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Quaia walked slower as the guards shuffled toward Torian’s ship. Then she turned toward High Mother, who had her back to Quaia, and her arms folded in righteous haughtiness.
The old crone leaned and turned her face slightly toward Quaia to call out, “I may not be the Imperator, but here, my ultimate authority remains over one thing.” She turned, smiling gleefully. “I am the docking authority.” She chuckled and began walking, leaning on her cane, obviously delighting in what she was doing.
“I’ve revoked the docking license of the Andomocles,” she said, not even addressing Quaia in particular. “They’ll see what comes of trying to strong-arm me.”
She walked past Quaia, muttering more to herself than anyone else. Quaia realized that none of this was really about anything to do with her, but High Mother’s desire to hold on to power. Whatever power she could.
Quaia looked back at the Andomocles, panic beginning to form like a clot in her blood. But saying something to High Mother would be a terrible idea: the last thing she should reveal to the old woman was a weakness, a place High Mother could apply pain.
The same went for boarding the ship; who knew how Torian would react, or how it would affect whatever was going on there.
It was almost impossible, but she’d have to feign indifference. She looked at the floor as she turned, then straightened up and put her best face forward. She strode past High Mother with her head held high, walking about five times as fast as her.
Her mind was racing so fast, she didn’t even get to register whether High Mother was disappointed or not.
CHAPTER 15
Several weeks later…
“Hey,” Lathan said, patting her heavily on the back as he passed. “Focus up. You need some pickup, or what?” He flashed an array of the colorful packets of stimulants at Quaia as he walked out to the flight deck. He didn’t seem to think he’d get taken up on the offer, because he never slowed down.
At the hatch, he turned and smiled, pushing the door out with his rear. “You know where to find me,” he said. “But get chopping, or you’re gonna get grounded by the boss.”
Grounded, she thought bitterly. There was no ground here.
Quaia picked up her helmet anyway and trudged to the flight deck. She walked with her eyes on the floor, on the moving parts around her, anywhere but the great window at one end.
It overlooked the docking stations for larger ships, and it was from there that she’d watched the Andomocles move slowly away, then deploy its solar sails and disappear. With Captain Torian aboard, and no conceivable way to find out where they were going, or how to contact him.
It had been devastating in particular because it was that same window where she’d imagined seeing him again, pictured their conversation resolving with their mutual confessions of love, and from there, who knew? Maybe she would sail away with Torian.
But none of that was to be, and watching his ship sail away had broken her heart. Since then, she was unable to stand for even a moment looking out into the stars.
“Sangsen,” a male voice barked behind her.
She turned to see ‘the boss,’ Kiplar Farange, a human of enormous girth and stature—so much so that people assumed he was part Kerz or Volgoth—was grumpily walking toward her. “Is your head in the game, Quaia? Or what?”
She sighed. “What’s that supposed to mean, Farange?”
“Who pays your salary, again?” Farange asked rhetorically. He halted, probably from overexertion, about five feet from Quaia. “The delivery plan has changed,” he hissed. “And you left the updated plans on a table in there. Do you think I’m running a charity, Sangsen?”
“No, sir.”
“Or maybe a circus?” Farange went on and on, as he tended to, asking if Quaia thought this was an Imperator program for the mentally handicapped, a clown show, or maybe a salvage business, before slapping the hard disks against her chest. “Don’t waste time, or you’re out of a job.”
Quaia grasped the disks, but half-heartedly. Being ‘out of a job’ working for Farange wasn’t the worst possible outcome she could think of.
She turned and began making her way through the chaotic flight deck to Farange’s cargo carrier, Nordia.
“Oh, how much better can my day get?” she asked aloud, because there was High Mother at the end of the hangar, all dressed up and ready for transport. The old cow was traveling to Gaieia-3 to further complain about the new Imperator’s policies. It burned Quaia’s biscuits that High Mother was actually very adept at politics and seemed to be making some headway in clawing back some power for herself.
“Quaia Sangsen,” she snorted imperiously when her eagle eyes spotted her.
Quaia forced a smile as she rounded the nose of her own ship. “High Mother,” she said, in a saccharine voice. It was only by faking smiles to High Mother’s face, and anyone else who she saw, that Quaia managed to survive in her own misery. “It’s a beautiful day for flying.”
High Mother had a smug grin on her lips. “Indeed. I see you’re still lingering here.” Her smile transformed, becoming even larger and crueler. “One does wonder what has happened to your lofty plans.”
Quaia climbed the ladder into her cockpit and settled herself, beginning her checks before even answering. “One certainly does.”
