Human Edge

It was late in the morning that someone entered the cargo bay, wearing a tattered overcoat with a hood, though from the slim figure it seemed likely to be a woman.

Setting down what seemed to be breakfast - some instant coffee with some sort of pre-packaged breakfast consisting of biscuits, 'don't-ask' meat in a self-heating tin, and some sort of freeze-dried self-cooking scrambled eggs.

The figure then moved away a few steps, regarding him from under the shadowing hood in the dim light of the cargo hold.

Bruun, not too proud to eat a bit and drink the no-doubt-despicable coffee, is happy to give the stranger a smile and say, "Morning. Got this duty cuz you're new, or because you're in trouble for something?"

The figure watched him in silence, not responding, and then finally, as he started to eat, replied. "Neither."

For some reason the voice was really familiar.

"What did you tell the Queen?"

Bruun takes another bite, as though the person's question isn't that curious to him.

Somewhat cagey, he says, "About as much as I know. Don't reckon that late at night, after a tense battle, I remember every detail. But I'm a soldier. I don't know much about science stuff in the first place," he shrugs, as though this is all a typical day.

The figure leaned forward, head still hidden in the hood, and the figure inquired, with an odd degree of menace. "So you gave away the keys to the castle? Tell them about the Calico's weak armor? The bad habits of your fellow pilots?"

The voice was definitely familiar, but he couldn't place it.

Bruun sets the food down. "I think you must be confused," he says seriously. "Ain't a weak bit of armor in the company with the team of techs and engineers we have. And our pilots are all solid, and so many I couldn't even remember all the names. Hmm?"

"Now you're just being cute, Dorgan."

The figured stood, one hand vanishing into the folds of the cloak. "Did you give the Queen enough to compromise the defenses? Did you say where and what they were?"

Bruun visibly bristles at use of his first name. He also knows what it means about this person.

"No one calls me that," he growls in a low voice. "And no, I'd never do that to Creed and the others. Even if I knew all that, which I don't," he takes a deep breath and flexes his shoulders.

The figure relaxed slightly.

"Good."

A pause.

"You may have a chance - it's looking like a stalemate, so you may be a bargaining chip. Try not to die till then."

Striding to the door, the figure glanced back his way. "I'm a good judge of character - but I had to be sure. No offense."

At "try not to die," Bruun relaxes a little.

"None taken," he says with a sniff. "Hey," he adds before the visitor departs. "Ah, I'm realistic about the odds of... you know. So, assuming you make it back and I don't, tell Creed and the others I said, 'I'm proud to die a Fortunate One.'"