Calanthe Colt

Someone else arrived. Sora hung her head, hoping her hood obscured her face. Even though they’d be able to tell the authorities she was their algae tube repairer, she didn’t want them to be able to describe her to a sketch artist.

“You!” said a masculine voice. “What are you doing on my ship?” The lower edge of the captain’s gray coat entered her field of view as he stepped closer. A few drops of dried paint marred its surface, though it was otherwise clean. “Bring her this way,” he said.

She was pushed forward. “Wait—my bag!” she cried.

“Relax, Ma’am. It ain’t going anywhere.”

The light in the corridor was dimmer, allowing her eyes to adjust. Ahead, Captain Beck strode along the hall, his broad shoulders tense. When Sora passed a ladder, she tried to look up, but the person holding her tilted her head down.

She was pushed through a doorway into a gray room with a table and two chairs. It would look like an interrogation room if not for the boxes of meal packs stacked across the far wall and an easel in the corner with a half-finished painting of a blue-grassed landscape.

Her captor pushed her into a chair facing the door and patted her down for weapons. She squeezed Sora’s coin purse, then left it where it was. When she was done, Captain Beck sat across from her, and the woman stood at his side. Her reddish brown hair was short in the back and sides. She had full-sleeve, colorful tattoos on both of her muscular arms. Despite her looming presence, she wore an amused expression.

Captain Beck was the one who scowled. “Ma’am, what exactly about our business arrangement led you to believe you could use us as an unpaid transport?” His voice was tightly controlled.

He still believed she was an older woman. Could she keep it that way? With her skill set, she was less suspicious if presumed to be elderly. Young people didn’t learn what she had, now the Conglomerate had done their best to make all manufacturing and repairs their proprietary knowledge. Who would have taught them? Which was exactly the question she mustn’t answer.

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” she said. “Don’t take it so personal.”

“Are you in trouble with the law?” asked the muscular woman.

Sora shrugged.

“We need more than that to decide what to do with you. Otherwise, I’ll just assume you’re a spy or a saboteur and treat you accordingly.”

Sora’s stomach clenched with fear. On most ships that meant a spacing. 

Captain Beck crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Look, lady. Tell us something. You’ve been a good contractor for months, and now you’re taking advantage of us?” He sighed. “The least you can do is show your face.”

Sora sank further down. Why was he pushing the matter? Enough people lived with grievous injuries that most would assume someone hiding their face was doing so for a reason.

“I’m talking to you!” A blue hand yanked her hood off.

She looked up in shock.

He was closer than she thought, leaning across the table into her personal space. His startlingly blue complexion filled her vision. He was a genetically modified human after all. Her own pale, scared face was reflected in his gray eyes, which were fully human. His gaze flitted over her face. His brows drew together in confusion, his full mouth agape.

“What?”