let’s tessellate

colonel hal pearson. 37. navigator. 'he in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.'

[hal-pearson-blog]

ineslundstrom:

               Ines wasn’t sure what or who they were looking for. The crew’s morale had been upended by the news of a mystery illness taking down their captain, botanist, geologist and agronomist, and they had been instructed to stay clear of the greenhouse and Lab Two until further notice. There was no shortage of work to be done in and around camp; the storm’s damage still required their attention, though they couldn’t seem to focus it ⏤ on work, at least.

Stepping through the corridor to the main hall, Ines stopped in their tracks when they spotted Hal seated inside. He was hardly the person they wanted to face at a time like this, with emotions running high and everyone operating on little to no sleep. The combination of such variables made for dangerous conditions. Swallowing thickly, Ines knew that he had spotted them. There was no escaping, not without an excuse of some sort. “Sorry, I was… looking for Julian. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?” It wasn’t a lie; they were interested in locating the pilot, but it was hardly the reason they’d trekked through to the main hub. For no reason other than to fill the painfully silent gap in conversation, they added: “Awfully quiet in here.”

Hal ran a few stray fingers through his hair, twisting some strands on the ends. Whenever he grew anxious, he played with his hair. He hated it. He hated being a victim to his anxieties, but they were in full swing now more than ever. He looked around. Things were so quiet, and Hal felt completely useless. Usually, he would have been running around working, doing something to help contribute - but currently, he was breaking protocol just by being out of his bunker. He just couldn’t stay cooped up all day, wondering how his team was doing. No. He’d choose risking himself to being confined to a cell of solitude. He thought back to the days from before, when he lost his father. The darkest of depressions covered him in a blanket and the darkness of his room ate him alive. He couldn’t manage succumbing to the darkness like that right now. There was too much work to be done.

His eyes glanced up to see Lundstrom hovering in the corridor, and his eye twitched a little in confusion. What was she doing? He didn’t understand why things had to be so strange between them. Given their compromising history, he understood and tolerated it, though he didn’t know how else to try moving past it. It didn’t seem like Ines wanted to move on, and he simply had no time for confrontation, especially not now. They couldn’t even say hello to him without bringing up someone else. “Haven’t seen him,” he spoke in their direction, glancing over. God, would he even try this? He was here to support all of the crew members, not just certain ones at the end of the day. “How have you been?” he asked, both hands now hanging onto his coffee for dear life.

[hal-pearson-blog]

doctorkeats:

Now Anthony remembered why he so rarely lost his temper — without someone to feed into the frustration, he quickly deflated, guilt flooding in where his anger had been only moments ago. Yelling was not nearly as satisfying when the other party refused to yell back. “Sorry, Hal,” he muttered, turning away. The man was only trying to do his job, same as anyone else. Anthony knew it wasn’t fair of him to explode like that, but he was a tangled mess of emotion right now — fear, anxiety, and unheeded grief crashed over him in waves. Some moments, he felt nothing at all; others, it was all he could do not to curl into a ball and breakdown. Breaking down wasn’t an option, though, not now. Not ever. 

Hal’s question prompted a laugh from the doctor, short but genuine. “You don’t happen to have a time machine anywhere, do you?” his lips quirked upward, something akin to a smile. He was working against the clock now; it took teams of researchers years to come up with a viable vaccine for a new virus. Anthony was one man, and he had less than a day. What he really needed was someone to bounce theories off of — Nik used to be good at that. He was one of the only people on the base who could relate when Anthony got riled up about diseases, and they’d been able to converse without having to translate their medical jargon into general English. He needed that. It wasn’t something Hal could provide. With each passing second, Anthony felt the weight of Nik’s absence growing heavier on his heart.

Tensions on Remus had reached a pinnacle until they climaxed, fizzling out into a low-burning simmer. It wasn’t that Hal went un-phased by the sting of Nikolai’s death, but he had prepared for something of this magnitude to occur since the beginning. If he was being completely honest with himself, he went into the mission knowing that he would never return, at least not the same man. If he built a successful life on Remus, he wouldn’t want to remain in the hellhole that Earth had become. If he perished, so be it. At least he took the risk.

Hal scratched the back of his neck, suddenly more open than before once Anthony had calmed down a bit. He dared to further approach the plastic barricade that separated them, curious as to how all of the medical technology that surrounded them worked. He knew the basics, press this button for sterilization, sit here in this chair to have a wound disinfected, though it was the high-tech formulas and processes of machinery outside of his field that left him so fascinated. He was like a child in an antiques store, wide-eyed and wanting to touch things he shouldn’t. It was his damn curiosity, always getting the better of him in the most untimely of circumstances. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, Anthony,” he spoke with uncharacteristic sympathy, usually expressing himself more pragmatically. He took a seat on an inspection table that faced his overworked and understandably stressed friend before beginning again, “but you don’t have to do it alone.” Keats was the only member of the entire company that Hal referred to by his first name, to his face at least. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you get it.” He couldn’t let Keats self-destruct. He was doing damage control, attempting to clean the collateral in any way that he could, and he was determined to piece back together what had fallen apart so suddenly.

[hal-pearson-blog]

C O N T A C T + a playlist for colonel hal pearson

“Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.”

                                                                               --carl sagan

[museinspo]

““i just want to go home” said the astronaut. “so come home” said ground control. ‘‘ｓｏ ｃｏｍｅ ｈｏｍｅ’’ said the voice from the stars.”

— jonny sun (via mcthilda)

[hal-pearson-blog]

T A S K  >> 002

Hal’s arms fell from a tight embrace with his father before making his way away from the exit platform. Lanky legs slowly drifted back behind the pod bay door. His mother was at home, teary eyed and in denial that her husband was going to space. The morning before her husband went into work, she gave him a kiss, and told him to come back to her. It was Hal who watched as his father’s ship shot into the burning, wild atmosphere at top speeds. Hal who watched from mission control as his father’s ship ignited from one single gas leak in its lower right engine, the flames engorging what might have been its inhabitants in a matter of minutes. But that part was a mere fizzle in the eyes of Hal at the time, who couldn’t form words. He had been sent into shock in the room where hundreds froze, mouths rigid and stiff and having fallen open in terror. His legs went out from under him as he buckled to the ground, the reflection of the horror on his glasses. He let out one long silent scream as he went into hysterics.

He has never expressed emotion so severely since.  

In fact, he runs from it for this very reason. Once his hero, his inspiration, his father went out in like a match in the wind, Hal hasn’t felt things the way he used to. Nikolai’s death came as a sad reminder of just how very temporary their time is in life. It was a sensitive but impenetrable wound, like poking scar tissue. Uncomfortable, sad, though the mission goes on and he remains strong. He is without a doubt the most logical of the group, calculating in how he processes emotions. He is very private and withdrawn, and can come across as insensitive because he actively chooses not to wear his heart on his sleeve.  Death is a natural part of life, but to Hal, death has shaped his life.

[mrbenwyatt]

[hal-pearson-blog]

santanaphd:

The scene, to put it lightly, was grim. Seeing Hal sat among the fallen tower made something in his gut twist, the quiet feeling more eerie than peaceful. Then again, that was an easy mystery to figure out. Vaguely, he’d wondered if ground control had already reported back that Remus had failed, hours after Romulus, and that the New Earth Initiative had fallen. The feeling, the weight, came back and full force. Nico finished the walk, standing unsure before taking a seat next to Hal and staring out into the wreckage. “Hey,” he began. “Good book?” There’s no use in delaying it, and Nico’s mouth felt dry as he looked at the ground. Just weeks ago he’d enjoyed going outside and the novelty of it all, but now everything seemed less colorful. The grass was less green and the sky less brilliant and teal and it was a lot like waking up from something. “Anna’s sick,” Nico said finally. Acting Captain definitely shouldn’t be falling on Nico, but it was, and this is what they’re dealing with right now. With Hal directly under him, it’d benefit if they both just… prepared for the worst.

Hal kept his eyes down to the book, unsure of how to communicate what he was feeling. So he didn’t, he kept it inside, just like he always did. Santana’s presence was welcome, though Hal was here because he needed to get away from the drama, not be suckered back into it. He hoped his newfound partner was being casual with him because he knew that’s what Hal needed in order to come back, so to speak, though he couldn’t be certain. He wanted a break from the hysterics, clear mindedness being abandoned for the sake of emotions. He’d just been yelled at by one of the most demure people he knew, a close friend of five years, for Christ’s sake.

They could still salvage the mission, he told himself over and over like a broken record. He couldn’t fail his mother, not like this. She’d already lost a husband to the vast expanse of space, and he had determined long ago that he wouldn’t be next. The words ‘Anna’s sick’ came as a shock, and Hal rested his head in his hands before giving the hair on his scalp a firm tug. He didn’t want to ask what came next, but he knew he had to. “Is she going to make it?” The words practically fell out of his mouth as he became a literal bundle of nerves before his comrade’s very eyes. The silence rocked between them for a few seconds, which turned to minutes as he was left to think. “Nothing is compromising this mission,” he declared reassuringly, eyes fluttering open to the space between his legs as he sat among the wreckage. “We pick up and move forward. There is no other option.” What he wouldn’t give for a cigarette right about now.

[hal-pearson-blog]

doctorkeats:

Hal’s presence might have normally lifted his spirits some, but the weight of the situation was heavy on Anthony’s shoulders, and he immediately took umbrage at his friend’s tone. “You need my full cooperation?” his voice was quiet, seething with anger. “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing in here this entire time, sitting on my fucking hands?” He was a doctor, he specialized in virology, he could do this. Anthony had reminded himself of this countless times in the past twenty-four hours, playing it on a loop in his head with the hopes that he might believe it. You can do this, you can do this. Figure it out, Keats. You have to do this.

He needed quiet. He needed to re-run his tests, figure out what he was missing. He needed to hear some good news for once. What he did NOT need was Hal breathing down his neck, demanding information and reminding him what was at stake — as if he didn’t already know. Anthony turned, finally, to face the navigator, eyes burning ( whether from exhaustion or grief, he wasn’t sure ). “You’ll have your information when you have it, Colonel. Anything else?”

Hal stood in silence as the air stiffened between the two of them. He looked Anthony up and down, observing the man’s disheveled appearance and shaky tone. He paused to think of something, anything to say after Keats’ tangent. He wasn’t prone to dramatics or arguments, usually sorting out whatever issue needed to be discussed in a timely, and efficient manner. He let the silence rock between them for a few seconds that stretched into minutes as he let the sting of Keats’ words sink in, though he didn’t take it personally. He rarely took things personally any way, though especially now, he understood how much pressure was on Keats, and he wanted to let him know he was there as a friend, too, not just as a colonel. 

He let the words slide by as though Keats hadn’t even said them, eyes drifting to Nikolai as he surveyed the corpse for himself. It was like seeing an open casket funeral, which Hal always hated, but without the comfort of well-wishes and comforting words. People were dying, and the responsibility rested squarely on their shoulders. The dark thought ruminated in his mind and got under his skin in more way than one. His eyes shifted back to his friend, clearly exasperated already with his presence, though that wouldn’t stop Hal from trying. “How can I help?” he asked, maintaining as neutral an expression as he could. If Keats needed a punching bag, so be it. As long as they did what needed to be done, he’d take it.

[hal-pearson-blog]

ellisrutherford:

Ellis tapped out a few notes on the keyboard resting in his lap. It was the only personal item he’d brought with him and the only thing that kept him sane during times like this. Well—there had not been times as bad as this one. Unconsciously he began another song, one Nikolai had overheard and liked a few weeks back. They’d never been very close but Ellis shouldered the blame for that since he wasn’t good at making friends. That didn’t change the amount of respect and admiration he had for Nik. How could someone just be gone? What about all the things they wanted to do? What happened to all their goals? Gone. Death was a black hole, how could any light come from this?

Music was very personal to Ellis for numerous reasons and he rarely played around the others, not because he was shy but because he didn’t want to bother anyone. Some people liked silence and while Ellis preferred to be alone, he needed the noise. His fingers paused over the keys when he heard someone approach. He gathered himself before turning towards them. “Hey. Sorry, you need help with something?” He asked.

Hal pressed the button for the coffee machine, pouring two cups rather than one. He had heard some noise coming from the main hall, and was making the rounds to ensure his comrades were stable. Hal dealt with grief differently than most. He became introspective, internalizing his pain. He wanted to try to reach out after reading a study on interpersonal communication, finding that people responded best to compassion, which was easy enough to comprehend. Sometimes he felt like a robot trapped in a human’s body, stuck on the outside of humanity looking in. He wanted to connect with people more than anything else, but felt abandoned without the blueprints to do so. He figured a coffee might be a nice start.

Hal placed the coffee on the table that Rutherford was at, trying his best to come up with something of value to say. He noted that his team member had been in tears, and he could feel how high tensions were running. “You struck me as an extra sugar kind of guy,” he spoke softly, pushing the little mug across the ways. “Mind if I sit with you?”

[hal-pearson-blog]

location: main hall

time: present

status: open

Hal’s old spot to sit and think had been obliterated by means of the last storm, debris littering the location where the coms tower once sat. It was typically a rare occasion when he had the time to really be introspective about things, especially considering the brouhaha that had occurred within the past week. He had taken it upon himself to keep things going as they had been, and he had been helping to distribute tasks all day, trying to remind his cohorts that life went on. After all, there were still debris that needed to be cleared, dents that had to be repaired, and they were missing an integral component to their mission: the tower. Things were looking bad, but they couldn’t lose their heads during time of stress. It was Hal’s duty not to fall apart on them as third in the chain of command, and as he sat in quiet contemplation towards the end of the work day with a book in his lap, he wondered what the future would bring and how he could combat such issues. Suddenly, he heard the whooshing of the bay doors opening, and he knew he wasn’t alone. 

[hal-pearson-blog]

doctorkeats:

A notification from his laptop pierced the silence in the room, and based on the melancholy sound alone, Anthony knew it wasn’t good news. It took only two strides for him to cross from the autopsy table to the desk, and run a gloved finger over the laptop’s trackpad. The screen flickered to life, greeting him with the last thing he wanted to see: 

SIMULATION: FAILED

SCALE: PANDEMIC 

MORTALITY: UNCERTAIN

MORE INFORMATION NEEDED.

“Tell me about it,” he sighed in exasperation. Anthony tried not to place too much stock in the failed disease model; any viral infection could be a pandemic when the global population consisted of fourteen — no, thirteen people, all living in close quarters. In a perfect world, he could ensure that no one else got infected, but at this point, he would be perfectly happy just knowing that no one else would die. Thus far, the prognosis seemed bleak. The virus had already claimed the life of its only known carrier, and even similar, less aggressive viruses from Earth had high mortality rates. “What am I missing?” he mumbled to himself, glancing back at the autopsy table, where Nik’s body lay supine. 

The sound of approaching footsteps drew Anthony from his brooding, but the prospect of company did nothing to improve his mood. “Just be sure you don’t go past that plastic barrier hanging from the ceiling,” he warned to the newcomer without looking over his shoulder. “Unless you don’t mind dead bodies or viral infections. Weirdly enough, most people do.”

Hal shifted in place outside the lab, trying to brainstorm ideas as to how he was going to approach Keats. Not only was he the company’s doctor, he was one of Hal’s closest friends of five years. That sort of thing didn’t just go out the window when personal tragedy struck, and the team hadn’t faced anything like this before. He wasn’t necessarily skilled with handling emotions, though with Anna in quarantine, Hal was acting as one of the next in command, trying his best to do damage control as he saw fit. That included checking up on those he deemed ‘his people’, and making sure they were emotionally and physically sound. He entered the lab with the swipe of a hand, voiding clearance and sticking his hands back in his pocket. His ears perked as Keats began speaking upon his arrival, eyes avoiding Nikolai’s deceased frame. Chills swept down his spine, and he gulped down any second thoughts. “Now, is that any way to talk to your Navigator?” he asked, cocking his head with a small smile. “Any updates on the virus, Keats? Our Captain is debilitated and I need your full cooperation.”

[hal-pearson-blog]

savannahkinsley:

         The sound of the lab door opening didn’t even draw her attention. She wanted to go back to her sleep pod, but that was impossible at the moment. It was best to isolate the spread of the virus, so for now, she kept to lab 2. It was easy to reach out to Anna or Anthony is her condition changed. Other than pure exhaustion, she felt nothing out of the ordinary. Her head lifted at the sound of the stool being moved across from her – the navigator, Hal. A man who had the same sunny disposition as her. She was honestly glad it was him. “Pearson.” She nodded at him glumly. Her shoulders were tight with stress. A hot shower might do wonders for her now. His tone hit her hard, not something she heard often from the man, if ever. “I’m alight. Clearly still alive unlike…” Nikolai. She let his name stay on her tongue instead of escaping into the air. “No symptoms yet.” She brought up a hand to push her hair out of her face. “How are you?”

Hal cleared his throat at the mention of Nikolai, head dipping to the floor as he actively listened to what Kinsley had to say. He sniffled a tear away, crossing his arms off as his mind drifted to what ifs and whys. He wasn’t usually an emotional person, but he couldn’t help feel partially responsible when they lost a member of the crew. He finally dusted off the stool next to him, observing it before he sat down. “The team is in a compromising spot,” he spoke softly, sticking his hands in his pockets. When Hal talked, everyone listened. He spoke few and far between, and it was always something important. “We lost our boy. I don’t know how any of us can just bounce back after that.”

[hal-pearson-blog]

Hal paced outside the quarantined space, eyes fixed to the floor. As one of the first in command, it was his duty to his people that drove him here. He had been in bed all day, beating himself up over the loss of their microbiologist. First, the tragedy of the storm had wreaked havoc in their new settlement and now, they were facing something much more insidious. He hadn’t felt tears ghosting across his cheeks in years, the sensation almost came as a shock as all he could picture was Niko’s face on the floor. He held his face in his hands, readying himself to check in with his people, as was to be expected when duty called. He held up his hand to the pod pay door, authorizing his own entry into Lab 2, and seeing Kinsley alone. He picked at his sleeves, anxious to have this conversation already. He stepped foot into the room, observing the plastic that separated them. He made his way to a stool, pulling it up across from her, though not yet making himself comfortable until she had. “Kinsley,” he said it like an apology, soft enough to convey that he was there to make sure she was okay. “How are you?”

@savannahkinsley

[newearthhq]

MESSAGE:: SENT- Yo Mission Control. Get back to work. Hey mama. I’m in space. I can’t believe I got us here in one piece. I’ll bring you next time and we can paint the stars up close. Dad would be proud. I thought I saw his face in the clouds. The curve of his glasses or something. The weather is so nice it makes me forget that construction work wasn’t in the job description. Guess we really are building the future. I’m going to go back to work. And yes, I’m wearing my helmet. Love you more.

MESSAGE :: RECEIVED - Earth HQ 04 / 09 / 2201 14:06:19

[hal-pearson-blog]

hello loves! i’m coco, and this is my sweet peanut hal. feel free to like this post for a starter and i’ll get right on it! can’t wait to write with you all.

[rocknrollwillneverdie-blog1]

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[aseaofquotes]

– Richard P. Feynman