred, will we be getting a new Runner?"

"Yes; a student from the Pioneer IX will be here sometime today," the doctor answered, but his mind was taking in Cristov's proposition. Every Head Supervisor liked to have a student on the inside to do reconnaissance and pick up tips on the other kids. Cristov may have been kissing up a bit, but he and Cale were both obviously intelligent boys. Perhaps he had already found his spies. Only time would tell, but for the moment, he ignored Cristov's offer.

"I hope I was able to answer all your questions," Dr. Zhao said after a moment, holding the door open for Cale and Cristov. "Enjoy your breakfast, and I will see you at orientation."

"Thank you." Cale nodded in the Head Supervisor's direction and quickly slipped through the door. As soon as he heard it swing shut behind him, he turned around to face Cristov. "Okay, mystery solved. That was easier than I thought it would be."

He sounded almost disappointed. Where was the intrigue? Why couldn't America have mysteriously disappeared or something like that? With a sigh, he shuffled over to the bar and began filling his plate with food. At least he could still look forward to seeing the lab.

"That's tragic. I'd like to know she was fairing well elsewhere if not here. I didn't have the pleasure of getting to know her well enough, and she seemed like a true dear-heart. Please send her my best wishes if you can." Cristov would've grasped hands and pressed them together from there if he could, meaning to convey some sort of emotion. Tenderness? Caring? He wasn't sure, but he did truly hope for the best for the girl. She deserved a good run somewhere, even if it wasn't with them. "Will do, and you too, sir," he finally added on to the end, following Cale's thank you.

It only took him a moment to follow, though, and nod. A slump of the shoulders and sigh rolling out, fingers searched to curl into locks and flick them away from his face. "I agree. Could we not have had a little more mystery before breakfast? Perhaps, we'll find something else in our grasp that is unbelievable, Master Townsend." Following suit, a plate was grabbed up for himself to be balanced on a palm, a soft hum hanging on his lips. "Really, it couldn't have gone more according to plan, though. This is just a warm-up. The next time will be more interesting and then beyond. We'll soon become Sherlock and Company. See, I'm terrible about remembering his partner. Both were equal in importance, though. Or maybe a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I think you'd be awarded the nobler role, as I have quite the temper when I'm mad."

"Sherlock and Watson," Cale was quick to correct, but he was considering the Jekyll and Hyde allusion. In all honesty, Cale had seemed to be the grouchier of the two over the last twelve hours. Cristov always seemed very poised, but Cale had felt from the start that his roommate's cool composure seemed very...fake. Forced, even. It seemed to him that Cristov was trying to play the grown-up by acting suave and using big words. Still, he seemed smart enough. Cale could at least entertain the idea of a Holmes-style partnership between them, as long as he got to be Sherlock. Sure, he was a few years younger, but he had been the one to correctly guess America's whereabouts. Elementary, my dear Cristov.

Cale made his way to the end of the line, his tray full, and turned back to Cristov. "So, where should we sit?"

The words came out of his mouth before his mind processed them. Who said that just because they had gone to talk to Dr. Zhao together, they were going to eat breakfast together? They weren't suddenly best friends for life. But he had already asked the question, and he couldn't very well take it back. Instead of waiting for an answer, though, Cale simply found the nearest empty table and sat down, nibbling at his food to appease his empty stomach without looking up at the Recorder. Cristov would either sit down with him or venture off to another table. Cale didn't really care.

Chris inwardly cringed as he saw Cale scowl upon noticing him. Apparently his hopes for a fresh start were dashed already. What the hell is wrong with that kid? Chris was generally a pretty chill fellow, but there was one thing he just could not abide - hateful people.

He shook his head sadly, turning his attention to Dr. Zhao as he began to discuss what had happened with America. The doctor led the two boys down the hall, but Chris was able to catch some of the explanation.

"Ah, yes. Miss Johnson...She came to me last night to request a transfer to another ship. Now, normally we don't allow switches - it would cause too much disorder, you see - but in America's case, I had to reconsider."

Dr. Zhao began to walk slowly toward the Dining Hall, motioning for Cale and Cristov to follow. "America is one of the Pioneer Program's most promising Runners, but she simply didn't fit in with her peers on the Pioneer IV. When we were sorting the three hundred of you onto ships, we made our decisions loosely based on your personalities to minimize conflicts....But from what I witnessed at dinner last night, that's not working out very well."

Chris breathed a small sigh of relief. It sounded like she hadn't been sent Earthside, so that was refreshing. It was also good to know that Dr. Zhao was aware of Cale's attitude problem. Maybe it would be handled properly, and the rest of the crew wouldn't be forced to walk around on eggshells. Chris had thought that everyone was required to pass a psych evaluation. Why he'd ended up on a ship with so many unstable people, he didn't know, but the thought unnerved him more than a little.

'Now, normally we don't allow switches - it would cause too much disorder, you see...' That unnerved him too. He didn't want to be stuck, forever, with anyone who thrived on making drama or creating problems for others. Chris still felt like he should give it at least a week, but what if his request was denied? Would he be willing to leave the program over it? Yes. Chris's internal answer surprised him, but only briefly. He'd made a vow years before that he would not tolerate abusive people any more. He certainly wouldn't take it from some punk kid. He was here to do a job, and do it well. If someone had a problem working well with others, Chris didn't want to be dragged into it. He wanted to follow his passion, help the Earth, and do something amazing with his life. No one else had the power to alter that for him. He wouldn't allow it.

Reluctantly, he figured he'd better head to the cafeteria. He'd thought that Dr. Zhao had wanted to hold an orientation first thing in the morning, but since he'd steered the others to breakfast, that must be what was required. Chris just wished they'd stop putting off the main purpose of the project. He wanted to get to his job, to meet his lab, which his mentor had promised would be astounding. This wasn't supposed to be college or summer camp. He was chafing at the bit and realized it, so he took a deep breath, and put his smile back on his face before joining the other kids in the mess hall.

"Thank you. My mind, rather, has been on The Great Gatsby. I can't seem to get enough of that book, and I'm afraid that I might relate with the poor Gatsby. I imagine no one out of all my friends would attend my funeral." Finishing his musing with a sigh, Cristov shrugged it off. What did he know of what was to come? Nothing, but the thought fascinated him enough for him to ponder on and off. With the mystery solved for the time being, it was only suitable to resume other thoughts. Still, on he followed with his tray in hand, humming a bit until the question was asked. "Wherever you'd like. Pickyness is not my strong suit. Or rather, I'm hoping not."

Dropping his tray as quietly as he could - pinkies extended to act as cushions, Cristov seated himself across from Cale with as little fancy as he could muster. Still, he slouched into the table, an elbow propped on it to rest a hand against his cheek; the left moving forth with a fork to commence shovelling salad to his mouth. All in all, he could've looked no more bored if he had tried with all his might. Though, really, it was his blank, thinking face. 'Note, speak with Mister Hubbard later. He could be of good use,' was thought with a hint of a grin. Afterall, Cristov hadn't meant in the least to come off as hateful. He had merely meant to dissuade eavesdropping. It was a bad habit to get into, and he knew better than the rest. Was it his fault, though, if his ears were attuned to catch, at the slightest provocation, the juiciest tidbit of information at times? Of course, and he frowned at the thought. "I've got a lot to work on. Do you think Dr. Zhao will take up our offer, though? I think we'd make a great team, Holmes."

Nina walked into the cafeteria, and saw Cale and a person she didn't know sitting at one table. As she passed by Cale, she gave a polite but short nod before walking on. Nina didn't see the point in having some kind of mutual dislike between them, so she figured she wouldn't aggravate it. She sat at one of the empty tables alone after getting her food. She had heard that the girl named America had transferred; a pity, but it was probably for the best, she figured. But apparently, she wouldn't be allowed to transfer if she didn't like the way things were on this ship--that might be a problem.

Waking up in the Library would normally be sort of romantic. The endless voids of space, almost perfect save for those damn intrusions, stars. Kyri imagined space worked very hard to be a perfect hue of black, everything strove to be perfect, but like a diamond, the imperfections made it all so valuable.

Circling one of those tiny little dots was a place they were headed. They had no idea where it was or what it might be like, but they were intent to find it.

Ah the Ambition of man.

"No one came looking for me? A billion dollar project and they let a kid just sleep outside their dorm?" Kyri was suddenly deeply sickened. She walked, disheveled looking and with the disgusting "morning taste" in her mouth, to good old room 4, seeing everyone else was already eating breakfast.

She opened the door to a sort of relief, her alarm was buzzing and a faint red light was flashing, to indicate that she wasn't in her bed at the appropriate time. Admittedly, no one seemed to care, and as she sat down on her bed the light stopped. Eery.

Attempting to freshen up and just get the taste out of her mouth, Kyri was soon enough flitting through the door of the cafeteria, scooping up a tray with all the giddiness to mark her from a mile away as a morning person.

The people hardly interested her, admittedly their choice of food would say something deeply subconscious. Was that girl eating a salad from a deep love of leafy greens? From some misplaced idea that they might be healthy? Fear of the quality of cooking on the ship? A deeply hidden family secret due to having her DNA spliced with that of a bunny?

Such intriguing ideas, Kyri started to hold up the line from simply staring, before being asked to move in the most polite way Western society had deemed appropriate, "clearing ones throat"

How such a grotesque occurrence was considered polite was odd. The idea of politeness itself was hardly present in the natural wor-

Is that reconstituted powdered egg substitute? Delish!

The buzzer must have been ringing for at least five minutes, but Valia had finally worked up the strength and presence of mind to roll over and shut it off. She had come back to the room so late, she had barely acknowledged her roommates--although Nina had seemed to be awake--before falling into bed and a solid, dreamless sleep. The sleep did her little good now, she saw, as she could barely force herself to sit up, let alone get up, change, and prepare for the day. Valia grew gradually more and more aware, especially because one of her roommates had left the door open before they left. They certainly rise fast... she though, Or early.

From her quiet seat in the empty room, it was easy to hear floating voices and snips of conversation from the just outside. Valia had stood up to change, but she paused when a voice she had come to know as Dr. Zhao's explained to someone that America had transferred to a different ship. Hastily changing as silently as she could, she listened in and thought dizzily in circles. Why would she leave? Why would they let her? Is this really how things are going to be? We're all supposed to be a team! Does Anyone on this ship Care? Valia's anger swelled, and she rushed out into the hall. Before she knew what she was doing, she was standing in front of the Head Supervisor, standing tall, fists clenched and jaw locked.

"Why?! Why would anyone possibly think that transferring America was a good idea? She wasn't fitting in here yet, that's true, but a lot of us haven't yet. She was running away from her problems... And you let her! We're all a family now, for better or worse, and foisting anyone at the first sign of trouble- You've done a disservice, to her and to this entire ship!"

Valia paused, then colored with the realization that she had been yelling--at the Head Supervisor, no less. He was holding open the Mess Hall door, and she was right in the open... Half the ship must have at least heard, if not seen her sudden outburst. Squaring her shoulders, some latent sense of either pride or self-preservation rooted her to her spot; she tried hard not to shake, and continued in a more level tone, "Sir, I humbly apologize. I merely wish to express my concern with current social tensions on this ship, because even though social interaction should be a secondary aspect of our lives as participants in the Pioneer Program, I feel a certain amount of etiquette, tolerance, ease, and above all respect should still be maintained to prevent social issues from becoming a distraction, or worse, a barrier. Transferring America... I saw as an avoidance, perhaps even an exacerbation of current tensions, though I see now that should not have spoken out so rudely nor accused you of something so unfounded and rash." With that, Valia bowed in respect, in hopes that this was a sufficient enough apology and goodbye that she could exit into the Mess Hall and fade flee from the limelight--flee to anywhere not in the cold, unblinking gaze of Head Supervisor's ever unreadable eyes.

Cale was unfamiliar with The Great Gatsby, so he simply ignored Cristov's reference. As Cristov spoke, he only half-listened, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the digital clock hanging from the ceiling. Only ten more minutes to Orientation. Finally, his life as a scientist was about to begin, and he wasn't even fifteen! During his months of training, he had received college-level training without the social burden of college life. The Pioneer Program suited his lifestyle perfectly. Sure, his training was a little rushed, and he wouldn't get the same education that he would have back home, but he had a massive Library at his disposal and the rest of his life to study it. Cale couldn't wish for anything better.

"I've got a lot to work on. Do you think Dr. Zhao will take up our offer, though? I think we'd make a great team, Holmes."

He forced his attention back to Cristov. A team? When did they become partners in crime? Cristov had just happened to be there when Cale noticed America's absence; this was his moment of glory with Dr. Zhao, not theirs. Still...Cristov had played the role of the diplomat quite well, and his Recorder's mind complemented Cale's more analytical observations. And Cale had invited a sense of companionship by sitting with him. If he had to have a Watson, at least it was a good one.

"Hopefully he will. But in all honesty, what would he need us for? He's the Head Supervisor; he's already got eyes everywhere."

His thoughts drifted involuntarily to the fight the night before. At the time, Cale thought he had handled it quite well, but Dr. Zhao's admonishment left him with second thoughts. Had he ruined his reputation with the Head Supervisor on the first day?

"Because... there is nothing like a snoop to uncover some know-how or who-hah that no one seems to have noticed. Afterall, there's no better spy than one who is merely another classmate taking a personal interest in making more friends." A finger was wagged as if he were in the middle of lecturing Cale, a lazy smile on his face. At least, Cristov knew he would have a decent partner in crime if they were to spy on everyone else. Afterall, what fun was it to record everything and have not a soul to share it with? He wasn't sure Kyri could count too well as his recording counterpart, though he had to admit she was an amazing artist in a way. Either way, he'd rather take up the scientist to play Watson to. On the recorder-pairing front, there were too many other possibilities to behold.

"Don't be terribly worried. Though, what did happen on the day before? I did manage to catch a glimpse, but a firsthand account will serve my records well." As if on cue, his tray was pushed a bit aside for the ink well and book to be set out on the tabletop, a keen eye turned to his newest - and first - addition as a friend of sorts. "From an outside perspective, perhaps I can empathize with the director-of-sorts and get your admonishment retracted. Afterall, it had to be a noble cause for one such as Master Townsend to be so disrupted and perturbed."

Head tilted as if in question on this fact, a brow raised. If he had come off too much like a scientist examining a specimen, he tried to rectify it with the slight smile on his face and a quirk of a brow. "I don't think you have room to worry. You'll surely be an amazing scientist and all, small outbursts will be forgotten. We all have them time to time. Believe me, if someone were to have spilled gravy on my lap, I would have been a lot worse than that small happenstance you had here last night. So, no worries."

Unable to help it, Cale rolled his eyes. Cristov sure knew how to flatter a kid. However, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of uncertainty. Though he had no doubts as to his ability as a Scientist, he also knew that his behavior and ability to work well with others was just as important in leading him to success in the Pioneer Program. And Cale Townsend didn't like people. Even Cristov rubbed him the wrong way...just not as much as other people. At least he could talk to the Recorder without the risk of insult or ridicule.

"Well...last night America had sort of a temper tantrum," he started reluctantly. "And after she left, a guy and a girl started to make fun of her. I ended up going to stick up for her. I mean, I didn't really know her, but I hate gossip. And besides, we of all people should be past that kind of stuff."

He paused, looking down at his tray. In relating this story to Cristov, he was was perched precariously close to the boundaries of gossip, and he meant it when he said he hated it.

"Anyway, that was all that happened. It was nothing really; I don't even know who they were."

A bold-faced lie. Cale had looked them both up in the handbook as soon as he went back to his room - Chris Hubbard and Nina Estoc. He doubted he would see much of Nina around the ship, but Chris was a Scientist. Unfortunately, the two of them were going to be spending a lot of time together. Cale glanced at the clock again; hopefully eight minutes was enough time for him to get over this grudge. Hopefully, he could just avoid Chris altogether. Suddenly, he didn't feel so hungry.

"I think I'm going to go wait by the lab," he stated, standing up and picking up his tray. Before he left, he paused, waiting for Cristov's response. In the day he had known him, he realized the Cristov Luminairre always seemed to have something to say.

Turning his attention to his book as Cale started to speak, it was flipped to a page before his right hand took up writing. Head bobbed along in recognition that he had heard, left hand delivering the last of his chef's salad to his mouth. After a few quiet crunches and sip of his drink, warm brown hues were ready to return to his present company. "I knew it had to be something noble to get you so riled. I'm glad to have you as a roommate and perhaps partner, Master Townsend... or should I call you Holmes?" A brow was quirked in silent repetition of the question, grin nicely plastered as if this was going to be their inside joke no matter what.

"I will find them, I suppose, and reprimand them. Believe me, a recorder knows just as well how gossiping goes and the woes it can cause. I write too much, but I never say a word. I also absolutely refuse to share it or allow anyone near this book. 'Tis why it's always on me." Patting it consolingly, Cristov quickly tucked it back into his coveralls for the time being, letting the other pieces go with it. Grabbing up his tray in response to the question, he was on his feet too in minutes, mulling over who it was that had been the ones he'd seen to start the ruckus Cale had told him about.

"I'll go. I have nothing better to do just yet. Plus, I need the exercise." Though the last statement was the furthest from the truth, Cristov couldn't help but to snicker at it and wink. He was already a bag of bones, and he knew it, but it did amuse him to say something of the sort. He did eat like a bull when he wanted to, at the least. Heading on to dump what trash he had away and return the rest to their proper places, he slunk on to linger by the door, head tilted and form slouched once more against a wall. Alas, the hunchback of notre dame had returned!

For a moment, Dr. Zhao's eyes followed Callahan and Cristov as they made their way through the breakfast line. Both were brilliant boys, and in the long run he thought they would be grateful to have found each other - especially Callahan. Promising as he was as a Scientist, his social skills were...lacking, to say the least. He had neither the desire nor the ability to make friends; he didn't realize the importance of community, especially in such a small living space. Over the next fifty years, Cristov might just keep Callahan from the brink of insanity. And if they made a good team, then perhaps he could use them...

A female's voice began to shout angrily behind Dr. Zhao, and he instinctively knew the assault was directed at him. He turned to the girl - Valia Babel - and clasped his hands together in front of him.

"Why?! Why would anyone possibly think that transferring America was a good idea? She wasn't fitting in here yet, that's true, but a lot of us haven't yet. She was running away from her problems... And you let her! We're all a family now, for better or worse, and foisting anyone at the first sign of trouble- You've done a disservice, to her and to this entire ship!"

He decided to let her vent, a small smile creeping up his face as he listened. Valia certainly had the spirit of a Runner. Just as he opened his mouth to explain and hopefully calm her, she stopped as if she had come out of a trance, and a look of regret flickered across her eyes. She quickly tried to redeem herself.

"Sir, I humbly apologize. I merely wish to express my concern with current social tensions on this ship, because even though social interaction should be a secondary aspect of our lives as participants in the Pioneer Program, I feel a certain amount of etiquette, tolerance, ease, and above all respect should still be maintained to prevent social issues from becoming a distraction, or worse, a barrier. Transferring America... I saw as an avoidance, perhaps even an exacerbation of current tensions, though I see now that should not have spoken out so rudely nor accused you of something so unfounded and rash."

For a while, Dr. Zhao wondered if Valia had any intention of letting him speak. When she finally finished explaining herself and bowed, he simply shook his head. "It's perfectly all right, Miss Babel. I understand completely. But if you would please let me explain, I might be able to help you understand."

He stepped out of the doorway, his eyes never leaving Valia's. "Miss Johnson's placement on the Pioneer IV may very well have been a mistake. Upon a second inspection, I realized that she simply did not mesh well with the others on this ship. And in an environment like this, it is crucial that unnecessary emotional friction is avoided. As you said, social life in the Pioneer Program is secondary. What matters most is that each individual is in the most positive working environment possible. America's presence here was not only a burden to herself, but to everyone on the ship. She is an asset to this program, but I realized that she would not perform to her full potential under these circumstances. As Head Supervisor, I had a duty to transfer her to a ship where she would be more efficient, and hopefully happier."

The doctor turned away and headed for the door to his office, his smile contented. Maybe the kids hadn't spoken up much yesterday, but they sure had a lot to say now. "Enjoy your breakfast, Miss Babel."

Chris waited a few moments before getting up from his sofa and heading to the cafeteria. He was surprised to find that Dr. Zhao was still in the hall, and he caught what seemed to be the tail-end of his discussion about America. To Chris's surprise, it was not the same conversation with Cale and his friend, who were nowhere to be seen.

"...What matters most is that each individual is in the most positive working environment possible. America's presence here was not only a burden to herself, but to everyone on the ship. She is an asset to this program, but I realized that she would not perform to her full potential under these circumstances. As Head Supervisor, I had a duty to transfer her to a ship where she would be more efficient, and hopefully happier...Enjoy your breakfast, Miss Babel."

Chris couldn't keep the surprise from his face. He'd seen the girl's outburst, and he still wished his attempt at friendship hadn't exploded into this craziness. He would hardly call her a burden though. It was obvious that the powers that be would be tolerating very little. He only hoped Dr. Zhao didn't really believe that he'd been picking on the poor girl. He'd offered her a seat. Oh well. He'd have to be careful with who he reached out to, that much was obvious.

He gave a small smile and nodded to Valia and the doctor as he tried to blend into the scenery. He hurried through the doors, grabbing the first things on the buffet line, which seemed to be pancakes and some kind of cooked cereal, gruel, or perhaps protein powder. He grabbed a table near the front, keeping his backpack close, and dug in. He tasted nothing, too eager to meet his lab area, which he awaited with more relish than the idea of his future spouse being aboard.