Dinner with Frenemies
This is chapter six, have you read chapter one yet?
After Mariem tossed Estrella’s duffel into the spare bunk, she stormed to her own quarters and practically ripped off the blue civilian uniform, tossing it at her bunk. She glared at it. Makes me look like a fucking flight attendant.
Her heart wouldn’t stop thumping. How dare she...
How dare she be right.
It was all so... fucked—the court-martial, the pension, playing dress up port to port while, what?
Wandering... like he was waiting for something.
And she’d just followed him.
“Like a puppy,” she growled and yanked the uniform jacket off the bed.
Something tumbled out, and rolled to the floor—brown paper, ink stamps, Arabic.
And the fire went out of her, a chill chasing it up her legs. Slow, deliberate—she hung the the uniform on a ball-top hanger and hooked it in the closet.
Turning back, she picked up the package—a tube, light, hollow—and picked at the seams, peeling around his name, barely breathing.
She’d been waiting for this twenty years. So long she barely recognized it, but her body remembered in the dip of her belly, the ache in her chest like a breath held too long. And in the words running through her head.
Listen to me, Mariem. Her father wheezed from the bed, then the pumps filled him back up with air.
When I was a little boy, my mother signed me up for the Hajj. Wheeze. Whir. Hiss.
Approval takes many years for offworlders. I added your name to the registration before... Coughing. She dabbed the blood from his lips.
I hoped... I hoped we would go together but now... When I’m gone, please, find a way to leave this place. And honor me by being the first Hajjah in our family since leaving Earth in the famine-times.
She didn’t believe in those things, but she held his hand and promised.
Her mother died in child birth—not uncommon on Callisto. She watched her father break his back in the ice mines, each day hunched a little lower. Then came the cough—the ice there isn’t pure. His dream was to get her out, but he ran out of time. She took the dream upon herself—wrestling, the corporate Navy.
And now, half a dream later, was the one thing her father ever asked her to do for him.
First Estrella, and now this. Why couldn’t the past just leave her alone? She popped the tube and shook out a rolled packet—thick, but with a wax seal. The message itself was short, but repeated in at least a hundred different languages. At the top was the seal of the Ministry of Interior for the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.
بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَٰنِ الرَّحِيمِ In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful
KINGDOM OF SAUDI ARABIA — MINISTRY OF HAJJ AND UMRAH
Directorate of Pilgrim Affairs, Offworld Quota
Nusuk Permit No. HJ-1622-OW-04473
Entry authorization (Ministry of Interior): TSR-MAK-1622-22119
It is hereby confirmed that Mariem El Ouaer, daughter of Youssef El Ouaer, is granted permit for the pilgrimage of Hajj to Makkah al-Mukarramah for the month of Dhu al-Hijjah, Hijri year 1622 (Standard Calendar, 1–30 March 2196).
By entry authorization of the Ministry of Interior, the bearer is admitted to Makkah al-Mukarramah and the holy sites on al-Thulāthāʾ 8, al-Arbaʿāʾ 9, and al-Khamīs 10 Dhu al-Hijjah (Tuesday 8 March through Thursday 10 March), spanning the standing at Arafat and the Tawaf al-Ifadah.
Should the bearer fail to present within this season, registration shall transfer to the subsequent waiting list. The visa enclosed shall remain valid for Umrah upon the lifting of the Hajj-season suspension, through the close of the Standard year.
Issued at Makkah al-Mukarramah, under seal of the Ministry of Hajj and Umrah.
“Well, there’s a shit chance of that,” she murmured.
There was no way she’d find transport in time, and Carlos, Estrella, Simonee, Venus... Syl.
Just no time.
She fought the ache in her chest, the sting in her eyes. The one thing he asked of me, the last thing I promised.
Guess my promise was just a lie.
There were too many obligations, she had to be here.
What shocked her was that she didn’t want to be.
Her smartcomm buzzed on her bunk—the dinner bell. It was time to face everyone now. She washed up in her water closet, threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and stormed out the hatchway.
Carlos was hunched over a steaming casserole dish at the galley table when she walked in—the first one to answer the dinner bell—just her and Carlos and his casserole. He squinted at the thing, sniffed it, and frowned.
“Unn, no-no-no...” He leaned in again, two hands wafting the steam.
She stopped at the table and grunted. “What’s wrong?” He glanced up.
She sniffed—sweetness, umami, spicy, but... “Chiara’s recipe?”
He nodded his head. “Close at least.” Then he shook his head. “I don’t understand, the eggplant was perfect, the cheese thawed nicely, peppers... even the okra held up,” he side-eyed her, “especially after you gave the good ones to Tim back at Enceladus Station.”
She sniffed again. The spice hit her nose flat and green. “Black pepper,” she said.
His brow pinched. “Que?”
She crossed her arms. “That’s what’s missing.”
“Really, I swear…”
She shook her head. “If you put it in, it wasn’t enough. This is a six liter dish, did you double your dashes as well as your measures?”
“Hnnn… no, mierda.”
She pulled out a chair and plopped down. “There you go—just put a shaker on the table, it’ll be fine.”
“Gracias.” But he stayed put a moment too long. “Look, I’m sorry you—”
She jabbed a finger at him. “Nope, not today.” Shaking her head she dropped her napkin to her lap. “You locked me out of Nav, Carlos—” She breathed. “The actual fuck.”
Carlos didn’t move. Her head hit her hands, her elbows hit the table.
“We do Venus, we get Syl and then...” She looked up—his eyes were wide, his lips thin.
She swallowed. “Well, and then I have to figure some shit out. Now take that stupid apron off and get the wine, company’s coming.”
He just nodded. Pulling off the red apron, he folded it neatly, set it down, and pulled a bottle from the cooler—then a second.
Simonee showed up next and her hand landed on the chair next to Mariem. Simonee looked at her, and her mouth dropped. But it closed and she pulled out the next chair over.
A moment later that Bastien fellow lurched in, eyeing Simonee as he plunked into the chair beside Mariem. Then his nostrils flared and his eyes locked onto the casserole.
“Wow, this is really homemade in’t it?” He rubbed his hands together, and snapped up his napkin, tucking it into his shirt.
Estrella was late—and the table was tired of waiting. But she showed up just as Carlos finished plating each a scoop. Then he grabbed the wine.
She’d dispensed with the uniform and sat down across from Mariem in a gray sweater and soft black pants. Hair down, makeup-off—it reminded Mariem how much younger Estrella really was. But the bags under her eyes told her something else, and the way she caught Mariem’s eyes reminded her why she was pissed off in the first place.
Carlos, however, was beaming. “You’re just in time!”
“What’s this?” Estrella didn’t hide the sneer.
Carlos looked at the dish, then at Estrella. “Spicy Eggplant Gratin…”
“Oh… that thing Mom always made?” Mom? Not Fleet Admiral Chiara Marchetti?
She watched Carlos crumble. “Yes… she let me have the recipe, after…” Carlos waved a circle with his fork.
Estrella stabbed the pile on her plate. “I used to love eggplant as a kid.”
Mariem felt the heat hit her cheeks—Estrella was playing him.
And Carlos was falling for it. “Yes… I remember.”
Bastien spoke up, “Well, I for one think this is fantastic. I’ve got a little herb garden, but never once thought of eggplant. This is so much better than the freeze-dried stuff.”
A smile hit Carlos’s face and he lifted his glass of wine—
but Estrella beat him to it. Her fork tinked against her own glass and everyone at the table stopped shoveling baked eggplant.
Heat rose as Estrella stood and a flick of her eyes caught Mariem. A smirk rode up Estrella’s cheeks.
Fuck.
“I’d like to raise a glass to the chef,” Estrella said in a tone so formal it bordered mockery. “Carlos Santiago, in case you didn’t know, was a legend in the Zentari-Neys fleet. Valiant, brave, a giant even! All those words have been used. Alas, he served us all well, and now he serves us all dinner.”
Was that a giggle? Estrella downed her wine, fingers fumbling the stem.
And Carlos took the bait—his grin baring teeth. “Yes, Estrella, but now I am just a humble trader.”
Estrella’s eyes popped. “A trader! Friends, this man trades in humility. He was once awarded the medal of valor, and now he collects trophies from costume contests by dressing up as brigands, aliens, even traders.”
She locked onto Estrella there—dressing up. The blue uniform in her closet, rarely worn—cosplaying the navy she left, where Estrella remained... an admiral at twenty-five. Her target was Carlos, but the blade cut sideways—and fuck if she wasn’t right. The heat was all the way up her neck now, and Carlos wouldn’t shut up.
“I am retired, mija.” She had him hooked, the growl seeping in. “Valor is a young man’s game. Good people died who deserved it more than me, but you can’t pin a medal on a corpse.”
Estrella’s eyes turned cold, brow dipped. “At least you get to keep the trophies.”
Carlos curled inward. Breathed. Talked to the table. “Con permiso almirante, may we find a more pleasant topic to discuss?”
“I don’t speak Spanish, Dad, and the last time we met, neither did you. Is this another costume contest you’re trying to win?”
Mariem tried to chew, swallow, let Estrella get whatever it was she needed out of her system. She was as pissed at Carlos as much as either of them had a right to be, but...
“Zentari-Neys has a strict English-only policy. I’ve been fluent in five languages since before you were born, Estrella.” His back straightened, his eyes narrowed, and his brow darkened. “I named you after all.”
His voice was smooth, hard, commanding—the accent gone. A grin broke out across Estrella’s face, and something sunk inside Mariem.
“There he is! Admiral Carlos Fucking Santiago. I knew that man was in there somewhere.” She grabbed the wine bottle and poured as she asked, “Now, here’s a topic for the table: why is he way out here pretending to be something he’s not?”
She was drunk—already—like father, like daughter.
And Mariem had had enough. “What the hell is wrong with you, Estrella! Why does everything have to turn into a fucking sideways interrogation? I get it, he gets it, we all get it—you’re pissed at your Dad, well guess what? Get in line!”
Estrella’s arms flew wide. “Oh! Finally, sister speaks.”
Mariem punched the table. “Dammit, Estrella! For the last time, I’m not your fucking sister!”
Something crossed Estrella’s face—a crumbling. “That’s never been more obvious,” she said, voice flat but wavering. She dropped her napkin over her untouched meal and kicked back the chair with a clatter on the deck. “Fine, I’ll leave you to it. Maybe in another seven years you’ll do something about it.”
The bottom fell out of Mariem’s stomach, and Estrella blinked, wiped, and stormed out.
Simonee caught her eye, and her mouth opened, but Mariem shook her head and stood.
She looked at Carlos, he glanced up, but sank back to his meal, grabbing his wine and sipping. She turned to leave—
but turned back and grabbed her plate and a fork. “It’s really good, thank you,” she mumbled and hustled back to her room.
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New to Simonee’s story? The Cannibal of Cloud Ball 9 is Book Two of The Girl with the Cybernetic Eye. Book One—The Ice Princess of Enceladus Station—is complete and free to read. Start here.