Welcome to the Journal of Now and Forever. This Journal is a collection of my Star Control and Star Control 2 fiction. Note: Some of this material is, by necessity, extrapolation from the slim information provided by canon sources.

New fiction is posted first at My Livejournal before it appears here. This story is in response to 15 Minute Ficlets' Challenge #60.

"Nick? Home." It was an abbreviated greeting, but then, Dean didn't think much more needed to be said. "Hey, Tony found some limes and said we could have 'em, if you know what to do with 'em besides limeade." He closed the door behind him and went to the kitchenette to dump the sack's contents into the sink.

"Dean," Nick replied from his room. "Glad you're back before I left."

"Wha?" Dean looked up sharply. "You're leaving? What for?" He stopped unloading limes and made his way to the doorway of Nick's room.

Inside, Nick was packing one of the generic brown duffels every Androsynth seemed to own. Nick didn't have a lot of "stuff" – neither did Dean, nor, as far as Dean knew, did any Androsynth – but what he had, he was placing in the tough cloth bag. He looked up once, made eye contact with Dean, and nodded.

"Um, what for?" Dean repeated.

"Orders," Nick said, clipping the word so short that it took a moment for Dean to identify it. "My work here is done, so to speak." He made a sour smile. "I'm to report to Skyhook for further instructions. I'm going through military training."

"You..." Dean gaped. "I, um, you're going to become a spacer?"

Nick shrugged. "Don't know. I asked, they said they need to figure out what to do with me, what I'm good at, militarily." He finished packing his clothes and pulled the duffel's drawstring tight. "It's a new thing they're doing. Every Androsynth on the planet is going to go through it, I hear. I mean, it's not like we have an army or anything to fall back on."

"Oh." Dean waited while Nick hoisted the duffel over one shoulder. "Um, are you going to be okay? You know, with your..." His voice trailed off as he grappled with which word to use: Problem? Phobia? Mental issue?

Nick seemed to know what he meant. "I think so. It's not like I'm going to be alone there. I'm sure there are others, and it's military training, not isolation." His left eye twitched. Before Dean had learned of Nick's past, he might not have noticed tics at all, but now he looked for them.

"Oh." Dean looked about the room. It was small, like most bedrooms on this planet; designed more as a place to sleep and have privacy than as a cocoon. Technically, each room was at least the minimum required space for one human to live in, but Dean and most people he knew rarely used their bedrooms for anything beyond resting. Failing to see anything he could truly comment on, Dean asked: "So, when are you coming back?"

Nick shrugged, and the duffel shifted with him. "Don't know. That's up to them, I guess."

They stared at each other for a moment, before Nick gestured vaguely at Dean. "Ah, you're standing in the door."

"Oh. Sorry." Dean moved aside. "Nick... If you need anything, or, y'know."

"Yeah." Nick gave a tired smile. "I'll be okay. I've been... working on it. Unless someone shoots me in the head, I'll be back, maybe before the end of the year. Unless they make me a spacer," he finished, shaking his head.

"Look, I've got to go. I'll, y'know, send a message or something." Nick clapped his hand against Dean's upper arm – a gesture he wouldn't have made before the Big Talk, as Dean thought of it. At least he's improving – I think.

In response, Dean reached out, and with the side of his thumb made a small cross on Nick's forehead, mumbling Latin under his breath.

"What's that about?" Nick said, looking upward warily as though expecting to see something left behind.

"Just a wish for luck," Dean lied. Heavenly Father, protect this unbelieving idiot, and if he comes back I'll see what I can do about him.

Comments? Email me: laridian at aol dot com