 Stel, weary and beaten, sat against a bulkhead. Every now and then, with his head dangling loose between pulled up knees, he felt the irregular pounding rippling through the ship. It had stopped for the shortest of times, but to Stel it had continued on within his head. The return of the external pounding matched exactly that which tormented him inside. The question and answer session had seemed endless, each question flowing from his Judge's mouth before he'd released the answer to the previous question. It seemed the battle lines had been drawn earlier, that each of their verbal spars either shortened or lengthened the territory each of them owned. While Stel had moved constantly throughout the session, which had lasted close to one hour, the Judge hadn't so much as stood. Despite this, Stel felt dwarfed by his host, having lost all his ground except that which he physically occupied. He'd been on the defensive for nearly the entire battle, fending off probing questions burning into his past, parrying quick jabs at vulnerable areas he'd thought shored up, and defending answers he'd made to questions forgotten soon after they'd been asked. All the while the ache that had struck upon his arrival had grown, flooding feelings buried so deep he'd forgotten their importance. The voice within his head was his only ally. While on occasions it had stayed silent when he'd really needed help, on the whole it'd been extremely understanding, lending him spiritual aid to deflect some of the Judge's questions. It'd given him clarity, enabling him to see the flow and ebb of the Judge's questions for a while, letting him gain some ground and restore lost confidence. While his Nagging Doubt was rough and uncouth, he felt it was truly his friend. His only friend in this dark, corruption-filled hole. The questions had ended all of a sudden with one of the Judge's silent, piercing glares. Nothing had been said since then and while questions of his own were welled thick within his swirling mind, his Nagging Doubt had suggested he take a break. It seemed all he could do. The ache was everywhere. Stel - had he dozed? - lifted his head when the sliding door opened. The light let in was low, but enough to see the Judge was standing. The munition worker had entered, standing partway in the door between coming in and staying out. Their conversation floated lazily over to Stel, neither bothering to hide it or to lower their voices. "The Storm is gaining but we're managing to stay with the fleet. The Ishmael went down so we salvaged some of her metal. A few struggled over to us but most... We're down to the last few holes and working on all but one. Once that last hole is covered we're almost back to combat readiness and will definitely be able to outrun the storm. With that hole in our side though... it'll be close." Both stood looking at each other in silence. Stel struggled to pay attention, the persuasive voice within telling him not to worry, to use this time to rest. The silence stretched for thirty seconds more. Then the Judge and his companion lowered their respective gazes and swapped positions, her moving inside the hold and letting the door slide almost closed, him moving to exit the hold, reaching for the doorhandle as she held it for him. It was over. And he, seemingly, had lost. But lost what? Against the advice of his only friend he asked one last question. "That's it? No parting words?" In response the Judge halted his exit and turned towards Stel. When he opened his fat-ladened mouth his quiet words chilled Stel to the bone, even though they were obviously meant for the woman. "He has been found wanting. The sins he committed in life, including the audacity of his last, he has no remorse nor understanding of. Consequently the dark stain upon his soul has spread beyond my ability of redemption. Perhaps if we were closer to shore... but even now his listens to the forked tongue inside his head. Letting him stay with us would only hasten his and others suffering. May the Lord have mercy on what's left of his soul." The Judge turned back and yanked on the door, letting the momentum carry it open. The woman stepped forward to look at Stel cowering on the floor. Unlike the gaze of the Judge, which had looked right into him, hers looked over him, even as her busy hands untied the tongs from her apron, grasping them eagerly between her strong grip. The gaze of a craftsman. The Judge, with a hint of reluctance, asked one last question. It reached Stel wrapped in the thickness of sorrow, as if the Judge did not wish to ask but needed to for survival's sake. "Will he do?" "Like I said before, Captain, he's large enough. We'll make shore ahead of the storm." The Judge stepped through the door hurriedly, letting its bulk slam it shut. The gloom settled back over the woman and Stel. As she moved forward, tongs raised high, Stel's ears caught the last few noises echoing through the closing doorway. A pounding, heavy and regular, rumbled through out the ship as they welded beaten plates onto the holes in the ship's hull. Coupled with the pounding, borne on the back of the harsh sentence pronounced upon Stel, was a screaming. Continuous. Wracked with pain. Human.
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