Unexpected Guests
This is chapter three, have you read chapter one yet?
Simonee watched the Crafthopper grow larger through the central window of the Fénix’s bridge. Out of the glare from the sun, it appeared a pale green blotch. Tapping about the console, she highlighted the blotch on the smart glass and zoomed in—a wedge-shaped hull with four articulated struts, two per side, folded beneath like a molting nymph.
When the zoom became unnecessary, a voice warbled out of the overhead speakers. “Hey there, Mariem.” She looked behind her, Mariem was still in EVA. Carlos? Who knew? Should she answer? Nobody told her she could do that. Nobody told her she couldn’t. Her hand hovered over the comms app. But what am I gonna do?
“Mariem? Fénix, do you copy?” Bastien’s squeaky voice sounded squeakier than before. She stared at the smartcomm app. The Crafthopper loomed large in the window. Too large. Getting larger. She needed to find Carlos, or route the call to Mariem’s EVA suit.
“Bastien Faulk to the Fénix, really need someone to respond,” blasted the speakers. Bastien’s squeak had an edge to it.
She breathed deep and tapped the talk button. “Um, hi... Bastien. Mariem’s outside... prepping the airlock.”
“Who’s this then?” He asked.
“Oh, um...” Just lie. “Simonee.” Or not.
“As in Simonee Saran?” Bastien said.
Shit. Her stomach did a somersault and she retreated from the console. But she winced, reached and, “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Really?” Bastien chuckled. “Oh, boy, I’ve heard all about you.”
That wasn’t good. Simonee Saran was a nobody. Strangers that new her by name either carried a warrant or a collection notice. She crept to the console. Pressed the button. “I—I don’t know what to say to that. What did you need from Mariem?”
The speakers let out a sigh then, “Well, you’ve probably noticed we’re getting pretty close together. Folks usually cut off their engines and turn an airlock my direction by now, but you guys... haven’t. Our window for safe interlock is closing fast, and I don’t see anywhere to interlock with.”
The Crafthopper’s greenish hull filled the front window. Shit. She tapped the talk button. “Let me get Carlos in here. I’m not a pilot.”
“Much appreciated, Ms. Saran,” Bastien said. “And I look forward to meeting you in person. I’ve got so many questions.”
“Oh... I uh, yeah.” Simonee sent and then spun to the hatch.
And nearly crashed into Mariem coming through. She looked up. Mariem looked down.
“What are you still doing in here?” Mariem grumbled.
Simonee parried and pushed Mariem to the console from behind. “Good, you’re here. Bastien says we can’t interlock, he needs to see our aft.” She prattled, nose wrinkling at the damp spots in her coveralls.
Mariem batted her away. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going!” She pecked at the console and Simonee stepped back, eyes on her hands as they danced over the console. She liked watching Mariem work—the flow, the confidence. It was like her own finger-work at the keyboard. “Sexy as hell,” she whispered.
Mariem scowled at her, “What?” Simonee shook her head.
Mariem turned back to the console and announced over the comms, “Cutting main thrusters and spinning to port.”
The ever-present hum thinned beneath Simonee’s feet and the stars on the screen pushed the Crafthopper out of view. A few more taps and the Crafthopper reappeared from two angles in the smart glass. Bright blue flares pulsed left and right on the smaller ship as it swayed and dipped, belly out, insect-like struts spread and reaching in line with the rear airlock. One camera showed them latch the mooring points around the airlock.
Bastien squeaked over the speakers, “Moorings locked.”
The Crafthopper pulled in, centimeter by centimeter, and a tunnel emerged from its belly, reaching out and snapping to the hull with a dull ring through the rubber pad Mariem had just applied.
“Inter-ship access secure.” He said.
“Requesting thruster synch,” Mariem said tapping more buttons on the console.
“Authorized,” Bastien chirped over the speakers and a green circle appeared on the console.
“Here we go, rotation on my mark,” Mariem said, tone steady, confident, maybe a little annoyed. “Five… four… three… two… and mark.”
The smart glass cleared and the stars spun again. “Firing main thrusters, things are about to get purple.” Mariem slapped the console and the hum beneath Simonee’s feet roared and then settled into a familiar constant. The Fénix and the Crafthopper were now one mass hurtling through the solar system.
“Better go get Carlos wherever he’s hiding.” She said as she walked off the bridge. “We’ve got company.”
Mariem was talking to her, of course, because she still wasn’t talking to Carlos.
Simonee found Carlos in the galley, meticulously slicing a small basket of colorful vegetables she didn’t recognize in their primal form—purple, green, red, white. He glanced between a tablet and measuring spoons of spices, more careful than she’d ever seen. Carlos usually seemed so casual in the kitchen, practiced but easy—dashes, pinches, glugs and drops with nary a measuring device to be seen. Today, Carlos seemed obsessed, eyeing lines and flattening scoops.
“What’s cooking?” She asked, elbows on the steel counter.
He turned to her, brow sharp. “Wha?”
She tilted her head at the bridge. “The Crafthopper just docked. What are you making?”
“Already?” He looked at the clock. “Mierda! Here, help me—layer these into that dish.”
She looked at the neatly stacked slices he slid in front of her. Looked back at him. “Umm...”
He pointed at the sink. “Wash your hands.”
Yes—washing hands she could do. She quickly washed and turned back to the vegetables.
Her hands still didn’t know where to go. “What am I doing with these again?”
Carlos gruffed. “Layer them—eggplant, peppers, onions, okra. I’ve got the cheese.”
She winced. “Eggplant?”
Carlos shook his head and pointed to each. “Purple, red, white, green—got it?”
She nodded and put down the first layer.
“Where’s the oil?” Carlos barked from behind.
She jumped. “Oil?”
He grabbed a bottle. “The olive oil—on the bottom.”
She looked at the dish and then back at Carlos. “You said, purple, red, white, green, no oil.”
Carlos waggled his head. “Okay, okay, new plan—you go stall our guests.”
Her mouth fell. Stall? Guests?
His shoulders dropped. “You’ll be fine. Mariem will be there and… Oh, on second thought, pretend the airlock is malfunctioning. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Simonee nodded. “Broken airlock, got it.”
Carlos pulled up the layer she’d put down and replaced it with a drizzle of golden oil. He laid out the veggies like he was dealing cards and plopped down little white pearls of cheese.
Mariem was already in the cargo bay by the airlock fussing with the cuffs of a dark blue uniform. Her hair flopped down from a matching blue beret in a wide side braid.
Simonee grinned. “Wow, you look... handsome.” She looked down at her baggy jeans—ratty and ripped. “Should I...”
Mariem grunted and tugged at her lapels. “You’re fine. But I’m welcoming a ZN... admiral onboard and there’s a certain decorum. Where the hell is Carlos?”
Simonee shrugged. “Still cooking. He told me to pretend the airlock was broken.”
Mariem shook her head. Simonee rocked on her heels. “So... who’s Admiral Santiago then?”
And a two-toned chime bleeped out of the speakers overhead. Mariem sighed. “You’re about to find out.”
Carlos stumbled through the door in a similar blue uniform. He’d slicked back his hair into a tight ponytail just under his beret. He’d shaved, oiled his goatee, and there was even a distinctly pleasant odor wafting from his general direction, musky, but with floral undertones.
And Simonee still smelled like she woke up a few hours ago in the same clothes she wore yesterday.
The two-tone chime echoed again. Mariem stiffened. Carlos reached out and tapped a button on the airlock door then returned his hands behind his back. Simonee ground her teeth and clenched her fists, making her right shoulder ache. The hole from Ragana’s bullet had healed but the muscle was tender. She closed her eyes, breathed, unclenched her hands, and then rubbed the soreness away.
And then the airlock opened. The tombstone-shaped door slid to the left, revealing two figures standing just inside.
A young woman stepped through first—decked out in a black and red uniform, highly decorated, shiny stuff everywhere. This must be the much-anticipated Admiral Santiago. She looked a hair taller than Simonee, but the set of her shoulders made her seem even taller, and her eyes... dark almost bronze like twin slices of black olive under a rainfall of auburn hair.
Heat bloomed under Simonee’s frumpy hoody.
And then a man stepped through—and only grabbed her attention because he was a study in contrast. Two wooden poles holding up a scarecrow. A baggy leather flight jacket, an antique pilot cap with goggles pushed up on his forehead, and straw-colored hair escaping from every seam. He slouched beside the admiral, hands shoved in his pockets, utterly nonplussed.
A high-pitched chirp jerked Simonee’s attention to Mariem blowing a small brass whistle. Then she saluted and stared into the ceiling—Carlos too. Simonee cringed back from all this ceremony. Nobody ever saluted anybody on the ships she’d sailed before.
“Admiral on deck,” Mariem barked.
The admiral stepped forward, her hands clasped behind her, and Simonee took a step back.
The admiral looked at Carlos, then Mariem and there was a lift in her lips. Amusement? Disdain? Both?
But in her eyes, definitely humor. It reminded Simonee of Carlos peering over a straight flush on poker night.
“At ease,” she said, stopping in front of Mariem.
Mariem put her hand down but didn’t relax, and Carlos settled his hands behind him again, eyes beaming at the admiral.
The admiral reached out and took Mariem’s hand. “Long time no see, little sister.”
Simonee flinched.
Mariem let go. “We’re not sisters, Estrella. Why are you here?”
The admiral... Estrella... Santiago’s eyes flashed at Carlos. “You didn’t tell her, father?” She turned to him and shook her head. “Of course you didn’t.”
Carlos’s smile lay flat over his teeth. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I was so excited when I heard they were sending you out here.”
Mariem looked at the ceiling. “Can we skip to the part where you just tell me what this is all about?”
Estrella raised an eyebrow. “Why certainly, sis.”
“We’re not sisters.” Mariem muttered.
Estrella spun back on her heels, hands behind her. “I am on official Zentari-Neys business, overseeing the prison transfer into your care of one Syl Bretha.”
Carlos winced. And Mariem’s head landed on her knuckles. “Venus. Of course that’s why we’re going to Venus. Mother fucker.“
Estrella just watched.
“The transfer came in right after we left Enceladus Station,” Carlos mumbled.
Mariem crossed her arms. “You risked an extra Hohmann transfer off Saturn, locked me out of Nav, just because you didn’t want me to know we were changing course to Venus.”
Carlos shook his head. “We need him, you know we need him.”
And silence took over. Until, “Hullo!” The frumpy man who had been standing there the whole time watching shouted and waved. All eyes turned on him, and he lumbered forward.
“Hey, there, I’m Bastien Faulk, how-do-you-do?” His voice was as nasal, and squeaky as it was on the bridge. And he gave each of them his hand in turn along with a floppy nod. His eyes disappeared into his smile. He was a very odd man, but Simonee couldn’t help liking him immediately.
“So good to put some faces to some of the names here. I myself am a courier of curios and confidential parcels—letters, artifacts, rarities and other small packages.” He nodded at the admiral with a wink. He ignored Estrella’s glare as he made his way from Carlos, to Mariem, and finally Simonee.
He took extra time with her. “Oh boy, Simonee Saran in the flesh. It is an honor, Ma’am.”
A wink like a tick took over his eye, and he tapped his nose before taking her hand. “Man, the stories about you coming out of Enceladus Station on the feed. Quite a shake-up. One minute you’re a thief, the next you’re a terrorist, and then—the hero is banished forever.”
With that last word, he clutched his heart and winced.
Simonee’s mouth dropped open. “But—”
Bastien turned back to Mariem. “And, of course, Ms. El Oo-ah-AIR, daughter of Youssef El Ouaer.” He pulled a small package from his vest wrapped in brown paper and covered in a hodgepodge of calligraphy and ink stamps.
Mariem stared at it. “What is it?” The color had drained out of her at the mention of Youssef El Ouaer.
Bastien shrugged. “Not my job to know what’s in the packages, ma’am, just deliver ‘em.”
Carlos cleared his throat. “Well, there seems to be a lot to.. talk about. How about we all get comfortable and come together again in the galley for a home-cooked meal and libations. We can... catch up. Admiral, if you please, I have a room prepared if you’d like to transfer your luggage?”
Estrella’s eyes sparkled and her lips curled again.
“Oh yes, Captain, but I’ve packed for a long trip. Do you think your first-mate would mind giving me a hand with all my... bags?”
Carlos’s jaw jumped. He swallowed. “I’m sure she would be honored.”
Mariem jerked away from the package in her hands. She glared at Carlos, brow arched, teeth shining. She tucked the brown package inside her jacket and swung a hand at the airlock. “Well… after you.”
Estrella strode ahead of her. Mariem’s steps thrummed through the deck.
“What was that all about?” Simonee asked him.
Carlos looked at her and he looked exhausted. “That’s...” He rubbed his face and turned away. “I have to check my casserole. I’d... steer clear of those two right now if I were you.”
And then there were two. And Bastien was beaming.
She glanced at the exit. “Well—”
“You want to see something cool?” He asked.
She stepped back. “Well—”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the airlock. “Come on, it’s in my hopper.”
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.