[There's a flicker in her eyes, a fraction where her mouth pulls at the corner and something in her goes soft and sharp all at once. This isn't how this is supposed to go and she isn't here because she cared too much or some bullshit. She'd made a few stupid mistakes in the field, caught a streak of bad luck and been put down for it. It's not a mystery; it's just tactics. Little things - that's all it takes and suddenly you're waking up from a solar month of being dead to the world. Or you're just dead. She wonders, for a split second, how Nicolas Brown died. Whether it was fast or slow. If he'd thrown himself to it the same way he'd thrown himself to the jehke at the drop and at her during his evaluation, blade flashing: a hot flash of reflected light against the danker, greyer Ajna sky.

She should be down with the bulk of the crew working on stripping the surrounding forest and building some kind of perimeter line. She should be on her feet, tackling the long list of BS she has in front of her (self-imposed as half of it is). Instead she's sitting on a stump at the edge of camp and for a second, there's a pang of heat in her chest about it. Something sour at the back of her tongue. For a second, she looks tired and old at the prospect of keeping Crichton any closer than he already is.]

It's a good idea, Jasper. [Not 'Khezek.'] There's going to have to be some-- restructuring. I'll think about what to do with him.

[Good to know the kid was thinking, though. Putting Crichton to task was something that had occurred to her earlier; though if there's any pride in the shared sentiment, she doesn't have the perspective to recognize it at the moment.]

You're leading your green cell, right? Have you talked to your people yet?