Chapter 12
Breathless and Repentant
The spacewalk starts with slightly less hyperventilating than before. Perhaps occupied with whatever intangible mood she’s in, Marlowe doesn’t lean on me as much for support, and we exit the airlock in silence—the same silence that followed us to the hatch in the first place.
Kit’s voice filters through the speakers as she expands a map across my visor, directing us to our first port of call.
Despite all the ambiguity, I’m grateful Marlowe’s here because she’s already come up with several intelligent suggestions I would never have considered.
Kit, though invaluable, can only do so much.
And so, with tethers trailing behind us, we each grab a handle affixed to the hull and start manoeuvring.
Initially, I thought we would tackle the damages sequentially, in order of priority, with the relevant tools.
It took Marlowe to make me see that approach would be inefficient and tedious.
A lot of the destruction is similar and can be tackled at the same time.
With her suggestion, we now carry a few tools we’ll use to prepare the surface of the hull.
Today, we prep before we start repairs tomorrow and this way, there’s no back and forth.
‘Simple, really,’ she’d said—yet something I hadn’t considered.
I weigh the words I want to speak, but struggle to get them past my lips.
The last hour has been a tense one since that odd conversation in the hallway.
The reason I ‘come across as shy’ is also the reason I’m finding it hard to explain myself.
I don’t have to, I know that, but I’m surprised to find I want to.
Marlowe detaches the tool at her belt that works something like a floor sander but looks nothing like what I know to be one.
She recovered it from the engineering bay, along with a plethora of other items, some of which are now attached to my belt.
We approach the biggest dent, activate our boots and drop solidly to the surface.
My job is to remove the debris with a specialised jet spray; a task I’ve been told anyone could do with their eyes closed.
Marlowe will then treat the area. She gives me the go-ahead with a hand gesture.
It takes half an hour to complete the first dent, which is humbling considering there are dozens more, if smaller.
The whole time, we don’t say more than two words to each other.
I’ve only known the woman for four days, yet this quiet between us is biting.
I don’t know how that’s possible. I’m tempted to fill it, an urge I’ve seldom experienced and one which I have even more infrequently fulfilled.
Small talk is not my forte, and I like silence.
Yet here I go, filling it.
“I was an awkward child.”
Marlowe jumps as if I’ve shaken her out of her thoughts. From her place opposite me, she eyes me over the crater. “What?”
I’m glad it’s my turn with the jet because it gives me an excuse to look away.
“The reason I’m so bad at ‘reading the room’, as you say. I was an awkward child who grew into an awkward teen who learned to keep to herself. If I didn’t look, I didn’t have to see. I like to think I grew out of my awkwardness, but I don’t know that I ever learned to read between the lines.”
“It’s hard to picture you as an awkward child,” Marlowe says.
I snort lightly. “Is it?”
“Yes. I might think you come across as reticent, but you’re the most capable person I think I’ve ever met. If you ask me, I picture you, instead, as an extremely lethal soldier.”
That pulls me up short. We make eye contact for the first time in over an hour, and the lights of her helmet illuminate her earnest expression.
I huff, something that could be considered a laugh if I weren’t so ‘shy’.
No one in the Interplanetary Armed Forces would certainly have ever called me that.
“I was lethal. Three tours and it only ever seemed to get more exciting and I, more efficient.”
Marlowe tilts her head to the side and squints. “You liked the challenge.”
“I liked the freedom.” I correct her. “In retrospect, it didn’t have to be the IAF; they just paid the most.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Not at all.”
Her eyes narrow. “No?”
“No.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Sometimes.”
“The girls?”
That surprises a laugh out of me and, in turn, a smile out of her. “No, not the girls. Contrary to what you think, I’ve never had issues when it comes to meeting women. In any case, you rarely want to end up dating the kind of woman who goes gaga for soldiers.”
“Gaga for soldiers?” Marlowe giggles. “That might be, single-handedly, the best thing you’ve ever said.”
I don’t know what comes over me; I raise an eyebrow. “To you.”
“To me,” she agrees in a softer tone. A moment passes, and then, “What did you do when you left?”
I tense up, and an ominous cracking sensation resonates up from the handle of the jet spray. I have to loosen my grip before any parts can go floating off, and I cause Marlowe to berate me for messing up the one job I had. But she just watches me, waiting for an answer.
“Nothing interesting,” I mutter and turn away to find the next dent.
“Urm, no. You just don’t want to tell me,” she says, stopping me in my trajectory.
I spin back around in a move borne from years of experience and raise my eyebrows at the challenge in her eyes. I don’t know what makes me say it. I don’t know what makes me say a lot of things when it comes to Marlowe.
“I’ll tell you the real answer if you tell me why you were angry at me earlier.”
“Well, damn.” Marlowe shakes her head, looking unimpressed. She stretches out an arm and gestures for me to continue with my task. “After you, Captain.”
Making it clear that she’s not that interested.
Our task isn’t a quick one, so after we’ve exhausted ourselves, we head back to get lunch and take a break. The second the airlock has repressurised, Marlowe tears her helmet off and inhales deeply.
“I know it’s pointless,” she says defensively. “The air is the same. But I hate being crammed into that thing for such long periods. It makes my head feel like a tomato.”
I’m slower to remove my helmet. “I wasn’t thinking that.”
She harrumphs and turns her back to me, speaking over her shoulder. “Help me out of this, please?”
I thought we had moved past the tension of this morning, but it seems to be back. Her tone is short, almost snappy. I’d think it was because of our impasse, except that Marlowe’s the one who can end it. Still, I help her out of the EVA, and she returns the favour.
The crew are doing something other than lounging around the galley, so we’re on our own for lunch today. I suspect Vee has stolen them away for one of his
games. With barely any passengers and no oversight from Gryphon, the crew have understandably been taking it easy.
As long as they get their jobs done, I have no complaints.
After rummaging through the supplies, Marlowe and I put together sandwiches and crudités.
She goes to sit at the table, but I tuck a flask of hot tea under my arm, snatch up one of the platters, and head for the door.
“Come on.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“Come on,” I say firmly.
She follows, grumbling under her breath, as I lead her away from the crew’s quarters and towards the upper deck.
Behind me, I can hear the gentle clinking of two mugs in one of her hands, and I almost smile.
As irate as she is, she’s still observant.
Arguably, the only thing the English have ever been right about is that tea can make many circumstances better.
Normally, I’d berate any staff moving through the ship with unsecured food or kitchenware.
It’s unprofessional and possibly dangerous— the swarm springs to mind—but with our only official guest being a ten-year-old boy, even I have to relax a little.
The uppermost deck of the Midas is easily the most luxurious one, and possibly the highest form of decadence I’ve ever personally seen.
I hear the moment Marlowe realises what she’s looking at; the sharp inhale of breath rings out across the room in an impressive show of acoustics.
I’ve been up here a dozen times already, whenever I can slip away, whatever chance I get.
What I want right now is to see it through her eyes.
I turn on my heel and walk backwards, watching Marlowe intently.
Her gaze darts around the deck as though she doesn’t know where to start.
Lips softly parted around her awe, she stands mesmerised in the centre of the galaxy.
The deck boasts a 360-degree view through gently curved glass, in a space big enough to fit a ballroom.
She tips her head back to look at the ceiling, completely transparent through the use of expensive tech.
Subtle lighting studs the floor, but they can be turned off with a flick of a switch or a word to Kit.
There’s soft, expensively furnished seating and a tasteful bar in a corner—even a telescope.
But what I really love about the observation deck is the complete and utter soundproofing. You could hear a pin drop in here.
She turns those expressive eyes on me and huffs in disbelief. “This—This is fucking incredible.”
I try not to feel too smug that there isn’t a trace of annoyance left in her demeanour.
“I thought you might appreciate taking in the cosmos without the threat of drifting away.”
She snorts. “Oh, you dick.” But it’s light-hearted and falls from her lips with barely a bite.
I keep a blanket tucked away in a discreet trapdoor for my visits, and I unfurl it now, placing my armful down. It’s huge, thick enough to be considered a rug in some places, and disastrously soft.
Marlowe sighs as she sinks onto it. “I could fall asleep on this.”
“I have.”
Her laugh is full of surprise. “To think I was grateful when you brought me to the greenhouse, not knowing you were keeping all of this to yourself.”