<strong>Character</strong>: Rev Lt-Cmdr Dr Jackson Grant<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Robinson, Observation dome<br/><strong>Time</strong>: Evening<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Open<br/><strong>Extra</strong>: mood music (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CTYymbbEL4)<br/><br/>--<br/><br/>The news reports had left him unsettled and unable to sleep, so Jackson decided to go for a walk. The big yellow warning signs about gravity transition were plastered all over the hallway, and it was with practiced ease that he went from walking to 'swimming'.  After spending so much time down the well there was something reassuring about being back in space. Not just the never-ending clatter-clank-beep-whirr of ship systems, but also the slightly odd feel of spin-gravity. It was an odd juxtaposition; silence was so much a part of life on a ship, but the<em>silence</em>on Earth had been unbearable. Waking up in the middle of the night to the still silence gave Jackson nightmares about being trapped aboard the drifting hulk of the Lex. The endless cold inimical to life gnawing at...<br/><br/><em>Deep breath. Focus.</em><br/><br/>He tightened his hand on one of the rungs built into the wall - the paint long warn thin by countless other hands to reveal bare metal - and propelled himself onwards / upwards towards the observation dome, mind still troubled by the sudden memory of the Lex.<br/><br/>He was dragged from his thoughts by the breath-taking sight of the black beyond the dome. The sight of stars, silent and perfect, always did that. It was beautiful-terrible, and always gave a thrill of adrenaline and fear in the pit of his stomach and a grin on his face. Ancient explorers must've felt the same when they lost sight of the land; iron-hearted people in their hulls of wood. It seemed like such a luxury to have so much 'glass' in a hull, something he'd never gotten used to. His ships had always been armoured, dark, and spartan. Even in its dilapidated state, the<em>Robinson</em>still felt so open and luxurious with so much unnecessary space, and so empty.<br/><br/>"There" he said to no-one in particular as he found a space to 'hover', oriented towards the dome so that it was 'forward', and the airlock was behind him. One of the first medical officers he'd worked for had been keen on classical music, and the taste had stuck - much like the fondness for tea - and so the dome was soon filled with the gentle, restful tones of Strauss. With his preparations done, he pulled out the thumb-warn, travel-scuffed copy of the<em>Missale Romanum</em>and began to read.<br/><br/>Every time he read the front page, he was reminded of a quip made by a disbelieving and non-comprehending lieutenant:<em>not the kind of missiles we need out here in the black, doc</em>. But the time-warn words had always been a place of comfort to settle the spirit, rather like the Strauss and the view.<br/><br/>"Deus, in adiutorium meum intende. Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina. Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen. Alleluia!"