Chapter 2
Lacy
I stepped from the freighter’s cargo hold onto the docking station, rolling my shoulders and stretching my neck side to side. I’d spent the last few hours checking the repairs I’d made to the portside aft docking door and double-checking the other three docking doors for issues.
Today, the red and black multistory containership had passed her inspection with flying colors. Soon she’d be loaded with cargo and heading out into the unknown, while I would stay here on the space station.
I swiveled my neck side to side again, working out the kinks, then tilted my head back and looked up.
The dark of space lay just beyond the double layers of shielding that kept the repair dock pressurized.
Stars twinkled against the black. From here, they looked like tiny pinpricks of light.
The shield distorted the view, but I knew what space beyond the asteroid station looked like.
Smaller asteroids tumbled past the station, close enough to make the landing approach interesting, but not dangerous.
A streak of light caught my eye, and my lips curved into a half-smile. Probably another ship, crossing from one side of space to another. What was it carrying? Passengers? Cargo?
A wave of longing swept through me. I hadn’t sailed through the stars since I’d arrived on the asteroid station two years ago. After growing up on a ship, always traveling from one planet or station to another, staying in one place had sounded like a new adventure.
And it was . . . fine. The work was steady and the pay was good. And, best of all, it wasn’t working for my father.
“You gonna stand there all night, Dupree?” The voice echoed from inside the ship.
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’.” I shook off the whisper of homesickness as I turned and waved at the crew member. “Safe travels.”
I laid my hand on the side of the ship and whispered the same to her. “Safe travels, freighter AS4455.”
Hitching my tool bag over my shoulder, I walked slowly toward the airlock doors that led to the station’s interior. My gaze swept over the dock. Ships of all shapes and sizes filled the cavernous space.
Not every ship here needed repairs. Some were here to refuel, transfer crew, or pick up cargo. The dockmasters managed it all through an intricate system of colored lights at each berth.
All the colors of a rainbow shimmered at the docks around me. Red indicated repairs needed, while orange showed they were underway. Blue meant waiting for crew and green signaled ready for takeoff.
Freighter AS4455’s lights had shifted from orange to blue a few hours ago. They’d shift to green as soon as the crew was back on board and they’d scheduled a time for departure.
The metal walkway that connected each berth to the station clanged with each step I took, the sounds echoing in the massive dock and mixing with the sounds of external repair teams and ships’ crews coming and going.
It was early evening station-time—and quitting time for me—but the docks never slept.
Elegium Station was close enough to the main shipping routes to have steady business.
My route took me past a little Cyclone named Fortuna. I glanced up at her light, wondering if she were here for repairs. The yellow light next to her berth signaled she was here for cargo.
I smiled. Mako, my first ship and my first love, had been the same class. My father had “acquired” her during a raid. My sister hadn’t been interested in owning or maintaining a ship, while I’d jumped at the chance. But she’d never turned down a ride in Mako.
My heart panged and I rubbed my chest. I missed my family—my sister, my father, and his crew—but sometimes I missed my ship more. Since I’d planned to be stationary here on Elegium, it hadn’t made sense to pay docking fees for a ship I wasn’t going to use. Still . . .
My stomach gurgled, reminding me of how long it had been since lunch. The pay for this job should have hit my account as soon as the inspector approved the repairs, so tonight I was treating myself to my favorite noodle shop. Tomorrow, I was going to sleep in and enjoy my day off.
Picking up my pace, I caught up to a group of spacers and slipped into the airlock with them. I pressed into a corner, holding my tool bag in front of me to protect my personal space. Maybe I should have waited for them to clear the airlock, but I was starving.
Tucked into my corner of the airlock while the pressure stabilized, I studied the other occupants. From the way they argued over whether to visit a bar or a brothel first, I figured they were fresh off one of the many ships.
One of the men noticed me. “You’re not part of our crew,” he said. His gaze ran up and down the length of me.
Ew.
I didn’t let my disgust show, just responded calmly. “Nope, Elegium Station crew.”
Now all six of them looked at me, taking in my dirty coveralls and battered tool bag.
I wasn’t concerned about my safety. The penalties for harassing station personnel were pretty steep. And really, did you want to piss off the person repairing your spaceship?
“Start at Meecham’s,” I said. “Their drinks are the cheapest and the least watered down.” I’d tried every bar and restaurant on station in the two years I’d lived here, some more than once.
Brothels, on the other hand . . . I could make recommendations, but they were based on secondhand knowledge, rather than personal experience.
As my father said, you never knew what information might save your life.
“Wanna join us?” the one who’d initially noticed me asked.
“No, but thanks. Got the early shift tomorrow.”
The airlocked dinged, the transfer between the outer dock and the inner station complete. With a chin lift and “You know where to find us,” the spacers piled out.
I followed slowly, pulling my communicator out of my pocket. Ordering dinner from my favorite noodle joint took seconds. The restaurant was preprogrammed and my order was always the same: spicy garlic noodles.
That taken care of, I shoved my comms into my pocket and headed into the main part of the station.
The commercial zone hummed with activity as people ducked in and out of the shops, restaurants, and bars that lined the corridors.
Conversations filled the air, many in English, but I caught a smattering of other languages.
Officially, Elegium Station was home to nearly 800 people, most of whom worked to keep either the station, the stores, or the ships running. The population easily doubled—or more—when the docks were full. The station provided food, fuel, and repairs to the crew and tourists who stopped here.
As I wove through the crowds, it was easy to tell who lived here and who didn’t.
Spacers lingered outside the bars and strip clubs.
Tourists gaped at the many shops and food stands that sold goods from across the galaxy.
No one ever expected a station this size to have such diverse food offerings.
I rolled my eyes. Everyone came from somewhere. Why would Elegium be any different?
Dodging the visitors who frequently stopped in the middle of the corridor, I bypassed the more expensive touristy places and ducked into my favorite restaurant.
It was a little hole in the wall, the kind of place most visitors were too afraid to try because of concerns about cleanliness or whatever other issues they extrapolated from the half-broken neon sign and peeling paint.
But to me, the rich scents of spices, grease, and a hundred other flavors that had seeped into the walls over the years represented comfort.
“Hey, Lacy.” The owner pushed a warming bag toward me. “Good day?”
“Long day,” I replied as I swiped my credit chip over the reader. “This is a lifesaver.” I picked my order up and carefully tucked the meal into my tool bag.
“Thank you,” I called and slipped back into the crowded corridor.