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 agood 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.
I approach the group and stop at Beau’s shoulder, actively trying to soften my expression. When I was a soldier, my unforgiving demeanour was beneficial; as a civilian, it createsbarriers. I can’t help what my face does. There are times I wish I were more expressive, like Marlowe—a living art installation.
The Suryavan raises his eyebrows, the other man narrows his eyes at me, and the woman looks curious.
“We’re glad to have you onboard,” I say gently, “and we’ll get you to a set of rooms so you can clean up. What are your names?”
The taller of the two men is Maximus, and his eyes are a startling and unnatural gold. The Tellurian is Julian, and the woman is Liz, their pilot. They don’t exactly rear away from me, but if Beau hadn’t approached first, I think they’d have been leerier. Up close, there are several visible wounds peppered between them. Maximus has split nails, Julian and Liz have bruised knuckles, and all three of them have clothing bearing signs of a knife fight. It’s not hard evidence but I’m more certain that they’re victims, and I feel better about letting them onto the ship with Vee and Marlowe onboard. If I didn’t think Marlowe would tear into me for it, I’d interrogate the trio right here on the spot.
Beau shows them to cabins, and they’re given clean clothes to change into. They’re tired, but I have them brought to the galley a little later so they can eat whilst I question them. Devyaan is the only one I keep in the room. I’m hoping to understand what led the trio here and I don’t want my crew to overwhelm them.
Even in his borrowed and ill-fitting outfit, Maximus moves with a kind of refined grace one would envy in any other circumstance. Julian makes heavy but infrequent eye contact and looks wary as he does it, shoulders tense, still quiet. Liz, who attacked the food ravenously, talks fast and gestures wildly with her cutlery.
“It was pirates,” she tells us. “Bastards. Cut my comms and boarded the ship in seconds. We were trumped by at least fiveto one, and that’s being generous. This one—” She points at Maximus. “Probably couldn’t fight his way out of a pillow.”
“I resent that,” Maximus says without any of the bitterness I’d expect. His voice is as genteel as his manner and as rich as the ebony in his hair. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
Liz snorts. “Look at those hands.”
