Into the Black Hole

Chapter 17: Intruders

The galley is a misnomer, because an entire football field could fit comfortably in here. Dozens of circular tables fill the room, yet many are empty. The fifty or so people present choose to huddle around six general areas of the room, some sitting at a table chatting animatedly with peers, some bolting up to get seconds, and most not bothering to hide their stunned expressions at seeing a prisoner next to their Captain. Foodstations line all four walls, serving assorted vegetables, meat, bread, cereals, blocks of cheese, and even ice cream. Airtight bags of snacks accompany the rehydrated "fresh" food, where a couple pirates dart in-and-out, scurrying back to the more important matters they were doing before their growling stomachs rudely interrupted.

"Wow. You Cosmics really go all out," I remark, standing with Felix close to a wall by the entrance. "Aren't you worried the food will fly everywhere during plasma turbulence?"

"No, this is an MSF Alameda-class battleship. It's designed to be impervious to instability. But just to be safe—look." Felix points to one of the foodstations. "See the plastic covers?"

I missed it at first since they're so clear they're practically invisible, but when a pirate lifts up a cover to dish out some noodles, the edge makes a jagged line—a shadow—across her gray jumpsuit. "Yes."

"When lowered, they lock. And the to-go pouches are magnetically attracted to the tablestops."

"Yeah, we have something similar on the IF's ships. No self-serve buffets, though. It's too risky in case something malfunctions, and even if it weren't, everything is portioned out so no one overindulges and wastes food."

He scrunches his eyebrows. "I've never been on an IF ship before, actually. Still eat out of sealed containers?"

"For the most part. Food and beverage spills are dangerous in zero G. I guess you can lay out your food and eat insidiously in the privacy of your own cabin, but I don't know about you; the last place I want to spill anything is where I sleep."

"Hmm. Sounds like Earth should hire more creative technicians and build better ships."

"Hmm. I don't see you sailing around in a stolen IF battleship." I fake gasp. "Sounds like Cosmics haven't been able to capture one yet."

He scowls at me. "More like IF 'astronauts' are a bunch of sheep following their master. At least Martians have the will to think for themselves."

"The IF is a combined effort between two incredibly different countries led by disparate government systems. You can't lump us together."

"The UE and Liansa are more similar than you think."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

He gives me a haunted look, as though he's been witness to a devil worshipping coven regularly sacrificing newborn babies. "As a matter of fact, I do."

Before there's time to unpack all that, a flash of red appears in my peripheral vision. "Hey guys!" Thomson lands beside us without his gear from earlier, grinning ear to ear. "How's it going?" He turns to me, dragging his gaze down and up my body. Wiggling his brows, he winks and places his arm above my head as he leans against the wall. "So I see you're done with the appetizer. Come with me if you want the entrée."

"I hope you are aware, Gunner Bale, that the airlock is still an option for you," Felix muses.

Throwing his hands up, Thomson backs off. "Relax, Captain. Our little Ailee here is stirring up quite the controversy." He jerks his chin to a group of pirates congregating by the coffee machine, pretending not to be wholly interested in the three of us. "Half of them want to shoot her—smart of you to put the handcuffs back on—and the other half—including me—are just curious. We don't usually keep prisoners for very long. I wonder why Boss wants her alive."