Chapter 2 #2
AFTER FIVE NIGHTS, I still couldn’t get over how comfortable our beds were. The guest quarters of Draim Station weren’t lavish, but we were only three to a room, and this was already better than anything New Earth had to offer.
As I headed to the bathroom—no, convenience—I picked discarded sheets and clothes off the floor, putting them back on the guys’ beds as Roth sauntered out of the convi.
“Morning, G. Ready for another exciting day of hearing about the dismal options in the galaxy?”
My lips curved up despite myself. “Can’t wait.”
“I found a shipyard yesterday that might be worth looking into. They say they’ll take anyone with mechanical knowledge.”
Hmm, though without references or galaxy experience, we’d be going in at a very junior level, which, at thirty-one, was only slightly more appealing than being captured by the Galactic Reserve. “Maybe. I’m gonna shower.”
A filmy haze of moisture covered the metal mirror in the compact room.
Once I activated the steam shower, I luxuriated in the sensation of warm vapour on my skin, a treat compared with the tiny sonic booths on the Reserve ship which cleansed but never refreshed.
The botanical convi gel smelled like rosemary with a tang of citrus, the fragrance filling the room as I washed, and if I stayed in the shower for a little longer than I should have, where was the harm?
Of course, it was all spoiled once I had to put on my old clothes. The tight grey trousers had been such a good idea at the time; if you can’t wear your best clothes on an illicit trip to an alien space station, when can you? At least we’d all been given new underwear.
I hoicked up the trousers, hoping I wasn’t disturbing anyone below me as I jumped to get them past my thighs.
Roth sat on his bed, shaking with mirth. “You look damn fine in those, G.”
“Yeah I do.” Which is why I’d chosen them, but they weren’t my first choice for everyday trousers. Or my second. Or, to be fair, my sixth.
“Make sure to stick that arse out when you’re at the coffee machine. Let the barmaid get a good look, yeah?”
“Shut up, dude.”
He was still chuckling as the door shut behind us with a soft hiss.
Archon Ithsskar had been true to his word, ensuring we were free to move around the non-military parts of the station.
Even though Draim was huge, the civilian sector was compact, no more than a quarter kilometre in any direction, with the guest quarters being off one radial arm of the main hub.
None of us ventured past the areas we knew; the other corridors faded into blackness, the strip lights tapering and diminishing to nothing.
The few people we passed on our way to the cantina gave us little more than curious glances. Roth chattered as we walked, and I trailed my hand along the corridor walls. There was something reassuring about the cool, smooth metal under my fingertips and the low-level purring near a power conduit.
“Good morning, Garrison, Roth.” A rich spiciness permeated the air as the bartender, a tall shaa woman with a fan of red plumage in place of hair, delivered freshly cooked food to another patron, and I gave her a smile as I headed to the bar.
Strange symbols on the hot drink machine flashed, asking an unknown question, and I committed the random combination I pressed to memory, just in case. If I worked my way through all the common alien drinks, I might find one I liked as much as Earth tea.
Damn, I missed a good brew.
The machine hissed as a rich, dark blue liquid jetted into a grey polymer mug, then clicked off, leaving only the low hum of early morning chatter.
A brisk, earthy flavour hit my taste buds and I took another, less tentative sip.
This.
This was good. Sure, it might need a bit more sugar, but anything that tasted of tannins and potential was good.
The booth we occupied in the cantina was starting to feel almost like home, and I sank into the worn seat.
Soft pinpricks of light dotted the ceiling in a pleasant contrast to the ubiquitous strip lights everywhere else on the station.
Imani reached out for my datapad, made some inputs, then handed it back.
“We’re looking at this sector today. You take these four. ”
My eyes closed as I faced the screen. We were all bored of hearing about refugee planets, agricultural moons, grain processing stations, or remote mining installations.
Every half hour, the chirpy translator read an advert for the Galactic Reserve; the delights of having a Reserve-sponsored datapad, I guess.
Sometimes it mentioned things that sounded almost tempting until we found they wouldn’t take unknown aliens—and those were places in the more favourable areas.
The hot beverage soothed the tedious ache of it all, and we snacked on the fried breakfast fruits the bartender placed on the table, while I learned about yet another industrial processing facility that wouldn’t take humans.
“This planet sounds okay,” Roth said.
We all paused our ear-comms to hear what he’d found.
“Bzhalti. There’s agricultural and industrial, various towns and cities with mixed inhabitants. And it’s just about in our transport range.” He caught the bartender’s eye. “What do you know of this place?”
The shaa took the datapad in her slender hand and screwed up her nose.
“Bzhalti? Really? What does this say?” She scanned the readout, grimacing.
“There’s information missing and the rest must have been lost in translation.
This part of the sector has a bad problem with slavers, and you’re a new, soft-looking species. Stay away. More drinks?”
“Fuck,” Roth said as she headed back to the bar with our order. “This is too fucking hard.”
He wasn’t wrong. It was fucking depressing.
“Looks like we might have to split up, after all.” We all turned to Imani, who clutched her datapad closer and blinked at us. “What?”
“Don’t say that.” Zerena rubbed her healing arm before reaching for her drink.
Shit though it was, Imani was right. The only thing we all agreed on was avoiding a refugee planet. It wasn’t the way any of us wanted to experience living planetside for the first time.
“We might have jobs,” someone else said, sounding almost embarrassed.
I glanced at the speaker, one of the two scientists in our little group. “At AnimaCorp?”
“Yes. They’re willing to take a chance on us.”
Good for them. If they were sorted, that only left ten of us.
Roth pulled another piece of fried fruit from the basket and blew out a laugh. “Unlike all the docks and industrial stations who don’t give a shit about our expertise because we’re fucking aliens.”
“Don’t care,” another mechanic said. “I’m going to the shipyard.”
My shoulders slumped and I pressed my palms against my eyes. None of it sounded good, and my dreams of galactic exploration were getting less attractive by the day.
The sensible thing was to find a tolerable way to survive. But I’d had that on Ceres III and wanted more. Maybe I could find a way to be a ship’s engineer, give me a chance to travel and see parts of the galaxy I used to dream of.
Not likely.
“I need more tea.” Zerena headed over to the bar, and I cast my eyes around the cantina. Twisting metal vines coiled over the ceiling like steel snakes, and dark-coloured wall hangings hid the stark space station panels beneath—a welcome contrast.
My attention snapped back to Zerena. A shaa male had joined her at the drinks machine, and she held herself stiffly, her body angled away from him.
Sure enough, when she went to leave and he put a hand on her, I was out of my seat and by her side before I knew it. “You okay?”
“This is a private conversation,” the horned male said. “It does not concern you.”
The fuck it didn’t. “Zerena?”
“I’d like to sit down.” Her voice was a mix of frustration and worry. This wasn’t the first time I’d had to protect a couple of the women from unwanted attention, despite their irritation it was necessary.
There were advantages to being built like a brick shithouse, though. I squared up to the alien, a few inches shorter than him but much broader. “My friend and I are going to sit down now, and you’re going to leave us the fuck alone.”
The background hum of the cantina faded, and the off-duty soldiers on the far side of the room sat straighter.
The shaa locked his gaze on mine with a sneer across his imperious features.
Seconds passed as we stared each other down, until Zerena slipped a hand round my arm, tugging gently.
I gave the shaa a cold smile. “We’re going now. I suggest you do the same.”
His eyes narrowed, but I didn’t wait, just turned and walked away with Zerena—slowly, so she didn’t spill her drink.
“Thanks,” she muttered. “Fucking men. The same everywhere, apparently.” She squeezed my arm. “Sorry. Not you.”
“It’s fine. You sure you’re okay?” She nodded and scooted into the booth before me.
She’d talk to me if she wanted to.
I was surprised to see Ellie slide in after me. How she’d got a job already, I didn’t know, but the archon seemed to have taken her under his wing. “How’s it going?”
Her smile cut through some of the gloom at our table.
“Good. Though Ithsskar has me studying the history of the Allied Galaxy, and I’m not learning as fast as he’d like.
” She caught her lower lip with her teeth.
“I don’t want him to change his mind and send me away.
I think I’ll like being a diplomat once I get the hang of it. ”
He wouldn’t. We all saw the way the reptilian archon looked at her, even if Ellie was oblivious.
Then again, so was I sometimes—like last night. I’d thought I was helping her, same way I’d helped Zerena, only to get hissed at and told to, “fuck off, cockblock,” before she’d given me a mischievous grin.
Even if it wasn’t my style, I liked the way Ellie wasn’t ashamed to throw herself into this new world in all manner of ways, but my gut twinged with a rush of sadness.
What hope was there for me in the wider galaxy?
I didn’t even know what kind of life we’d be able to make for ourselves, let alone if I’d be able to find a relationship one day.
Alien ‘tea’ was good, at least.
I sipped at my third chrya of the day. It couldn’t wash away the melancholy, but I appreciated its comfort.
As I set my empty mug down and picked up my datapad, I huffed a small laugh. It could be worse. At least this place wasn’t full of kri’ith.