"She's Annie," came the disgruntled, suspicious response from the boy next to her, tanned arms still curled loosely around Peter's neck in a hug that he'd never actually admit to enjoying. --Hugs were for babies, after all. "She don't talk," he added then, nose wrinkling at the bridge. "I mean-- she don't talk much. Mostly you just sorta know what she wants." Or maybe only some people knew what she wanted. Whatever--Luke knew, and that was the important thing. "Mantis usually sorta looks out for her, but he don't leave his room much, so when it comes t' talkin', you just sorta gotta figure it out on your own."
He extricated himself, then, brushing his shirt down and pulling it down over his toolbelt--now visible beneath the fabric. Then he was indicating himself, glaring first at Hiro, then Nathan, and then back. "I'm Luke. An' if either of you bugs anyone at the Hyperion, I got a wrench with your names written all over it." He couldn't help it---he was protective by nature, and the people in the Hyperion had become sort of an extended family for him. For the boy who'd been an orphan for so long, feared and--in some cases--abused by his guardians, family was the most precious thing in the galaxy.