Page 8 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

I’ve always been nervous – at least since that final mission with Ling. This is different, though. I’d felt reasonably secure in this hallway before – but now I’m glancing left and right like a hunted deer, and the woman I’d rescued it doing the same.

She’s limping, too. That guy who’d snatched her had been rough. Who knows what would have happened to her if I hadn’t stumbled through the panel right when I did?

I don’t want to – those days are long behind me – but I find myself taking the lead. I bring us to the bar at the end of the hallway – the one with the viewing deck I like so much. This is where I come late at night, when I can’t sleep.

Now, I wonder if I’ll ever sleep again – at least for the next two weeks.

I’d walked that same stretch of hallway dozens of times during this interminable voyage. Each time, the man who’d attacked my newfound friend could have been a few feet away from me. It was only by the grace of the Gods that ithadn’tbeen me.

How many other women had he victimized? We’re light years from the nearest Aurelian Law Enforcement station or Human Alliance division. He could have spent the entire month-long journey picking off victims; and nobody would even realize it until we got to X12 and the passenger list turned out to be a few names shorter than it had been when we’d left.

Was he the only one, too? Are there other men lurking in the shadows of this ship? Flitting between the walls of Elnor, and grabbing any women who look like easy targets?

I shiver.

Had any of them watched me as I’d walked past? Peering at me through those nearly-invisible cracks in the walls? Deciding my fate – each day choosing whether or not to make me a victim?

I’m thrilled when we finally reach the bar. I press the button to open the doors, and as they slide open my claustrophobia momentarily lightens.

It’s not that the bar was especially impressive – except when contrasted to the cramped, empty hallway. It’s just a worn bar, surrounded by threadbare seats, and along the entire far wall is a huge pane of thick viewing glass – so dirty and smudged that you don’t know if you’re staring out at far away planets or stars…

…or just specks of dirt on the glass, only a few feet away from you.

The doors slide shut behind us. The bored bartender barely looks up – and then instantly turns his eyes back down as soon as he recognizes me.

I’ve been here a dozen times and never once ordered a drink from him. He looks frustrated that he can’t stick a sign on the door that reads: “Views of space are for paying customers only.”

The view would easily be worth the cost of a drink – if I could afford one.

Beyond the dirty glass, endless space stretches out ahead of us. It’s breathtaking.

I lead my newfound friend towards the window, and take a seat at one of the grungy tables. I choose the same one I always do, which allows me to sit with my back to the wall. I remember Ling teaching me to always have the exits and entrances of a room covered; and that’s an instinct that’s become deeply ingrained in my day-to-day programming.

If I have to rush out of this room in a life or death situation, I’m going to be one of the ones that makes it out alive.

My eyes turn to the window. How could they not? This might be the cheapest, most dangerous space-flight I could afford to X12, but the view is worthy of a million credits.

When I gaze out across those countless twinkling stars, each flickering in that endless darkness, I actually feel sorry for the wealthy folks who are stuck in cryo-sleep for the entirety of this journey. Whatever beauty awaits them on X12, they missed out on a view that’s quite literally out-of-this-world.

Space. Endless, empty space.

Countless stars, bursting into brilliance or burning into nothingness a million light years away. Even the twinkling lights I’m staring at right now are merely snapshots of the past. It takes thousands or millions of years for the light from those stars to reach observers like me; and who knows how many of them have died and blacked out of existence during the time it took their light to cross the universe.

How many of those stars are real? How many are just reflections of a long-gone past?

I stare at the endless stars, and suddenly begin to imagine them snapping into darkness one by one – as if flicked off by a light switch.

I shiver, imagining the endless emptiness that would be left when all of them are extinguished.

Then, tearing my eyes from the haunting, celestial view, I look across the table toward this woman I’ve just met.

Again, Ling’s training makes me analyze every detail I can glean from her body language, outfit and expression.

She’s had a hard life – that much I can read in her eyes. Yet, the young woman still sits with a straight, proud back – as if she’d been trained in proper etiquette from a young age.

There are thin lines on her face – not wrinkles from age, but lines drawn from years of constant anxiety. I know how that feels – the squirming edge, and bitter bite of never being able to relax. The young woman’s gaze constantly flickers around the room – just like mine does in every public space I enter.

What’s perhaps most telling is that we’ve both just been attacked – but instead of going to the shop’s infirmary, or reporting it to the security station, she and I went to a bar.

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