Chapter 3 #3
Sliding off the bunk, she crossed to the porthole. Dammit, she was too short; she could only see just over the bottom edge. She had to stand on her tiptoes to press her face against the glass.
The station’s lights blurred past as they lifted off and flew out of the shuttlebay. Then the shuttle banked, pulling away from the station. She craned to look left and caught just the curved edge of Earth. Blue and green, swirled with white.
Her throat tightened for a moment. Home. She pressed her palm to the cold glass, her fingers splayed. It might be home, but there was no one down there for her now. Harper was married and had a whole life Delilah wasn’t part of. Never really had been, if she was honest.
Stop it.
She dropped back onto her heels and took a shaky breath.
Okay, she was not doing this. She was not going to sit here and cry like a little girl left behind at the playground.
Biting her lip, she turned from the porthole.
The cabin was too quiet, the engine vibration no more than a low hum under her feet now.
Her gaze cut to the door… time to explore.
Crossing the small space, she grabbed the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.
“What the—“
Frowning, she tried it again, but it still wouldn’t move. Had that silver-haired bastard locked her in? She stepped back and glared at it.
“Okay then,” she muttered, looking at the dark panel by the door. Reaching out, she jabbed it with a finger. Nothing. So she jabbed again, harder, then slapped her palm across every button in reach.
A male voice barked from somewhere above her head. “Access denied.”
Delilah blinked as she looked up. There must be speakers embedded in the ceiling somewhere. “What do you mean ‘access denied’?”
“This unit is restricted to crew only.”
She grinned. Oh, she loved a challenge.
“Why?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Only crew are permitted access to all ship functions.”
“But why?”
“Authorization protocols require crew designation for security purposes.”
“But why?” She leaned her shoulder against the wall next to the panel, folding her arms. She wasn’t being a brat.
This was a trick she’d figured out years ago in college when she’d locked herself out of the dorm network after forgetting her password three times.
Ask a question, then ask why. Then ask why again.
Most systems, or people, crumbled under the relentless toddler-logic.
Harper had learned to stop her with a flat “because I said so,” but machines didn’t have older-cousin immunity. They just cycled through their logic trees until they hit a branch that couldn’t hold the weight.
“Authorization protocols require crew designation for security purposes.”
Okay, dead end on the branch. She switched gears.
“I want to send a message to my cousin,” she said. “Harper M’Aab. She’s on the station. Well, maybe not the station anymore, but connected to the network. Can I do that?”
“Negative. Only crew members are authorized to send communications.”
“Define crew,” she said sweetly.
There was a pause. “Crew: defined as a group of persons listed on the ship’s manifest.”
“Oh, okay. This is good. So… manifest.” She nodded sagely, tapping one finger against her chin.
“Every person on this ship is on the manifest, right? For safety, I assume? Like, if there’s an emergency and the ship blows up or whatever, you need to know exactly who’s onboard so you can rescue them.
If someone isn’t on the manifest, no one would know to look for them.
They’d just be left behind. Or floating in space. Very sad. Very avoidable.”
“That is correct.”
“Am I on the manifest?”
“Negative.”
She clucked her tongue. “Well, that’s a bit of a problem, isn’t it?”
“Define ‘a bit of a problem’?”
She grinned broadly. “Well, you just said it’s a safety issue. And I’m definitely a person on this ship. I’m breathing your air, taking up space, and everything. So if we’re following safety protocols, shouldn’t I be on the manifest?”
There was a longer pause. The light on the panel flickered, cycling through red and amber. “Acknowledged. Adding passenger Delilah Sawyer to ship manifest.”
She pumped her fist. “Yes! Okay, so can I send that message to Harper now?”
“Negative.”
“Huh? Why not? I thought you said I was on the manifest?”
“You are on the manifest but not designated as crew,” the computer said, sounding smug.
She didn’t even flinch. Oh, it wanted to play dirty, did it? “What am I designated as, then?”
“You are listed as a guest.”
Her grin widened. “And what rights do guests have in the Latharian Empire?”
The computer rattled off a list in the same grating voice.
“Guests are afforded protections against harm, freedom of movement, provision of adequate sustenance and shelter, medical attention as required, and the right to communicate with kin or legal representatives in the event of separation or distress.”
Her stare fixed on the panel. Then she started laughing, low and delighted, the sound bouncing off the cabin walls.
“Right to communicate,” she repeated. “Well, hell. Look at that.”