Salvation (2 page)

Twenty minutes later, I was walking down the hall behind
another one of the gigantic crew members. Many questions about the ship, crew, and captain were burning in my mind, but I was afraid of giving myself away so I kept my mouth shut. Luckily, he seemed to enjoy giving the tour and pointed out various features of the ship to me.

"The
back half of the ship, as you can see, is all for cargo and the engines. The front half is for personnel. We have thirty-five crew, and this first level is where most of the laborers are quartered."

We walked up a flight of steel steps. "
This second level is where the bridge crew is quartered, and the canteen is at the front." He pointed upward. "The third level is the bridge, and the fourth level is for ship storage and entertainment. You're bridge crew, so you'll be quartered here."

The ship was mostly made of open steel; no paint or plastic to cover up the underlying structure. There were nicks, scratches, and even gashes here and there, but I found that it had a stark kind of beauty for all of its imperfections.

I followed him to the
end of the hall, where there was a door on the left and a door on the right. "These are your quarters. Because you're new, and...tiny..." He looked down at me in emphasis and I gritted my teeth. "...the captain wants to keep an eye on you. His quarters are right there." He pointed to the door on the right.

My heart sank at that. So much for remaining inconspicuous. I didn't want
Captain Hawk-eyes, as I was now thinking of him, watching me too closely. On the other hand, he wasn't bad to look at, in a scary kind of way, and being across from him meant that I might run into him every day...

"Simmons
." He snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Put your hand to the scanner so I can program it in."

I
started, placed my hand on the scanner, and heard a few beeps as he programmed the lock.

"Here you are," he said as the door opened silently. "Report to the bridge tomorrow morning at 0700."

"Yes, sir," I replied. I tried not to let him hear my gasp as I stepped into the room, but then I realized that the door had already closed behind me. It was the largest living space I'd ever had to myself, including when my parents had still been alive.

They had been translators, too, but mostly worked on programs to
bring technology to smaller planets and moons that weren't profitable enough for private enterprise or the main government to pursue. Money had always been tight, and it seemed like we had always been shuffled from hovel to hovel, barely scratching out a living.

I stepped farther into the room
, almost hesitantly. The metal walls in here had a faded paint that was worn and peeling with age. There was an open door to the left, through which I could see a washroom. Against the far wall in front of me was a large desk with a small window above it, then three sets of steel bookcases with clear plastic doors covering the fronts.

That's right,
no glass, I thought, in case space is a bumpy ride.

There was a black
L-shaped sofa which was against the wall to my right and sectioned off this part of the room. Behind it, I could see a large bed and closet cupboards on the far wall. Everything had been welded into the walls and floor for safety. The room looked enormous, probably because it was bare. I also noted that everything was covered with a fine layer of dust.

I took two steps to the right and
sat down on the huge sofa, unable to believe it was mine.

An hour later, I was sitting on top of the desk, staring out the window as we lifted off. I felt a sense of relief as I saw the city recede below me, and pinched myself to be sure it was really happening. All of the pain and suffering that I'd known for the last four years seemed to fade away as we rose farther from the surface and all of the landmarks that I knew grew fainter and disappeared into the background.

I watched silently as we rose farther up, until the atmosphere looked like a pale blue glow surrounding the planet.
When it had become nothing but a small glowing globe far beneath me, I was able to catch my first glimpse of the stars. A sense of beauty and wonder filled me and, for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt hope.

The meal in the canteen the next morning was a satisfying experience. Everyone ignored me, but I didn't care, because breakfast was all about the food. Everything tasted delicious to me, and I even went back for seconds. Two years underground with no money will do that to you.

I reported to work right on time, and
found that I enjoyed my job from the very first assignment. Most of the work was translation of transport-related documents and policies and trade deals with other races. I had a desk right outside the captain's office and had to work closely with him, giving him daily reports on trade deals offered. I then translated his decisions and sent them back to the possible clients.

The next few weeks settled into a pattern as I got to know the job.
I came to realize that the captain had a quick mind and was very serious about his work. He knew many social, political, and regulatory details about the races he conducted trades for, and was quick to research new offers. But once in a while, I was able to provide some useful insight due to my study of languages and history.

Sometimes on his way in or out of the office, he would stop to discuss a new deal or ask insightful questions
. Occasionally, he would lean back casually against my desk and tell me a story about one of his funnier trade interactions. I quickly got used to his dry humor, and had to force myself more than once to stop staring at him, trying to figure him out.

None of the other crew members bothered me and I mostly stuck to myself, not really wanting to develop a friendship with someone who might
start asking questions. I couldn't believe my good fortune as I lay awake every night, staring at the ceiling with my belly full.

We stopped in
a different port every three or four days, conducting several transactions. Every time we arrived at a 'safe' planet, we were given time off to go ashore. I never took it, simply enjoying the freedom that my new job and my huge living space provided me.

One evening after we landed in port,
the captain stopped me as I was going back to my quarters and he was leaving his.

"Simmons, you haven't taken any time off ship."

"That's all right, sir. I'm just fine here," I edged toward the wall, trying to inch past him.

He was
far too broad for that tactic to work, however. Placing one large hand on my shoulder, he turned me to face him. I ended up with my back to the wall with him looming over me.

I took in a breath. It was the closest I had ever been to him. I could smell his scent, sharp and masculine. I didn't look up into his face, afraid that being so
close would give away my femininity or my feelings. My heart pounded as I looked down at the holster of his gun slung around his hips.

"Simmons,
there is a reason why you get time in port. It's great to love your work, but you need free time as well to mingle with other people and get your land legs back..."

My hearing faded as I looked
at the hard muscles of his thighs, shaped by the fabric of his pants. Following the line of his holster, my eyes strayed to his crotch, where I could see the faint outline of his masculinity visible beneath the cloth. Embarrassed, I felt my face heat and tried to look away, sure that he was going to find me out, but my eyes were drawn back to it against my will.

"...so
I want you to meet us down at the cargo bay entrance at 2100. We're going to have a night out."

It took a moment for
his words to penetrate my brain.

"But
, sir," I began, but he cut me off.

"No buts, Simmons. Be there. That's an order." He strode off before I could say anything more.

I rushed back to the bathroom in my quarters. Looking at the mirror, I saw my flaming face and splashed some water on it, fanning myself with my hands as I walked to the closet.

I realized that I didn't have anything to wear except
a pair of jeans and my sweatshirt, with the accompanying T-shirts beneath. Serves him right, I thought to myself angrily, shrugging several layers of T-shirts on over my head.

When I met them downstairs, however, I felt like an idiot. The captain and Jeremiah were immaculately dressed
for a night out on the town in button-down shirts and trousers, and I looked like a street urchin.

Jeremiah's face broke
out into a grin when he saw me and I glared at him. He burst out laughing.

The captain frowned. "Don't you have anything better to wear, Simmons?"

"No, sir," I replied miserably. "I haven't had the chance to go shopping since I got this post."

"All right
." His voice was resigned and he ran his hand through his hair, then urged us out the door with an irritated motion. "Let's go."

I wish I could say that the bar was fun, but that would be impossible. I was on edge from the moment I walked in. The atmosphere just felt dangerous, and too many strange beings eyed me as I passed. The captain and Jeremiah seemed to fit right in, striding over to a rounded corner of the bar and taking seats. I sat between them, squarely on the corner, and even though I was small, drunk patrons hit me every time they passed by.

I had never
had alcohol before, which the captain didn't seem to realize as he ordered several rounds of shots right off the bat. He clapped me on the back and laughed as I coughed and sputtered after my first drink.

I tried to avoid drinking any more, pouring my drinks into their glasses when they weren't looking.
But it seemed that the two believed drinking was synonymous with a good time, and after a few hours under his watchful eye I had drunk enough to get a headache and need the restroom.

It wasn't until I had walked over that I realized I had never used the men's room in public before. I hovered between the men's and the ladies' rooms for several minutes,
and a few people raised their eyebrows as they pushed past me.

Finally, I took a deep breath, stepped to the men's door and pushed it open. It was every bit as bad as I thought it would be. It was dirty, smelly, and drunk
en patrons had missed the yellow-and black-stained urinals in several places.

I covered my nose with my shirt and tried not to gag as I made my way to a stall. I did my business as quickly as possible, hovering over the
grimy seat. Using a toilet cover was definitely not going to do it in this place.

When I was finished, I heard the door open and some men come in, laughing loudly. I stood there, hesitating with my hand on the door. When I heard them over at the urinals doing their business, I figured I could sneak out behind them.

I hurried out of the stall and over to the sink to wash my hands, but when I turned the knob no water came out.

Cursing
silently, I wiped my hands on my pants and thought that this night couldn't get any worse. But just as my hand was on the handle and I was about to make it out the door, a big hand fisted itself in the back of my shirt and pulled me back. He flung me sideways into the wall, knocking the breath out of me. I turned, gasping, to see three very drunk, very greasy and dirty men looking at me with beady eyes.

I guess I'd been wrong.

"Well, what have we here? Using the stall like a girl, are we?" The one on the left asked, his eyes roving over me.

"
He's just a little 'un," the one on the right offered, stumbling a bit. "Probably can't stand up yet to piss."

"I think
we're just what the doctor ordered for this one." The man in the center grinned evilly, making me shiver. "Let's teach this runt how to be a man."

At that point,
I knew I was never going to get out of that bathroom alive, or if I was still breathing, I would probably wish I wasn't. I'd been looking around for something to defend myself with while they were talking, but there wasn't even a toilet brush. I wouldn't have had time anyway, because they rushed me with surprising speed for all of their drunkenness.

In one quick motion, the closest one stepped behind me and pushed me toward the other two. The one with the evil grin brought his fist up and I barely saw it before my head was spinning on my neck and I was flying back into the one behind me. My legs buckled and he hoisted me up under my arms.

I could feel my eye swelling, but looking out with my good eye, I could see the evil grin coming closer. "What's wrong, boy? Looking for your mama?" He goaded me, brandishing his fist in front of my face. "Can't even throw one punch?"

"What the hell is this?" came a booming voice from the door.

It took a few seconds for the oaf goading me to look up, and by that time, the owner of the voice had stepped around and pushed me behind him.

"This isn't your business,
friend
," he said, the evil grin gone.

The new man turned to look at me, and I was startled to see that it was the captain.

"You scumrunners beating up on kids now?" His gruff voice was loud and full of disdain. Despite his strength, I was worried. Maybe he was making a mistake in goading them. Even with only one eye, I could see that there were three thugs to his one, and I was going to be no help at all.

As it turned out, I needn't have worried. As the thug prepared to strike,
the captain's solid fist bashed into his face with such force that he flew backward into one of the urinals. I had the sick urge to laugh as he landed in a wet puddle.

When the captain turned back, I saw that his
handsome features were black with rage and he was pounding the other two men who had come at him with resounding blows. One stumbled back from a blow into the stall I had come from, and when he fell, his head hit the toilet, knocking him out cold. Shortly after, the other attacker fell on top of him, unmoving.

The captain turned back around to see the first guy stumbling to his feet on the slippery floor. H
is eyes narrowed and he marched over. I could see the muscles bulge in his shoulders as he hoisted the man up and planted his fist in the guy's jaw again. The oaf fell back into the urinal behind him, groaning.

The captain grabbed him by the shirt, and began hitting him again and again.
I could see the muscles working through his dress clothes. I had never seen such a display of force, and in my tipsy state I got a thrill when I realized he was defending me. His movements were graceful and full of deadly power. After five or six heavy blows, he let the guy sink back into the urinal.

Nodding his head in s
atisfaction, the captain turned back to me, brushing his hands on his pants. "Come on, Simmons." He hauled me down off the sink where I had been sitting numbly.

I was suddenly struck by the humor of it; the captain in his best dress beating on th
ree drunken louts in a filthy bathroom. He barely looked ruffled. I felt a giggle bubbling up again, and realized I must have crossed the line into hysteria.

The captain
looked me over and then dusted me off briefly with his large hands. I wasn't dirty, but it made me feel better anyway. Then he took my arm firmly, guiding me toward the door. "You'll be all right," he said bracingly. "Let's get you back to the ship."

He didn't let go of my arm, and when we got outside he threw his arm around my shoulders loosely. My legs were unsteady from a combination of alcohol and waning adrenaline, and his arm held me securely upright as we walked.

I kept my cool for as long as I could, walking in through the cargo bay
and up the steps. The captain walked with me all the way to my quarters, and the few men we passed looked at my face and gave him knowing looks. He put his palm to the scanner and gave me a little push inside. But once I was two steps inside the safety of my room, something within me broke.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the
fact that the captain had been the first one to protect me since my parents had been around, but suddenly the pain was too much to bear. For the first time since my parents died, I started to cry. I fell to my knees and started sobbing, cradling my head in my hands.

I thought the captain had left, but I felt
his hand come down solidly between my shoulder blades and I realized he had knelt down behind me.

"
It's all right, Simmons."

I didn't really think about it, but turned around and fisted my hands in his shirt.
I cried in harsh, wracking sobs, crinkling the fabric of his perfect shirt, digging my nails into my palms. I sobbed out all of my fear and rage. Rage at bullies who seemed to be everywhere, waiting to take advantage of people smaller than them. Rage at my own comparatively diminutive size and helplessness to stop them. And rage at my heart, which I could tell was beginning to feel all of these emotions for a man that I could never have.

"It's
OK, Simmons. It's going to be OK." He patted my shoulder awkwardly. But deep down, I knew that it would never be OK. If he ever found me out, I would lose both my job and my home on the ship. More important, I would lose him.

After a while, my sobs quieted. I breathed in his scent
. His chest felt so solid, so secure under my fists, and I felt bitter with the knowledge that it was only temporary. I wanted it to go on forever, but when I looked up at his face, I almost laughed. This time he looked like a Palonian deer in the headlights.