Beyond the Endless Sky

Chapter 2

Clarissa hadn't realized she had fallen asleep until a hard rap struck her door and startled her awake. She sat up, pulling the sleeping bag with her to her chin, held her breath, and stared wide-eyed at latch.

She waited for the door to open. But nothing happened for a moment, long enough that Clarissa wondered if she misunderstood what she heard. "Hello?" she asked plaintively.

"Chow's hot, if you're keen," a voice came from the other side of the door. The somewhat melodic baritone was vaguely familiar to Clarissa, who recalled it belonging to one of the ship's crew, Leslie Madrigan. Tentatively, Clarissa stepped to the door and pulled the latch. The door was fiercely heavy, and took a great deal out of Clarissa to push it open it even a hair. But as soon as it moved, someone pulled on the other end, and the door swung open as if it were made of paper.

"Ah, good," Leslie said, blocking the path with shoulders wider than the doorway. "Was worried I had made Calmoorian curry for nothing. Care to eat?"

"Oh, no thank you, I-," Clarissa began, intent on refusing the offer. But her stomach spoke louder than her nervous disposition when it growled loud enough that even the big man noticed. "Please." She fixed her eyes on his feet, rather than looking up at this creature the size of two grown men.

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself before. Leslie Madrigan, gunnery officer," Leslie said, and he extended a hand nearly as long as Clarissa's forearm. Clarissa took it hesitantly, but the giant man's grip was astonishingly gentle. "Also the ship's cook, when we have time."

Leslie led her towards the bridge and stopped at the last door before the end of the hall. "It's nice when we have time to sit down together to eat. We don't do it often as a crew. Even if I don't count Yannick, he rarely leaves his room. None of us sit down together as often as we should. Always something happening."

Leslie opened the door and lead the way to a small, square room with two tables. The Bankerloft passengers were on one, claiming five of the six seats. They leaned forward as they ate, engaged in a hushed and sporadic conversation. At the other table, four members of the crew ate in silence. The Captain was looking at a notebook held open with one hand, tilted slightly so that Tonya could read it as well. Mercy had her hat on the table beside her, and her long hair had partially fallen over her eyes. The other woman Clarissa hadn't met, who the Captain had called 'Tinker' earlier, was eating with gusto.

"Madman! You outdid yourself," Tinker tried to call out, with a mouth half-full of food. The woman was wearing tan overalls that bore a litany of tiny wounds. Burn holes dotted the billowy sleeves enough to turn the shirt beneath into a cotton sieve. The tan colour was uneven, looking more like a collection of grease stains that would never get clean. Tiny burn marks littered her chest and arms. The woman wore two pairs of goggles; one on top of her to hold her thickly curled and somewhat scorched hair back, and a pair of nearly black welding goggles that hung around her neck.

"Wait for the day I have the time and ingredients to make a Bankerloft Piebald," Leslie replied, as he stepped around the table and moved into the attached kitchen behind them. He took two metal bowls from a cupboard and started pouring what looked like a pale-orange stew into it.

"Promises, promises," Tinker replied, before she looked back at Clarissa and gestured to an empty seat at their table. "C'mon, dearie, have a seat! Yannick's not like to step out of his hold while we have guests. That chair'll just collect dust if you don't take it."

Clarissa sat down across from the woman, who leaned forward and extended her hand across the table. "Anita Hoffman, ship's engineer."

"Clarissa," she said as she shook Anita's hand. The engineer's skin felt like holding a hand full of gravel, and the woman was unnervingly strong.