The Blue Heron is a small ship with four state rooms and no cargo space. We pile bags full of our belongings and equipment into the rooms, and try to find a place to sleep amidst the mess… After a few days, the mood is not great.
Bo is not at all at home in the submarine-like environment of the scout vessel. He is constantly bumping into things and struggles to operate the heavy bulkhead doors.
On Bo’s insistence, Brega takes up meditation. He splurges on a comfy new Zen-looking robe to meditate in, bright yellow. He even gets his other clothes dry-cleaned. Over the days and weeks, Brega will explain to anyone who listens all the various wrongs done to him by the company, his former colleagues, his supposed friends, etc. Hidden among all this tiresome talk is the odd nugget of self-awareness here or there. But those dissipate again quickly. (Of course he’s also repeatedly caught smoking on board.)
Lux is quiet, stays in her cabin. She clearly thinks there are way too many people on “her” ship.
Louis, on the other hand, is nervous. He’s constantly trying to involve Sir Aiken in a conversation about money. Apparently they’ve settled on what bankers would consider a standard mortgage rate, 1/240th per month, meaning 12.5K Cr. per month. When Sir Aiken is not around, Louis also frets about maintenance costs: within a year, he’ll have to cough up 1‰ of 29.43 MCr., i.e. 29.43 KCr. Also, life support for five people have cost him 10 KCr.; as he’s quick to point out, he’s happy to pay for it, but it really puts a dent in his pocket. In moments such as these, Sir Aiken can sometimes be heard mumbling, “a dent in my pockets, you mean…”