Project Z

Chapter 1 - Lena - Station 2

Stanley's crinkled expression of disgust was the last thing Lena saw before she was blinded by an onslaught of yellow liquid. The drops trailed down her face, pooling into what had once been a white shirt. She squinted against the burning in her eyes, and when Stanley's face swam back into view, he had a single eyebrow quirked, the wrinkles of his face pinched together in accusation.

"Are you trying to poison me?" he demanded.

"It's moonjuice, Stanley." Lena struggled to keep the exasperation from her voice as she swiped the spit from her cheeks. "Exactly what you asked for."

The eyebrow remained. "Just moonjuice?"

Lena sighed, wrung the beverage out of her shirt, and schooled her expression into one of indifference. Letting Stanley see her frustration would only encourage him. Not that it mattered now. The drowsy energy of the dayroom was already sharpening with the surrounding curiosity as heads turned to witness the spectacle. And there were few things Stanley liked more than an audience. "I already told you I'm not adding five sugar packets to moonjuice that's already sweetened. Your blood sugar—"

He lifted his chin. "I'm not drinking that watered-down peasant nonsense."

"Fine!" Lena threw her hands up. "Then you can have water."

Stanley didn't seem to hear her. He just turned away and let his chair drift towards the hall. The other residents were lounged in their reclining hoverchairs around the perimeter of the dayroom. They looked Lena up and down as she followed Stanley, tsking and shaking their heads. Ms. Rosaline sat in the back corner knitting something affrontingly pink. She sighed as Stanley passed, watching him with her head tilted to one side. Maxine stood behind her chair, a hip popped out as she leaned against the wall and scrolled through the holochip at her wrist. She smirked as Lena passed.

"Haven't you learned?" Maxine tossed her a towel. "I figured you'd be wearing an apron by now. Maybe a poncho?"

Easy for her to say—her assigned resident was the most docile of the bunch.

Lena dabbed the towel against her neck and hurried after Stanley, shooting her best friend a quick wave over her shoulder.

"Would you slow down?" Lena called. They must have just cleaned the halls. The air reeked of chemicals, the sharp tang burning her nostrils as she jogged after Stanley.

"If you can't keep up with a little old man in a wheelchair, that's your problem, not mine." He was halfway down the hall now, fingers furiously jabbing the increase speed button.

Most people saw Stanley and thought he looked sweet, assuming some Earthly condition or simple old age had put him in that chair. What they didn't know was Stanley was kind of a badass. He was totally rude and inappropriate and seemed to find the most joy in making Lena's job as difficult as possible, but even that hadn't been enough to keep Lena's grudging respect for him at bay.

He actually ended up in that chair long before Station 2's days. Once upon a time, he was in the Earthern Emperor's military, fighting and conquering and shit. Well, before things got so bad that people starting fleeing to space—the first wave of settlers. Stanley was one of them—not that he liked to talk about it. He had all kinds of crazy stories from the ground, which he loved to share after he'd had a couple of beers. At least half of them were definitely fake, but anything to do with space or why he left Earth he was determinedly tight-lipped about.

That, and exactly what put him in that chair. And it wasn't from lack of asking.

Lena's boots squeaked against the floor, and she had to steady a hand against the wall at a particularly slick spot, leaving an obvious handprint on the metal's gleaming surface.