Thomas awoke with a yawn and stretched out his imposing frame on the narrow cot as best he could, wrapped in his thermal suit and a heavy blanket. The sedative they'd hit him with in the brig had worn off hours ago but from his perspective there was nothing much to do but wait until he reached whatever fresh pit the higher ups were sending him to, and he didn't need to be awake to do that. Almost as soon as they'd boarded him on the Herc' and the little civvie briefing was finished, Thomas geared up for the serious business of taking a nap. For nearly twelve hours he slept, waking for only a couple minutes every three or four hours to tighten and relax his muscles to keep from stiffening up in the cold. Around hour nine his stomach started to grouse, but changed its mind when he tore open one of the small MRE packets and threatened to choke down the thin, dry cardboard of a 'HAMCHEESESANDWICH' and he resumed his slumber.<br/><br/>He dreamed as he slept, twisted images and unpleasant memories playing on the big screen of his unconscious mind. Dylan on point, scouting the target area. Halloway radioing their findings back to CC. Juarez, screaming in terrified Spanish as he fired blind into the trees until his rifle emptied. Doubletiming through thick jungle brush with snarling nightmares on their six. And fire. Fuck, so much fire. Almost real enough to make him forget this goddamn cold. Fire and ice blended together, burning snow and frozen flames filling his mind until the droning roar dragged everything into darkness. Thomas woke with a start as the plane lurched, clearly hitting some of that peaceful arctic weather the area was so famous for. He rubbed his eyes and sat up with a groan; apparently his legs and back had decided his two-minute warm-ups weren't enough to keep from cramping.<br/><br/>Thomas rose to his feet and shucked the blanket onto the small cot, stretched his limbs to satisfaction and picked up the little comm device. What had Czeremin called them? MOBIs? MOBAs, that was it. He thumbed through the limited menu and skimmed over the available files. Research reports, dig findings, survey results and biology articles, nothing that jumped out at him. The artwork was a little more interesting, but it didn't give him any new clues. He turned the device over and over, studying its casing and design; it looked tough, airtight. Thomas slipped the MOBA into a pocket on the thermal suit and returned to the bed, intent on returning to his interrupted sleep.<br/><br/>Before his head hit the mattress a soft tapping sound echoed into the cubicle and a slight grin etched over his face. Sometimes, the old tricks really were the best tricks. Thomas looked around for a tool to answer with but came up short until he remembered the MOBA. He pulled it out and gave it a satisfying test tap against his palm, then replied to his fellow cargo.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">.--.... .- - .----. ... / ..- .--. ..--..</div><div class="spoiler_body">"What's up?"</div></div>