1 - Strater

There’s a certain understanding one acquires after their first faster than light voyage. Primary in their newfangled understanding is the sheer disappointment from the whole normality of the experience. It’s funny, the way education’s been going you’d think that all the misconceptions would have been ironed out, but you still get those first timers who expect flashy light shows or hyper drives or the trailing tails of a billion suns hurtling towards you. 

Never mind that we’re going faster than light. 

That’s the key concept isn’t it? Some people don’t even believe me when I tell them that windows are useless. You’re not going to see anything outside anyway. We’re going faster than light. But yes, I was one of them once, aching for the sight of the awe-speckled universe laid out before me, confident that my dreams would be fulfilled amidst the backdrop of infinite space.

I kept myself from shifting on the spot as I focused on maintaining eye contact with the woman in front of me. She looked at me with eager wide eyes and an admiration that was unfamiliar to me. Her eyes, so steady in their lock with mine, never flickered towards my more distinguishing features. I held still, as still as the metal of the wall behind me, lest I trigger the disgust and hesitation.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, truly.”

My words seemed to move her, and her posture shifted, almost imperceptible in her disappointment.

“Any windows we have on the Terrace will unfortunately compromise the hull’s integrity.”

Her eyes were brown, I noticed. The lighting in the corridor created shadows of her forehead, dimming the colour of her cheeks and lips into a pale grey sheen. No doubt I’d look similar in her eyes, a tall, lanky creature made of Admantium and polymer.

“So I won’t be able to see outside? It’s just that I figured I might get something good from this trip and now -”

She stood before me a few moments yet, still paralysing me with her pure, non-judgemental gaze. She must have had practice with a family member, or a close friend; it was hard not to turn on the unsightly and the imperfect. Like my less attractive, biological counterparts, society had a way of pressing us into the dust with overly long glances and a curled upper lip.

Her lips curled only in the shape of a red-crescent moon, steady even as I shook my head.

“Sorry,” I said again, as if apologies enough would substitute for all the world’s misfortunes.

The crown of her head dipped in a nod, taking with it a few errand strands of hair not caught by her braid. They floated clear off her shoulders for a scant second, as if we had entered the realms of microgravity without either of us realising it.

“If, uh. If you like, I could take you to the cafeteria. It’s about lunch time now, isn’t it?”

It was foolish, I know, but something in the set of her face compelled me to ask. I wanted to smile when she actually considered it, but I readied myself for her inevitable decline. When it came, it was with a touch of regret.

She turned to leave, hesitated and offered me a hand. I shook it. Her hands were smooth, much too smooth to last on R258. The sheen from a lacquered wooden bangle caught my eye as it dangled from her wrist. The grains ran swirling loops around the piece, a testament to its quality, and it was with a lingering glance that I released her.

I watched her go with a mindfulness that caught me off guard with its intensity. Her braid trailed half way down her back and seemed to wave at me with every step, hypnotic in its rhythmicity. Until it stopped.

I looked further ahead, and stiffened.

The arch of her back pressed close to the wall as she stooped to one side, giving him the right of way. He didn’t deserve it.  

Dressed in the deep maroon uniform of the head of Customer Services, Strater stepped with a lightness that had nothing to do with gravity. He tipped his hat, and said something to her to tease out a halting laugh. From all the way down the hallway, I watched as she brought a hand up to her chest in a gesture of modesty. The light caught on her bangle and I looked away.

Strater talked to her for a solid two minutes and twenty four seconds. So what, I counted.

He had the audacity to smile at me when he finally released her from his charms. A big, cheerful grin, almost boy-ish and certainly beyond anything my own face could manage. He held that expression for the thirty or so steps he needed to reach my post, all the while walking with that same lackadaisical bounce that broadcasted to the rest of the ship just how extraordinarily happy he was. 

“You shouldn’t be so brusque to our guests, Jason.”

Jason. He called me Jason. No one calls me Jason. My eye would have twitched if I didn’t have such good control over myself. Strater leaned back on the wall beside me, propping himself up on the wall with his heel. He stretched his arms with a groan before crossing them behind his neck.

I didn’t look at him. 

“She is not a guest, sir.”

D****t, I should kick myself. Why did I say that?

“Even better, a paying customer should deserve our best services. I should give her a bonus so there’s no hard feelings, right? Customer loyalty and all that.”

I kept my face still. No need to give him a kick out of this. Somehow, my voice wasn’t quite as obedient.

“That would lead to a decrease in productivity, sir.”

How it galled to call him sir, especially when that last ‘bonus’ had come from my pay. I really can’t afford to take any more s**t from Strater or I’ll be short next maintenance.

“A little incentive to ramp up the effort, wouldn’t you say?”

Like a malicious psychic, his words struck deep to my centre, and I could only stew in my anger as it bubbled up inside me. It was true, though; I’d have to work my arse off to pay for Strater’s amusement and he knew it.

I couldn’t quite see his face with him leaning against the wall but his sickeningly sweet smile was carried as clear as day by the molecules that carried his words. Right now, I think I hated Strater’s smile more than the man himself. At least, if his face was that of a conniving weasel, more people would be on his case; it was bad luck for me that his parents gifted him with an easy smile and a handsomeness that assuaged him of all wrongs. 

I couldn’t weave together a reply that he wouldn’t twist around to strangle me with, so I didn’t say anything. Thankfully, I was rescued by the arrival of another ‘customer’.

A young man in his mid-twenties approached us with a cautious curiosity. He dressed in neatly pressed dress slacks and a button up shirt embroidered with dusky blue knots, an odd bit of attire for someone going to R258.

Beside me, Strater straightened to give the boy a wave. Typical. He was probably smiling as well.

I waited for the inevitable question but before the boy could figure out how he was going to ask, Strater had already jumped in to show off his sparkling self. 

“Good day, sir. What can my buddy Jason and I help you with today?” 

I didn’t react as Strater laid an arm across my shoulders and I went along with his pull as he tugged me over to his side. We would’ve looked like “best buds” if not for my face. I couldn’t bring myself to put up a smile. If I tried, I think my core processor would have exploded from the strain.

The boy picked up on it, and flicked a nervous look at me before focusing back on Strater. He took a step back and pulled his arms close to his body. Seriously, you’d think I was going to eat the boy or something with the way he’s reacting. Probably never seen a low quality Artie before.

I stared hard at his side turned eyes, daring him to meet my gaze. Perhaps the woman from before had spoiled me, but this sudden aversion seemed as cutting as the very first insult I received.

Strater had no problem getting friendly, of course.

“Oh don’t mind him. Finds it hard to express his emotions sometime. You know how things are.” 

He knocked his knuckles against my head to accentuate his point, and I nearly repaid him with my fist. I had to make an effort to relax my hand and the jerky motion caught the eye of the boy once more.

He gulped. I was not remotely repentant.

Strater gave me a one armed squeeze, a warning.

I can’t say for sure, but digging deep within me and finding a half-decent smile to put on my face then and there might have been the hardest thing I’d ever done. Somehow, I wasn’t very proud of the accomplishment.   

Fortunately, the boy bought it, and his question finally burst from his mouth.

“Umm right, I was just wondering where the cafeteria was.” 

I nodded. This was easy enough to address. No matter his set of prejudices towards Arties, he was still a passenger aboard the Terrace and I was still a temporary member of the Customer Service team under Strater. I had just started to point the boy in the right direction when Strater dropped his arm from me and clasped the boy’s shoulder.

“Head back the way you came until you get to the common room,” he said, pulling the boy to face the right direction. “Take the door on the right and it’s straight on from there. You’ll smell it before you see it.” 

With a good-natured pat to the shoulder, Strater sent the well-dressed boy off while I was stood there, mute. D****t, sure, this isn’t my proper job but it still chaffed to see him taking over like that. 

We watched the nameless boy walk away in silence before the unexpected sound of a sigh made me turn in disbelief.

“He’s young.” There was a sombreness in Strater’s voice that left me gobsmacked. His lilting voice, his charm, all gone. Instead, there was a tightness to his face that I found hard to interpret and the merest hint of a slump to his shoulders.

Then the arm landed back on my shoulders and the damning smile returned as if it had never left. He chuckled, the sound rebounding on the walls until it became a heady echo that filled my mind and I had to grit my teeth to keep from making a sound.

The laughter cut off, but the taunting smile remained. He dropped his arm and dusted off his sleeve where it had contacted my uniform.

“Well, don’t let me cramp your style, Keys. Bronson wanted you in the cargo hold ten minutes ago. Off you go.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started back the way he’d come. I waited until he was half way down the hall before I turned to run. After so much stillness, so much restraint, I buzzed with the need to expend my energy. I’ll have to hurry, too, if I didn’t want to piss off Bronson. Having the temperamental head of the Cargo Workers mad at you was a worse fate than an entire afternoon with Strater.