Unknown Horizons (Lesbian Space Opera)

Chapter 4

I lose myself in routine. Part of the reason I was chosen for this assignment is my knowledge on energy conservation technologies. Our ship may be fast, but most of the Persephone's technology for matter collection and filtering is a couple of decades out of date. It's my job to create and supervise the teams that will make the necessary changes and updates. Not all of them have to be done in the three weeks it'll take us to get to the Posterus, but the installation of our new docking clamp—the longest and hardest task—will need to be ready for when we arrive. I've set up three teams, each working eight-hour shifts for every project—ensuring that there are several hopeful epitaphs, involving me, painted in phosphorescent paint around the ship. Hartley is basically my only friend. If he didn't have worshipping geeklings to do all the work I've assigned him, that would change.

I don't sleep much. It's a combination of stress and trying to keep a twenty-four-hour work day. I catch sleep at odd times, but most nights I lie awake staring at my ceiling. By two or three, I'm usually on the track trying to run myself into exhaustion.

I enter the mess not surprised to see Hartley sitting by himself and grab a tray and shovel a heap of soybeans and lentils on my plate, avoiding the miscellaneous pasta and opting for chocolate pudding instead.

"Hartley, how is it that you are the fastest talker I've ever met, but the slowest eater?" I ask, taking a seat across from him.

"Speed is relative," he says and spears a gelatinous globule, meant to represent a meatball, with his fork and shoves it toward his face. It's too large for his mouth. Slime slides off the sides and pools at the corners, which drips down his chin like a Fu Manchu mustache onto his sloppy plate.

"It must take you at least three hours to finish a meal. How do you ever get any work done?"

"But this way I get to eat with everyone." He grins one of his full-face grins, dropping more food on his plate. It splatters on his coveralls. He wipes at it absently, smearing more sauce from his fingers down the front in four long streaks. I don't know what's more disturbing, that it's almost neon red, or that there are mysterious green bits in it.

I look away. As much as I appreciate Hartley's company, he's not always the greatest dinner companion.

The mess is lined with long tables on one side and smaller round tables at our end. I've noticed that at breakfast and lunch people tend to use the longer tables, rarely bothering to sit in groups. These are usually fast meals. But at dinner, the round tables fill up quickly when crew members are usually off-duty and can linger over their food, or shall we say what passes for food on this ship.

As I turn back, my eye catches the captain as she enters the food line.

A second later Hartley notices, too. "Captain!" He waves her over. "We've saved you a seat."

I concentrate on my food, willing my face to behave and stay its normal color. Over the past week, I've only seen her twice, and there was no actual speaking involved. I'm still mortified by my behavior the other night.

She slides in next to me, her knee briefly grazing mine.

"Captain," I say with a nod.

"Impressive work on the docking clamp. I was surprised at your progress considering you've decided to get everything done before we reach the Posterus. You know that's not necessary. You don't need to work the crew that hard."

She takes a sip of some orange beverage I made the mistake of trying the other day. It reminded me of feet. Several people have perked up at her comment.

"You're right, it's not necessary," I reply. "But when we get to the Posterus, we'll lose Hartley and all of his team for at least a couple of weeks. I thought it best to use the resources we have now, and work people at a reasonable pace, instead of waiting until we got to the Posterus where I'd be forced to work everyone overtime." I shrug as if this is common sense. It is of course only half the reason, the other is that I want to show off, prove that I'm good at my job.