Total pages in book: 175
Estimated words: 166095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 830(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 166095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 830(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
Except the day after we arrive, I realize that there are bots in the walls that do the dusting. There’s a bot with a long, skinny squeegee that goes around and wipes down all the screens once a day. The mess hall bots activate and tidy everything within the space of an hour once the ship takes off.
And while Bethiah is a disaster, short of following her around like a puppy and picking up the things she discards, there’s nothing for me to do to prove my worth.
It’s a pickle.
I’m doing my best to stay out of her way, because I know she wants to be left alone. She’s made it clear that she wants to keep our relationship an arm’s length sort of thing. And that’s fine, truly. I don’t want to be a bother. I just…don’t know what to do to prove my worth. How do I show Bethiah I’m valuable as a crewmember if I’m not really all that valuable after all? What can I do to be useful? Somewhere in my memories, I seem to recall that I’ve got a decent voice and I can play the flute and the piano.
Great. I’m musical. Not only do I think that’s a pretty useless talent on a spaceship, I’m pretty sure Bethiah isn’t the type to appreciate music. She seems more of a heckler than a musician. So…no singing. I don’t think I’m a dancer (nor would that be appreciated, I suspect) so I turn to other art forms.
Maybe Bethiah could use someone to paint this ship. Not with a mural or anything fancy, but I’m sure I can manage a space-paintbrush of some kind, and these rusty-looking mismatched walls could use a coat of paint to liven the place up. There’s a panel on the ceiling above my bed that looks like it was salvaged from somewhere, and while I can’t read the alien writing that goes with it, the stick figures make me think the panel once belonged in a bathroom of some kind…or a brothel.
Because those are some really strange, vaguely alarming stick figures.
I stare at them for a bit and then decide that although Bethiah wants to be left alone, perhaps it’d be best to discuss with her how I can earn my keep. Maybe there are things a human can do that I’m not thinking of. I get to my feet and head out of my room, twisting my hands as I do. For some reason I’m anxious. I guess I thought that given how friendly and warm Bethiah was back on the Little Sister, that she’d continue to be so. That hasn’t been the case, though. She’s ignored me to the point that it feels as if she’s trying to forget I’m here.
Chewing on my lip, I pace down the hall. Most of the time, she’s on the bridge, so I head in that direction, and give a squeak of distress when one of the bots putters past me with a loud clank. Even the bots look piecemeal. It’s so bizarre.
Sure enough, Bethiah is on the bridge. I can see her form as I head down the hall toward the slightly larger room that controls the ship itself. For a moment, I think she’s reaching for something, but as I approach I realize her hands aren’t in the air. They’re behind her, holding onto a monitor…as she rubs her butt over the screen.
I pause, not wanting to intrude. Maybe…maybe this is an alien custom. I clear my throat. “Um? Is this a bad time?”
“Nope. I’m almost done.” She gives her backside one last swipe across the screen and then her tail flicks back and forth as she hauls her pants back up her hips. “All good. What’s the problem?”
Clearing my throat delicately, I try not to think about how she really just rubbed her butt on a vid screen. No wonder the bot with the squeegee looks so worn down. It’s getting a real workout. “I wanted to talk to you about me being here.”
The expression on her face changes. She gives me a narrow-eyed look. “Oh? Ready to leave already?”
“Not in the slightest.” In fact, just the thought makes me a little panicky. I want the absolute opposite of that. If she sends me away I don’t know what I’ll do. Cry, probably. I want to cry right now, actually. There’s a huge lump in my throat that makes it hard to talk. “Actually,” I whisper, trying to speak around the knot lodged in my vocal cords. “I wanted to talk to you. I want to stay here. I want to stay here with you.”
Bethiah relaxes a little. “And this isn’t coming up because you caught me rubbing my ass on the security cams?”
“I, er, wasn’t going to ask.”
“Probably best.”
I twist my hands. “It’s just that…you’ve made it very clear you don’t enjoy company.”