Chapter 14 - Tomorrow
Tomorrow
This time, Kit doesn’t interrupt and nearly scare the life out of us.
When she appears to call me to the bridge, I’m already dressed and ready to leave.
Marlowe, who lounged in bed longer than I did, is just searching for her clothes when Kit pops into sight.
In the low lighting, the shadow of my spider plant spreads its fingers across the wall, reaching up and up.
Marlowe knocks against it as she stomps into her boots, and I catch the pot before it topples.
I can’t explain my attachment to it; I picked it up at a market stall the week before I accepted this job—maybe because it was the first living thing I’ve ever wanted to look after that I didn’t have to.
I meet a bleary-eyed and wired Beau on the bridge and watch as the Midas approaches the source of the distress signal, manoeuvring the asteroid belt that separates us.
It is indeed an emergency craft. Small and ovoid, it’s an old model that’s lucky to have an SOS capability with a range like it does.
It’s a problem I see a lot: even on the newer ships, people underestimate their chances of needing an equally up-to-date escape pod.
Seated at their station, Beau taps on the screen and shakes their head. “Poor fucker.”
We weren’t sure whether we’d be able to dock the whole craft before this. We have the facilities to moor other ships, but it eats through our fuel for extended periods of time; the Midas was designed for leisure. This capsule, though, is tiny.
“We might do them a favour by leaving the thing behind,” I mutter, taking in the exterior damage it’s sustained.
With everyone else gathered at the docking port in anticipation, it’s only Kit and Beau in here with me. Kit brings up a holo of the vessel and sets it to rotate, giving us a slow 360 of all its dings and dents. We crowd it, taking turns to manipulate the image for inspection.
“How is it even still in one piece?” Beau asks, staring.
Kit, misunderstanding the rhetorical question, brings up a wide model of the asteroid field. “A gravitational pull of—”
“They know,” I say. “Let’s get to the port. I want to be there when it comes in.”
We descend to the docking and logistics bay, located in the bowels of the ship, using a set of automated walkways.
Beyond that, we enter the airlock chamber with dual doors and an offshoot observation deck where the rest of the crew are posted in various stages of sleepiness.
Vee’s curled up on the plush seating, a quilt tucked around his small body as he kips.
This airlock, designed for the elite passengers of Gryphon’s entourage, is a whole different beast. With soft, indirect lighting and sleek metallic panels, it detracts from the mechanical and tedious nature of docking.
There are two doors—past the exterior hatch, at the end of the corridor, a discreet panel slides back to reveal a hexagonal port lined with subtle lighting.
Once aligned, with the help of holographs, the incoming vessel is secured and pulled in by a magnetic locking system.
It is, however, usually a process that involves the participation of both ships.
The battered craft doesn’t look like it could manage any of this, and I don’t trust it to.
So, I cycle through additional onboarding modes to find one more suitable.
As I’m doing that, I’m peripherally aware of the observation deck stirring into awareness.
I code a set of hydraulic arms to extend and haul the capsule in once we’re within reach.
Instead of forming a seal with the hull of the Midas, it’ll be stowed in a cargo space.
Vee, awake and excited, has his face pressed right up to the glass.
It makes me smile, which is steadying because I’m hoping the pod doesn’t crumble into dust once secured.
Kit announces that we can begin docking and we all watch the escape pod. The process is lengthy because of how delicate it is, made even slower when it undergoes piecemeal pressurisation, followed by decontamination before the inhabitants exit.
If they exit. There’s still the possibility that the passengers are dead, and my pulse pounds through my body as we wait.
Clamps attached to the exterior of the pod prevent it from divulging its contents before it’s green-lit.
It’s a mottled sort of grey, perhaps bleached by UV rays, and even more wrecked up close.
Finally, once the bay lights switch from a flashing red to a steady green, Kit materialises in front of the pod. The clamps slowly disengage, and her voice, piped through speakers on both sides of the airlock, filters through cleanly.
“Welcome aboard the Midas. You may now exit your vessel.”
Kit repeats the refrain every two minutes for what seems like an age.
She waits patiently, hands folded in front of her, face calm.
I’m still getting used to seeing Kit wear my sister’s body, but right now it’s almost grounding.
In the observation deck, the crew look worried and beside me, Beau chews on their lip.
As time ticks by, the air seems to thicken.
With my hands in my pockets, no one can see my clenched fists.
The passengers could be dead, and then what do we do with the pod? Kick it back out into space?
A deep shudder rolls through me, and I almost bite through my lip. The flashback hits me hard: the sour scent of panic and that almost violent, heavy silence.
Thankfully, no one noticed, and I let my gaze briefly go out of focus as I exhale slowly. My vault is fully, securely sealed.
No, we won’t vent the passengers, even if they didn’t make it.
I step forward, thinking I might check the pod myself when movement stops me in my tracks. A small section of the capsule is shifting away from its hull in slow, jerky motions.
“Is Kit doing that?” Beau squints next to me.
“I don’t know—”
A flash of blue steals my attention, and then three people tumble out of the pod.
“Fuck me,” Beau breathes. I sigh in heavy relief. In the observation deck, fists are pumped in the air, grins are sported. I imagine there’s cheering too.
The lighting in the cargo bay shifts back to a normal hue, and the tangle of limbs on the ground yanks itself apart. As much as I want to get in there, they need the second round of decontamination and some time to acclimatise to the grav shift. Whilst we wait, Beau and I discuss practicalities.
Untangled, we’re presented with two men and a woman.
One of them is clearly Suryavan, a tall and lithe man with dark hair tied sloppily atop his head.
The second man is pale-skinned, with a shorter but much bulkier figure.
With her blue hair, the woman was my first sign of life, but her creamy skin looks ashen from where I stand, and her crew dwarfs her.
What I can see of the vessel’s interior gives the impression of very little space.
I wince. They were all in there for who knows how long.
Mouths move as Kit engages the trio, and belatedly, I realise the AI has limited sound to their side of the airlock only. It was probably a call I should have made, considering that it looks like the woman is freaking out.
“Can you imagine?” Beau shakes their head. “I’ve never had to use an escape pod. This ship had never suffered so much as a glitch until the swarm and, even then, I didn’t worry because it’s such a big bastard. I don’t know how those other two aren’t also a mess. I think I’d be.”
“Do me a favour. Don’t say that to them.”
The airlock makes a distinct noise then, and we snap to attention.
Kit is leading the passengers towards the corridor, but they’ve noticed all the eyes on them from the observation deck and clearly don’t know where to look.
Devyaan peels away from the group and shoots me a wink as he steps out of the room and passes me.
“I’m told our guests are hungry,” he calls over his shoulder before disappearing.
The airlock opens. As captain, I should be the one to approach the trio, but I know how other people perceive me, and a gentler touch is needed here.
I look to Beau and jerk my head discreetly.
They look back at me, wide-eyed, but step into the responsibility with impressive speed.
It’s like watching magic take place. I know Beau as the class clown, the one who flirts with anything that moves and generally described as a good time.
And though I know they’re also intelligent and kind, amongst many other traits they try to hide, I haven’t seen them take much seriously. Until now.
Beau approaches the group, body language open and expression soft. The Suryavan steps in front of the other two, as though he plans to defend them, and Beau stops a few feet away. A cheeky, but toned down, smile curls Beau’s lips and they raise an eyebrow.
“I look more capable than I really am,” Beau murmurs. “You could definitely take me, if you want, but you’re safe here. I’m Beau.”
The woman steps up beside the Suryavan and gives Beau a wary once-over. “Are you the captain?” Her voice is raspy, perhaps from dehydration, and lightly accented.
Beau hikes a thumb over their shoulder. “That’s Captain Tanisira Sekmith, and I promise she’s nicer than she looks—to people who deserve it.”
That almost makes me shift uncomfortably but I maintain my posture.
“Are you people who deserve it?” Beau asks, softly but with a hint of warning at odds with their placid smile.
“Yes,” the Suryavan says. “We’re just travellers who ran into trouble.”
He sounds earnest, and exhausted besides, but there’s no way to guarantee that without further investigation.
If they do have malicious intentions, our biggest problem will be the shorter man who has yet to speak; his hands are like hammers, and he hasn’t stopped scoping his surroundings once.
However, they all look so rundown and wrung out, and I trust my instinct that they need to rest before anything.