Hey-hey-hey-hey. OooOoh-whoah.

From his perch in the observation dome, Alex watched the green and blue planet rotating its way gently through space. It was vast, glorious, glimmering, and alive.
Its beauty gripped him, and he wondered if they should have stayed there, tried to repopulate, create a new human civilisation.
His lip twitched towards a smile at the thought of Seymour faffing around, trying to deal with the practicalities of repopulating a planet - silly old fusspot. Bless ‘im.

He released a long and smoky breath, as a mixture of appreciation and hurt rolled through his chest.
It wasn’t just the planet which troubled him; He’d been thinking.

Long ago, his dad had taught him that if things, or people, seemed too good to be true… then they probably were.
He rubbed his chin, closed his eyes and leaned back against the plexiglass dome. What a shame.

He opened them again and found himself focusing on a pretty and unfamiliar constellation.
“You...” He mumbled at the universe.
There was no reply.

Letting out another, shuddering, sigh, he got to his feet and took a last look at the planet’s surface from this point of view.

----

He’d brushed his hair and put on some proper clothes – black combat trousers, thick vest, his big black boots, and one of his old military jackets. He was feeling more together now, thank smeg.

He kissed his palm and affectionately patted the hangar wall, his fingers lovingly caressing the rusty old metal surface.
“I’m gonna miss you, Bluey. Don't you forget about me, hey?”

He looked up, imagining the others, floors above, all assembled in the refectory, chattering, planning, laughing, loving, living, and lying. They were a good bunch, for the most part.
During their time surviving together, he’d come to regard them as… people he’d met.

“See ya, guys.”

He pushed away thoughts of Seymour trying to wheel himself along, Plisken's funny grey beard, a sickly Jay, Cass without a(n estranged) 'brother' looking out for her, Phil's farts... Actually, he wouldn't miss those.
He tried to force some saliva past the lump in his throat, and wiped at the warm tears spilling down his cheeks with the heel of his hand. And, perhaps worst of all, he'd never got to sleep with Molly...

Before he could reflect too much, he was distracted by a skutter trundling towards him, and a twinge in his lower abdomen.
“Huh” he muttered “I never did get those staples out.”
Maybe Bedge would be able to do it, assuming he made it to Bedge.

It was a risk but he couldn't bear the thought of the loyal, life-saving, simulant abandoned and all alone, perhaps captured and broken up for scrap. There was no guarantee his probe would reach him, so he'd decided to deliver the message in person.
Only problem being, it could be a one-way ticket.

The skutter – his leg-nudging companion from the other night – looked up at him, tilting its head quizzically, as if confused to see the man crying.

He crouched to reassure it, giving it a scritch on the head as if it were a dog.
“Be a good boy” he told it, voice warm, gentle, and steady, now.

Then, before he could change his mind, he stood up and pounded up the Starbug steps, chucking his oversized backpacks inside and turning, fag in mouth, to take another look around the flight deck.

He nodded.

Wordlessly, he stubbed out his cigarette, gave a scowl, and closed the door to the craft which - he hoped - would take him back to the planet.

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