But nothing is wrong. The men are secured in their seats.
The ship vibrates like a toy in the violent hand of a child, and I grit my teeth as we break through the atmosphere. Heat, sound, and a horrible vibration – and then we are drifting in the quiet. The infinite expanse of the universe surrounds us. I’ll never get used to this; to the weightlessness, the freedom of being surrounded by infinity.
I cut the heavy thrusters and set a course. This won’t be a long trip. Eight hours at optimal conditions. I press the comm button. ‘We’ve reached our cruising speed for the journey,’ I say, checking my readouts. ‘Conditions are ideal, so I expect to reach our destination in seven hours and fifty-three minutes. Feel free to remove your seatbelts and move about the ship as needed, but the cockpit is off-limits.’
Not that there’s much of anywhere to go. There’s the passenger bay, the galley, and the bathroom. The galley is mostly a cabinet with dehydrated food for the taking, and a tiny coffee station. It’s not a comfortable ship by any means, but the passenger seats pull out to make a cramped cot if someone needs to sleep. And I pride myself on the fact that I provide above-standard coffee.
Glancing at the passenger viewscreen, I see that one of the men, the taller one with a wide mouth, is unbuckling his seatbelt. The other is laughing.
My heart leaps into my throat. There’s no reason for my immediate fear. I just said they were free to wander the ship. I take a long, unsteady breath. Then, determined not to let these men get to me, I spin away from the dash. I need a coffee anyway.
I go to the cockpit door and press a fist against the door control. The door slides open.
The tall man stands just outside. He’s leaned on the door frame, like he’s been waiting for me. Like he knew I’d come out. I freeze, a knot in my throat.He’s just going to ask something mundane, like how to flush the toilet. He’s going to ask where I keep the coffee cups. It’s fine.
‘Hey.’ His tone is nonchalant but friendly, and he smiles crookedly. He holds out a hand. ‘We didn’t get to properly introduce ourselves. I’m Christian.’
I hesitate for an instant. There’s nothing threatening in his demeanor. I extend my hand and he shakes it, warm and firm.
‘Midonia,’ I say, forcing a smile. Then I add, not wanting to come off as hostile, ‘Nice to meet you.’
His smile widens. ‘You too, you too. My buddy over there, he’s just grabbing us coffee. You want one?’
I wanted a coffee, but not anymore. Not with them. I try to swallow the knot in my throat. ‘Ah, no thank you, I’m okay. I’ve got work to do, sorry.’
Christian shrugs, but backs off. ‘No worries.’
The cockpit door is halfway closed when a hand, notChristian’s, stops the door from closing. Yanks it back open. There, next to Christian, stands the shorter man with dark hair. He grins playfully. ‘You weren’t going to disappear back in there without a proper hello, were you?’
I force a laugh. ‘Sorry, no … of course not. I’m just busy.’
‘Come on,’ the shorter man says. He’s holding two coffees, and hands one to his friend. ‘We don’t bite. I’m Rory, by the way.’
‘Hi, Rory. Midonia.’
They smile down at me, all teeth. There’s a broken blood vessel in Rory’s left eye. His tie is just a little crooked. He sips his coffee.
‘Hey,’ says Christian, ‘can we have a tour of the cockpit? We’ve never been on a ship like this before.’
‘You’ve never been on a transport ship?’ I ask, incredulous.
Rory shoots Christian a tight, fleeting glance, then turns his open, friendly gaze back to me. ‘Nah, of course we have. We just usually take the buses. Shit-heaps, you know.’
I used to take those buses too, before I invested in my ship. I may not fly a luxury-class transport, but itisa damn sight nicer than the government-funded public buses, where they try to cram as many passengers into one ship as they possibly can. It’s impossible not to catch a nasty cold on a bus, and worse, there’s no coffee.
‘This one’s pretty nice,’ Christian says, looking past me into the cockpit, pushing his lower lip out as he nods appreciatively. He sips his coffee. ‘Not particularly flashy, but you keep her in good shape. You should be proud. What’s her mileage like?’
My muscles begin to relax. My heart slows. They’re just nerds. Shipheads.
‘It’s not bad,’ I reply, unable to keep the pride from my voice. ‘I can crack light speed if I push her, but I try not to. Burns out the engines. I’m saving up for a nuclear core though.’ I don’t know why I lie; it just slips out. If I had any savings to speak of, it’d be going straight toward rent.
But the men nod as I speak, and I can tell they’re surprised, impressed. My ship doesn’t look like a light speed flyer.
‘I upgraded her,’ I add, backing into the cockpit. The men follow me in, and when I point at a plaque near the dash, they crowd around it and curse with appreciation. ‘See the year?’ I say. ‘She’s vintage. But a reliable model with a solid chassis.’
‘You did some great work here,’ Rory says. He sips his coffee.
‘Great work,’ Christian echoes.
