Patzee almost jumped when Berren touched her hand. She almost wanted to snatch it away, to hiss at him and tell him to go fuck himself for the empty, useless platitude. But she didnt. Because he was right.<br/><br/>Intellectually she knew she couldn't jepodize an entire station for the sake of a few. 50 souls for half a million on the station, the majority in transit to Orilla, home to over 6 billion. Looking only at the numbers there should be no question that what she had done was right, but the knowledge and rationality fell appalling short when the captain had shown her the face of his son barely past 5 years old. Patzee knew that face would haunt her for years, him and his fathers voice screaming at her.<i>Shoot us down then because we're dead already! You've killed us! You've killed us!<br/>
</i><br/>A new drink was set before her and she gulped it down, her shoulders faintly trembling as she accepted the hot burn of the alcohol to the pit of her empty stomach. She gasped and sniffed, the tears wetting her eyelashes threatening to spill. Her hand turned under Brennen's palm and she clung to him, tightly. Finally she turned to look at him, her eyebrows pinched as she touched her face with her other hand, trying and failing to remain composed.<br/><br/>"This is only the beginning...isn't it? It's only going to get worse from here," she asked though she didnt want an answer. Her usually exuberant voice now small and fragile.<br/><br/>It was all beginning to be too real. Brennen had told her about the explosives beforehand and for him to be going out to check them meant that there were preparations being made that they would actually be used.<br/><br/>Patzee couldn't imagine the self imposed isolation, cut off from the rest of the galaxy to protect themselves. To let the others just.... burn.