I don't deal with people much- machines are far more familiar to me, and far more my speed. Can take a while to figure out what's wrong with them sometimes, but as far as I'm concerned still far more straightforward than puzzling out what people mean when they talk in riddles. Besides, at the rate these pods get dropped, there's always too much work to be done to allow for much socializing with the others.
Still, the ones that drop Below are people - same as me. And this life we lead... Well. No one's fooled that it's easy or safe for anyone. But them that Go... I sometimes wonder if we in the Mechanics Corps lucked out, having a knack for machines.
I don't know what possessed me to start the whole endeavor. Do remember being bored, though. (The system of this particular pod was taking aaaaaages to boot up). Which I guess led my mind to pondering the poor folk that get sent down in these things, while I stay relatively safe Up Here.
On a whim, I then pulled out my pad and scrawled "I'm pulling for ya" and stuck it to the nearest wall panel with a bit of tape from my kit. The system finally came online shortly after that, and I got on with my repairs. I didn't think anything more of the note.
Until I began working on the next pod, where I left another note.
The same happened with the next.
And then the one after that.
A silly impulse soon became almost a ritual, a part of my to-do checklist as imperative as making sure the small propulsion system was humming along happily, that the electronics ran smoothly, and the landing mechanism was as reliable as day one. Rena caught me doing it one day and asked; I struggled to explain it, the reason why this felt as important as a well-tuned engine, but I think she understood. No reprimand came, in any case, so I carried on that way.
And I guess because I never thought much of those little beacons of encouragement, I never expected anything to come of it.
To say that I nearly jumped out of my overalls a few months later when Rena pulled me out of a deep workflow-state would be an understatement. My surprise only grew at the sight of the man beside her.
He wasn't one of us - one the Machinists: Everything from the colour of his jumpsuit to the way he held himself spoke to that. Redshift, the scars on him- I had a few of my own (handy work comes with its own risks), but nothing like his. Was he...?
"Are you-..." He hesitates, as though uncertain as to what he wants to ask, and trails off mid-question.
His voice is softer than his appearance lent me to believe. Definitely capable of command, but, in this moment, I get the feeling that he is just himself - just a man.
He furrows his brow, clears his throat, and tries again. "The messages- Rena tells me you're the one been leaving messages in the drop pods?"
"Ah, those..." I get the sense that I should stand, so I set aside the motor I was working on and grab my grease rag to clean my hands as I get up. "Em, yea. That's me." I say, slightly sheepish. "Machinist Quincel, ah, sir."
Tentatively, I reach out my hand (because this is what you do when meeting someone for the first time, right?). I try to read his face, but the best I get is that he isn't here to chew me out. If anything, he almost seems... grateful.
"Sergeant Kaydian," he replied. He's shaking my hand in greeting. Only, why was he literally shaking? Or not letting go for that matter? Wait. Were those... tears?
"Thank you, Machinist Quincel."
I'm flabbergasted. We don't pay each other much mind, Machinists and Soldiers. We each have our jobs to do, and we don't expect thanks from the other for doing it: it's just a fact of life on a ship like ours. This level of gratitude is unheard of.
I'm uncertain as to how to deal with this. "Ah, don't mention it. Just a drop-pod mechanic doing my jo-"
"For the notes, Quincel. Thank you for the notes."
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