One of Raan’s favourite parts of the day was walking about the ship. It was an hour where he got to connect with the crew. Everyone knew he was around at least once a day, so it was easy for them to catch him if they wanted to chat. Plus, it allowed him to get a feel for how the crew were coping. And the ship. He’d learned a lot about the Resolute in the couple of years he’d been captain. She had a personality of her own, and sometimes it was nice to catch up with her.

Which was what found him in one of the port corridors. A mug of coffee in his hands as he leaned a shoulder against a bulkhead, watching the stars stream by through the window. The Resolute was running smoothly, what he could only describe as happy noises running through the spaceframe and transmitted to the bulkhead under his shoulder.

“How’s it going boss?”

He turned to find Dayne behind him. Damned if the guy didn’t move like a cat. Even for a Llanarian, he was quiet, which shouldn’t be possible with how big he was.

“Just taking a moment, talking to the old girl,” he said with a smile, unfolding his arm to pat the bulkhead.

“She’s purring like a kitten at the moment.” Dayne took up a position on the opposite side of the window, rubbing at the clipped scruff over his jaw. “Managed to get some upgrades sorted when we dropped into DS47.”

Raan nodded. “And the replicator you blew up?”

Dayne chuckled, eyes twinkling as he took a swallow from the mug he carried. “Back in place and operational. Well, mostly.”

Raan arched his eyebrow. “Mostly? Not like you to screw up an installation.”

“If you were any other guy, I’d insist on pistols at dawn for that remark. But I know how well you shoot, so… nah, it must just be a glitchy model. I’ll check it again later.”

| Later that day…

“What the fricken hell is wrong with you, you damn thing?!” Dayne hissed after the seventh diagnostic had come back clear, but the machine in front of him still gave him a moca-chocolatte with whipped cream and sprinkles. Rainbow sprinkles.

He’d ordered a black coffee. Plain black coffee. No sprinkles.

Sitting back on his heels, he looked at the offending drink. “Okay. This isn’t over. I’ll be back. We will get this sorted.”

He shoved his kit away and slung the strap of his toolbox over his shoulder. At the last moment, he grabbed the drink.

“Waste not, want not,” he muttered as he walked away.

It wasn’t alone in the darkness anymore. There were no screams here, just the constant pressure of happy minds. All apart from the one that had just left, muttering about sprinkles.

It chuckled to itself, and settled down more comfortably in its new home. The concept of ‘drinks’ was new, but it had noticed there was a difference between what was ordered and what was really… needed.

Like sprinkles.