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For hours the words of the engineering technician rung in his head. Not even the short adventure on his display could bring his mind at ease.

Darius turmed off the display and laid down.

 

“Seal off the deck.” Darius stated to a security guard. He saluted and left. In the room behind Darius the delegates had sat down for the negotiations, on the otter rim of the alpha ring, where no one lived. Work crews constantly improving the armament and armor of the ship, had been reassigned to other rings for the duration of the talks.

Feeling privileged over his acquaintances from his favorite mess hall, for being able to be present near the negotiations Darius sighed.

Some men from the Kismet also were left standing in the hallway. Some of those were security, some were not.

“Communication?” A bearded man in his thirties approached Darius. “Yes. You too?” Studying the mans white garments Darius started to wonder if he was cold aboard the Destiny, apparently the average temperature aboard the Kismet was higher.

“Affirmative. I wanted to ask,” he reached for his beard, “do you think there’s a way to increase the dataflow rate between your ship and ours?” Nervously he looked around, Darius couldn’t say if it was to ensure no other Destiny crew members were listening, or others from Kismet. “Our databanks didn’t get the full load of western movies and TV shows, yet I know a few people who would love to see them.” He spoke in a hushed voice, obviously he was hiding from the other Kismet members.

Laying his forehead in wrinkles Darius also looked around. He realised that the two of them were rather isolated. The next person stood at least five to six meters away. A Destiny security guard.

“Let me guess, this isn’t part of the negotiations?” A nod was his reply. “In that case,” Darius smirked, “we can work out something.”

 

Night had just begun as Darius wandered through the deserted hallway. In the dimmed light of simulated night the generously dimensioned hallway seemed to tighten.

There had been no breakthrough in the trade negotiations with the Kismet crew yet. After a day of long talks they had retreated to their quarters, the negotiators from Destiny had done the same. Abdul ben Mustafa, the media interested man who had approached Darius, went with his superiors, but had spent the time before that with him. From him he had learned that the series and movies he was interested in weren’t forbidden, not even undesired, but hadn’t seemed necessary at the time.

Upgrading the computer storage space aboard the Kismet was the least concern of the Emirates when they had to rebuild the ship to be used for generations, instead of Antimatter fuelled, relatively short time use.

“Good evening!” A woman greeted him. She wore the garments of someone who went to jog. Variety in clothing was limited. Her black straight hair was held together in a strict ponytail by a nearly invisible black hairband. “Good evening?”

“You almost look like the new Bond, sulking in the shadows of a nightly hallway.” She giggled, looking at him fromnhead to toe.

“Hardly,” he smiled, “I am too short, too unfit. But thank you for the compliment. Did you like the new film?”

“Yes.” A strand of hair had broken free of its restraints and fell in her face. “But I think you look like him, your movements and posture are like his.”

Darius felt sudden heat on his cheeks. “I loved it, the movie I mean. Maybe I watched it too often, started to walk like him.” Sighing he hoped he could land a date with the unknown woman with the pale skin.

“Maybe.” She again looked him up and down. “If you want to talk more about movies, contact me. My name is Irina Brekic.” Winking she stretched, obviously starting her jog. “Good night, Mr. Bond.” She jogged off.

 

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