What Am I Doing Here?

What am I doing here?

The thought had been worming its way to the surface of Argus' thoughts since they left Persephone. Now, with the lights of his quarters dimmed to near darkness, and the only sounds those of the ship's inner workings as it slid silently through the black,  it crept back to the forefront, stubborn in it's pursuit of an answer.

Argus knelt in the center of the small crew cabin aboard the Nevermore that he called his own, skin bare but for a pair of comfortable pants he always wore when he meditated. Before him, an unadorned mat took up most of the remainder of the deck space. On the left of the mat were two badges of the Hera Planetary Marshall's service. The first was his own, polished to a brightness that made it nearly reflective. The second had belonged to his father before he was murdered, and was polished just as brightly, but bore a sash of black fabric in memorial. To the right rested his sidearm, freshly cleaned and oiled, the full magazine settled neatly beside it. In the center, several bullets, though not for either of his weapons, stood as soldiers at attention for the review of their commanding officer. Each bore a series of numbers etched into the casing, the same number as the one on Argus' father's badge. They were the precise caliber and make of bullet which had pierced his father's heart in what had been declared by the authorities back on Hera to be a simple botched robbery. Argus hadn't bought it for a moment.

What am I doing here?

The thought intruded once more on his meditation, taking his focus off the altar he had created, and the promises he'd made himself and his father as he'd watched the casket being lowered into the earth. Try as he might, he couldn't simply put it aside anymore. Argus took a slow, cleansing breath, and turned his focus on answering the question that had occupied him since he'd signed on with the motley bunch that called themselves crew.


Argus had been following a bounty when he made planetfall on Paquin. He'd known it would be a long shot, catching up to what was really no more than a petty crook on the gypsy planet, but he'd never let something like that deter him. Still, the man managed to vanish into the crowds of misfits, social outcasts, and creatures that now inhabited the place. Originally he'd planned to wait the creep out at a local bar. The thought of joining a ship's crew had never occurred to him, even as he scanned the crew wanted ad at the entrance of the bar.

Everything after buying the drink was a blur of conversation and bargaining. By the end of it all, he'd found himself part of a crew. A crew, he added, that consisted of a registered companion for an owner, a woman who could be a companion but apparently wasn't, a slightly off his rocker pilot, a very scruffy armory officer with a penchant for blowing things up, a mechanic that had been found trussed up in one of the smuggling spaces, and a strangely ordinary doctor. Still, he thought, the ship was a Firefly class. Same thing Malcolm Reynolds and crew had used when they confronted the Alliance about Miranda. That had to be a good omen.

Yet with all that, he'd come no closer to explaining his presence. He had been a loner since his father died. He'd never desired to be a part of a group. Too many other people and thoughts to take into consideration. Being alone was simpler. And yet, here he was.

Argus let his gaze wander over the make shift altar before him, real and cybernetic eyes lingering on the etched brass of his calling cards. Perhaps, he thought, some part of me believes that what I'm doing will take more than one man. Perhaps this is fate's way of helping me restore justice.

Or maybe I'm just crazy.

What am I doing here?

I have no clue. But I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually.