Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 55551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I make a beeline for the ship, which is loading new passengers of other species. There’s a few Euphorians, and I suspect there might even be a Scythkin hiding among our number. Scythkin wear the skins of other species as suits, but I find there’s a slightly metallic, deathly kind of scent at play when you are near one.
The vessel is bright pink, which I like because there’s no chance that anybody would think I’d go for the boldest, brashest vessel. They’re going to assume I’m sneaking off on some super quick skimmer. I can see a few ships here that would quite easily outrun law enforcement of almost any world, but they’re the ones Thorn will have stopped and searched. And I don’t have time to build the kind of relationship with a smuggler that doesn’t get you turned in for more than you agreed to pay them. I have to take a different approach. I have to hide not in plain sight, but in very, very fancy sight.
The HMS Mandalay towers above other ships in dock with a simultaneous brilliant elegance and gaudy appeal that you get with a childfree aunt the day after a big night out. It has been designed to look like old ocean-going cruise ships, with multiple decks for passengers to walk around on. Of course, the entire thing is covered in a transparent shield, which once the vessel is underway, will keep the outer space out.
It’s the sort of vessel you could spend hours, if not days looking at, noticing new details with each and every new glance. I don’t have time to fully appreciate it now, but I hope I will soon. First, I need to get aboard.
The gate agent might be my toughest opponent yet. She’s a human woman in her late fifties, and she has the energy of someone who has seen it all and was not impressed by any of it. She is wearing a very chic uniform suit, blazer and skirt, both in pink that matches the ship, edged with gold trim.
“Ticket?” She snaps the word at me and I feel it pass by my face just inches from my nose, like a physical bullet I just barely dodged.
“I’m sorry, you’re not going to believe this, but I slept-walk off the ship! I’ve been doing so much of that lately. I think it’s the increased magnetic rays from space, you know? I can feel them moving things about inside my head. Anyway, I went to sleep in my cabin, and I woke up somewhere in the city with this big, green, scaled alien yelling at me!”
She looks me up and down, finding me wanting.
“Can’t let you on without a ticket.”
“Can you leave me here, on a saurian planet with no money, or ID, or any way to support myself? This is either going to be a funny anecdote I tell my family in a few months, or it’s going to be the beginning of an ordeal from which I may never recover.”
I appeal to her better nature and to her sense of mercy. I know how I look, I am a curvy woman who looks like the type to be taken advantage of. It’s something about the set of my eyes, how wide they are, and how my hair is always trying to curl into them. I look chaotic and messy and relatable. I have to hope that somewhere inside this woman, a younger version of herself going out and getting into trouble still exists. Or, hell, a future version. I just need her to relate to me enough that she puts herself in my shoes and is compelled to help me.
The look on her face tells me I might just have encountered the one kind of person who is utterly immovable and unshakable in their job, someone who has a small amount of power and will use it to an obsessive level. I just told her she can ruin my life, and I think she likes the sound of that.
“I’m sorry,” she says, in a tone that suggests she is practically on the verge of orgasm. “I can’t let you back on the ship without either a ticket or some proof of your identity.”
“Alright, well, when the ship docks and they ask where the magistrate potentate of the Mars colony’s daughter is, and who left her stranded on a hostile alien planet, I’ll tell them it was…” I glance at her badge. “Clara Have A Nice Day.”
She glances over my head. I see her lips tighten for a moment, then spread in a smile. “You are a wanted fugitive,” she says.
“Am not!”
“Are too.” She points over my head. I turn around and see my face displayed on the screen. There must have been security footage at that dive bar I accidentally destroyed on purpose because they deserved it. My face is very clearly displayed while I’m sitting on the counter, going through pack after pack of bar snacks. And, sure enough, underneath my face are the words, WANTED FUGITIVE.