Camp NaNoWriMo | April 2018 |
The universe is not what it used to be. In 2105, space travel is more common than the stomach flu. Men and women alike strive for the chance to travel the universe. The existence of other life forms is no longe...
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Fancy Title Here . . . When I Think of One
February 2nd, 2105
Unknown Air Space -
The Montgomery has drifted into unknown airspace. Basically, I fell asleep at the wheel. Yeah, the need for a pilot, other than myself, is now a priority.
"How far off course are we?" Jake asks, standing behind my seat.
"Just a few hours," I reply, sighing quietly. "When we reach the Third Quadrant, I will be looking for a pilot. You'll have to spearhead the delivering of the medical supplies."
"No problem, boss."
"Why must you go all Hobocan on me?"
"Just keepin' it interesting."
I smile, but not enough to make him think I need things to be interesting. He's becoming a great friend, but I don't things going further than that.
"What do should we know of the Third Quadrant, Naia?" I ask, glancing at her in the other seat across the cabin.
"The people are pleasant," she explains, tapping at a keyboard and bringing up a map of the galaxy. "The hospital you are seeking is on Vruer'ask . . . my home. Sector 9 is Vahaylea. That is where the Gee'ordan Hospital is located."
"Right."
***
February 9th, 2105
Third Quadrant Air Space, Vruer'ask
After telling Lee and Nick to remain on the ship, I pull on my leather jacket and breathing mask, and head for the unknown. I am fully aware I will look like a tourist. It's my first visit, after all. But I need to remember the reason I am wandering on a foreign planet by myself.
Everything here is so strange. The natives look like Naia; purple skin, some with an occasional mark on their cheeks that look like upside-down, dark brown trapezoids. And there are the hybrids and actual humans. The hybrids are able to breathe the air without air masks. The younger ones look at me with amused, toothless grins. I guess they've never seen someone wearing a leather jacket before. Because every human that has claimed residence here is wearing the native attire. Floor-length robes with extra long sleeves. Something similar to the ancient Asian robes. But not as colorful or decorative.
I enter what appears to be a mechanic supply shop. The walls are cover in shelves of parts and other starship knick-knacks. A man - human, he is - stands behind one of the glass cases, which holds a very decorative shield. It has some kind of family crest on the front.
"Do you speak English?" I ask, remembering to act 'manly' as I remove my breathing mask; this place is safe to breathe in.
"Welcome," the man replies, nodding. "What can I help you with today?"
"I'm in need of a pilot. I've come a long way."
"Hmm, I think I might know just the person for the job. If you will come with me, I shall take you to him."
I nod and follow the man through a door that leads to a back room of the shop. The fluorescent lighting bugs my eyes as I follow the man through the back room to a doorway. He motions for me to put on my mask again, as he reaches for one of his own. I instantly think that my judgment is fogged and I'm making a huge mistake by trusting him. I should have brought Nick or Lee with me. Or even Pastor Stone.
Ten, nearly short, minutes later we come to an open garage-like structure. The kind that people might go to and get their cars looked at, back on Earth. There is a loud sound of something slicing through metal. And as we near the other end of the structure, I can see there are red and orange sparks flying. And a figure, bending over.
The man leading me - I should have asked for his name - picks up a large hammer, and bangs it against a metal beam that is supporting the garage. The figure working on the metal turns off his cutting off machine and straightens. He's wearing one of those masks we use back on Earth. The kind that shields your eyes from the glare of a welding tool. I follow them both to an air-tight room at the center of the garage. And before long, I am seeing the face of the man we came here to see.
"What brings you here?" he asks, looking at the man who brought me. "Who's your friend?"
"This here, young gent, is seeking a pilot," the man replies, running a hand through his bristled hair. "I bring him to you. You're a pilot. Good money, pilots make."
"I make good money here."
While the two argue, I can't help staring. The younger man is in the prime of his life and is extremely good looking. Even for a foreigner, but he looks human.
"Tell me about you," he says, turning to me. "What's someone like you need a pilot for?"
"Captain Conrad of the Montgomery," I explain, extending my hand. "I am my own pilot, but have recently learned I cannot captain and fly my ship. I fell asleep while flying and my ship drifted off course. I'm two days behind in delivering medical supplies because I didn't let myself sleep."
"Your ship is called the Montgomery?" he asks, shaking my hand. "Why did you call it that?"
"It's the name of the county in which I last saw my brothers."
"And your last name is Conrad?"
"Yes, my father is General Conrad."
"That's not why I asked, but thank you for the clarification."
He stares at me, long and hard. I am not entirely sure why. My mind does go to the "what if" question on whether he is figuring out that I am, actually, a woman. But then I feel like "whatever". Jake figured it out.
"I want to see this ship," he says, crossing his arms, which causes his muscles to flex. "My Earth name is Jordan, and you already know my last name."
"No, I don't," I reply, crossing my arms as well.
"Ironically, it's Montgomery. Show me this ship of yours."
***
"I don't like the way he keeps looking at you," Jake says after I've given Jordan a complete tour.
"Why do you care so much?" I ask; technically, I'm hissing like a snake. Why am I hissing? Fact that I'm really frustrated with Jake right might be the answer.
"Because I called dibs," Jake rolls his eyes.
"On what? Me? No, you don't get to call dibs! Besides, I've had my eye on someone, long before meeting you."
Lie. I haven't laid eyes on anyone in years. This would be the first time since I was in my first year of college. I guess that answers my question from years of thinking guys don't like a girl with short hair. I know. Stupid.
