She adopts a haughty look. “Kit said it was okay to use the pool.”
“It is, but you might want to swim in something next time. There’s a child on the loose.”
She bands a protective hand around her breasts. “Okay. Thanks.”
I start my laps. It’s the only cardio I bother to do, and when I’m planetside, I make a habit of swimming daily. There’s something soothing about being surrounded by all that water, and it helps me work through thoughts and all my unnameablefeelings. Right now, though, all I can think about is what Liz said about her ship.
It’s one of my greatest regrets that I didn’t invest in my own ship straight out of the IAF. I had the money. I had the time. But—and I can admit it now—I didn’t have the confidence. Instead, I captained other people’s vessels. Then everything changed, and the idea of being responsible for a ship of my own became terrifying.
I manage three laps before I become distracted by Liz. She’s just relaxing on her back, but now I’m burning with questions. I try to refocus. By the fifth lap, I decide to call it a day. Pulling myself out of the pool, I sit parallel to where she floats, noting the lean lines of her body, bruised here and there. She cracks open one eye to watch me.
“May I ask you some questions about your ship?”
“TheCraven? Sure,” she says, closing the eye.
“I always wanted my own, so feel free to tell me to shut up when you’ve had enough.”
Liz chuckles, and it’s light and kind, in stark contrast to the heavy glares and snappy tone. “I used to be you. Plus, I’m hardly gonna say no to the woman who rescued me, am I? Fire away, Captain.”
It turns into an hour-long discussion filled with technical jargon, anecdotes, and helpful advice. Liz knows her ships, and even though she didn’t plan on ever trading in, she knows the market well, too. As we talk, I become increasingly more hopeful. Liz started her venture from scratch with no experience and minimal support, just a loan and determination. I’m already in a much better position than she was. I just wish I was asconfidentin myself as she’s always been.
“WhyCraven?” I ask when we get onto the topic of names.
She shrugs, and it sends rivulets of water racing across her neck. “People always called me timid. I never have been, mind you, but they saw my features, my stature, my sex; they made assumptions. I don’t fit into their idea of what a little Asian woman looks like, and I like the irony.”
I know all about assumptions. I like that Liz is subverting them in ways I wish I knew how to.
“What will you call your baby?” she asks.
“My baby?” I frown. “You mean my ship?”
Liz snorts and casts an exasperated glance at me. “You go out and get a ship, trust me, that thing becomes your baby.”
Leaning back on my hands, I think about names I’ve liked throughout the years, ones that have come to me in dreams or during moments of solitude. There are a few I consider thoughtfully, but I always end up circling back toKyena, which means tomorrow inSurya-Vani.When I was younger, I always just had to get to tomorrow. Whenever Kiran and I couldn’t have lunch money because ourBavahad gambled it on the races, and ourNayyamade it seem so grown up to have breakfast food instead—we just had to get to tomorrow. WheneverBavastayed out all night without tellingNayyawhere he was, and she tried to cry without waking us up—we just had to get to tomorrow. WheneverBavathought we weren’t showing him enough respect and went on tirades about how suffocated we made him feel—we just had to get to tomorrow.
Then there were the days he’d make me question even tomorrow. On his most morose days, he’d tell me I was destined to be a failure like him. ButBavaisn’t here, drowning everything around him in impotent rage and inadequacy. It’s just me, who made it to tomorrow yesterday, and the day before that, all the way back in time to the momentNayyafirst whispered it in our ears.
I always circle back toKyena.
I feel protective of the name. In that moment, I know it’s the one, and I don’t want to share it with Liz. She must see the indecision on my face because she waves a hand dismissively, droplets arcing in the air, and smiles.
“Don’t tell me, I get it. I’m sure it’s even bad luck to discuss it beforehand.”
I’m about to offer an apology, because it feels rude either way, when footsteps round the corner from the changing rooms. I turn my head just in time to catch the stunned expression on Marlowe’s face as she takes in the scene before her. She’s wearing my bikini, bright against the towel she fumbles and then drops. She snaps her mouth shut, turns on her heel, and walks away.
“Marlowe?” I call after her, but she doesn’t so much as falter.
“That your girl?”
My head whips around, and I take in Liz’s apologetic grimace. “What?”
“She did not look happy.”
It hits me then, the scene that we must make. I groan and look up at the ceiling. “Chei.”Fuck.
I dress quickly, but with my hair still wet, I leave it down to dry. As I pace through the hall, it annoys me, swinging into my eyes and sticking to my face, but I grit my teeth and brush it aside. I find Marlowe in her cabin. Several knocks later, she yanks the door open, eyebrows raised. If it wasn’t already obvious that she’s annoyed, that would have clued anyone in; the doors are fully automatic and only need to be manually opened if there’s a malfunction. I refrain from telling her that doing so unnecessarily only damages them. I’ve come to understand she enjoys a certain amount of flair, and I don’t begrudge her that, but I wish she wouldn’t use it against me.
“Yes?” she asks.
