A buzz jolts Mil out of her comfortable dreams. She blinks into the glaring overhead lights and tries in vain to get her bearings. A throbbing headache prevents her from hanging on to her thoughts. If only that horrible sound would stop!

"Milena? Are you awake?"

Her hand still numb and clumsy, she rubs her eyes and pushes a wisp of dark hair out of her face, sticky with sweat. To Mil, Dray's trademark, hoarse voice sounds almost as annoying as the cursed buzzer. And the pilot's insistence to use her given name even after all their time together lets her crew mate sink far below it on Mil's personal scale of favourites.

Dray may be one of the best shuttle pilots in the space program, but Mil wouldn't count her as a friend. Not by a long shot. Nevertheless, she is aware the two of them have to get their act together. The crowded ship doesn't offer room for animosity.

With a profound sigh, Mil eases off the safety net and sits up rubbing her hurting back. Then she reaches out to disrupt the dissonant buzzer, her frown and tight-pressed lips an expression of physical and mental pain.

"Okay then, let's establish that you are awake and shining." Dray's voice is not only hoarse now, but also derisive.

Mil's frown deepens. She finds the combination unattractive and inappropriate. Besides, it annoys her that the pilot appears to be awake and cheerful without showing traces of the usual hangover induced by the transfer sleep.

This reminds her of Carlos, who calls the relationship of the two women in the team an ongoing cat fight. Mil has no idea where the mission's engineer unearthed such an archaic expression. But she has to admit his imaginative description hits the mark.

Almost smiling, she presses her palm to the surface of a scan sensor for ten seconds. Its fast blinking slows down, and the colour changes from orange to blue while it registers her body functions. Everything is normal. She presses the button to confirm the reading and throws Dray a challenging glance. The pilot only shrugs to signal her disinterest.

Mil grits her teeth. With her degree in biology, she is the only crew listed as trained medical personnel. As important as this role is, she doesn't cherish it. Her favourite subject is botany, always was. The only reason she volunteered for medical education was the prospect to become eligible for the space program. Now, the responsibility for the wellbeing of the small crew weighs her down. If she has to bear it, she will stick to the books and give her best to ensure her charges' continuous health. And this means she won't let the pilot skip the scan.

"Put your hand on the scanner, Dray." Her voice is sharper than usual. "I want to check if your body broke down the medication. And you're not going to leave the ship before I get a complete set of your med data. You know the regulations."

Dray follows the order, her pale lips drawn into a pout. At least she doesn't comment. Mil is sure the pilot knows she can and will follow through with her threat. Koshi, the captain, supports her decisions in medical questions without hesitation.

The blinking of the scanner slows and changes colour. Mil is satisfied. Not that she expected anything else: Dray's health seems indestructible. She confirms the scan with her med code.

"Okay, let's go check with the boys. I can't wait to find out where we landed."

"We haven't landed anywhere yet, Milena." An exaggerated sigh shows Dray's exasperation and tells Mil her colleague's patience is wearing thin. "We only dropped out of transfer, hopefully at our final destination. Do you ever listen to what the rest of us talk about? Or read the instructions?"

Mil frowns. Of course she does, no reason to be rude. "It was just a figure of speech. The final approach must be done manually, I know."

"Exactly. the old fashioned way, manually, and by a certified pilot: rule twenty-three, unknown planet, first contact." Dray shakes her head and walks to the door. "Come on, let's move."