Her video message blinks in a corner of my wristband’s screen. I tap on my earbud and hit play just so I can hear her gentle voice again.
“Hi, honey. I don’t have long left, but don’t worry. I know you’re making your way on your terms. I’m proud of you. You always had his independent spirit.
“I’m sorry for not giving you a safer and more stable childhood. I want to be sure you’re safe from your father and anyone in his line of work. I can’t give you money because he’ll just try to claim it’s his. Your brother will, too, I’m afraid. Breaks my heart.”
It’s infuriating to have to call him my twin when we’re so different these days. Things weren’t always that way, but he took the easy route. I wish he would’ve escaped with me.
“Anyway, those alien men sure are protective. I watch them run the race every day on the holovid from my bed. But, hey, if you don’t find one, at least the ticket will give you a chance to live it up for a week in a secure place. They have lots of security.
“I love you. But more than that, I love your spirit. Find a man with a spirit like yours.”
Someone bumps my shoulder, snapping my attention to them.
A familiar face gives me a twisted smirk beneath cybernetic glasses that light up in red hues. “What’s hoverin’, grease monkey?”
“Fuck off, Lingon.” I lock my wristband and return to eating.
He sucks on the diamonds in his teeth and casually swats his friend, Condor, in the chest. I’m not surprised to see them on Catalyst Five. It’s a classier joint than I usually hang out at, and they’re high-tech wannabe pirates.
Behind me, many sets of boots rustle and scuff the floor like the owners are too lazy to take full steps.
“Brought the whole club?” I ask as men take seats in the bar, a few others leaning against metal posts around us. They’re dressed in ocular augments, leather, and armor and have weapons strapped to them like they’re going into battle soon, though I’m sure most of them have never set foot on a planet on the outer rim.
“Shipping convention this week.” Lingon lifts his hands in innocence, and I know he’s lying.
He hooks a finger inside the zipper of my leather work jacket and draws me closer. “I don’t know why you hang around such a nice bar. Your kind aren’t welcome here,Scrubbie.”
I hate Lingon almost as much as my father. He’s the worst of thegood guysin shipping. Lingon and his fellow captains are the exact opposite of me. They do humanitarian missions with all the cameras on their shiny ships, then sneak around in the shadows, taking care of theirdirtybusiness.
I slap his arm away with force, then shove him back. Lingon stumbles a step, and I savor my small victory. “Last I checked, there were no rules that saidcaptainsweren’t allowed in here.
Lingon saunters toward me as another man grabs my elbows from behind. “I’mmaking the rule for anyone not bringing in six figures a year.”
Jaaka is already calling security. I hope they get here before the others behind me decide to take my head.
“I’ll let you stay,” Lingon continues, “if you tell me where that treasure of your daddy’s is hiding.”
Ah, there it is.“I don’t fucking know. I jumped ship years before he died. You’re better off hunting my brother. You know that.”
“Oh, I am.”
“Cap,” Condor, a large tattooed man with cybernetic wings built into his back like a Talhuskin, lifts my ticket from the floor. “Get a load of this.”
“Give me that!” I scramble for it, realizing it must’ve fallen out of my pocket.
Lingon leans away from me as he reads it. The man behind me draws me back.
“Alien Bride Race?” Lingon throws his head back, laughing at me in front of everyone in the bar. And suddenly, I’m ashamed for ever hesitating to be grateful for my mother’s gift. All I feel is utter seething anger.
The captains that now fill the bar jeer at me.
I am the only female pilot with her own ship in the room. I have no crew. My StarBuster is always in need of repair. And I barely bring in enough credits to fix what breaks and feed myself. But at least I do moral work.
“One of us could give you a good pounding,” a Ginarigon captain remarked, pumping his hips.
I grimace. “Not into baby carrots.”
Some men chuckle. The Ginarigon turns a deeper hue of orange.
