XT34

3. No Reservations

The first words are often the hardest. Blaeyde knew this all too well as she walked down the long chrome-plated corridor, certain doom easily inevitable. All her plans, hopes, and dreams rested on the upcoming interview, and she was sure she would blow it. Obsessing over the number of little white lights that edged the floor and ceilings of the hallway in her path, she carried herself with an air of confidence and humor. Her uniform, brown, plain, boring and modest made her look mature and professional, but she hated every stitch in the synthetic brown fabric. It was comfortable, clean, symmetrical.

On any other day she would have worn her striped tights and her favorite pin. However, this was not any other day, and she had to present herself well in order to get a position on an outpost, the very job she had always dreamed of, the only possible job that she knew would suit her. She couldn't stand the sameness or the plain ways of the iron sparrow fleet. Plain anything bothered her, because her mind needed the stimulation of color, sound, and light, the rush of thinking and being alive. If the environment of the space vessel did not provide her mental stimulation, she would have to find ways to cope.

All she had at that moment were a few radioactive brand sour candies sitting in her pocket, and she knew they would be gone by the end of the interview. That would have to do for the moment. She popped a sour candy into her mouth and felt the intense heat wash over her tongue. Her temperature rose and her face flushed, responding to the intensity of sour she was experiencing. Within seconds the sour coating dissolved and made way to the sweet interior, and she bit down on it hard in a protest of the sour heat leaving so soon. As she walked she went through the entire stash of seven candies in her pocket and her mouth was entirely numb to any sensations by the time she reached the general's office.

Blaeyde finally stopped at the door that held the dreaded place of dying dreams, otherwise known as the General's office. She had never before spoken directly with the man that worked behind that door, even though he had been a direct influence on the lives of those who were in any way linked to the iron sparrow fleet. Benjamin Frost, the general, was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a bald head.

His every step commanded power and he walked about the domain of the fleet like a wolf in a flock of sheep. He was not a cruel man, but he was strict and stoic, and about as caring and immovable as a mountain, meaning to say he was like a large sturdy rock. The rest of Blaeyde's life depended on this one encounter with this one man. As she stood outside the door, she wondered if she should knock, but that decision was made for her when the general's secretary opened the door and waved Blaeyde into the office. After doing so, the secretary took her post by the door and seemed to freeze in time like a robot awaiting orders.

Blaeyde was directed to a large brown chair and she sat down with all the etiquette she could possibly muster. She was not comfortable in this man's office. Everything around her was a greyish off-white, mustard gold, and a repulsive shade of light brown, the same color as the uniform she hated having to wear. She stared at the man's head, round, bald, and shiny as polished chrome. She could barely take him seriously even though he was apparently the overlord of her potential future, or lack thereof.

He was wearing the standard uniform for the men working for the fleet, but it was decked with so many shiny medals and pins that Blaeyde had a secret pleasure of reading all the little inscriptions, which she accomplished within a few seconds before slipping back into utter boredom. She showed none of this on her face however, and she awkwardly mustered a nervous smile, as she had observed so many times among others in this situation.

She was nervous, so it wasn't all an act, but it was hard for her to not burst out with a random comment about what kind of polish the general used on his head. She could barely sit still, but she did, sitting up tall and straight and making direct eye contact with the creature that could either create or destroy the life she dreamed of. His pupils were like pools of inky black muck, deep and piercing, and the areas around them were devoid of any color.