Page 46 of Star Claimed Omega
Voices echoed distantly through the thin walls, arguing, laughing, crying, never quite silenced, joining the chorus of music, corner bars, and religious nutters.
At the end of the hall, nestled between rusting support struts and faded hazard signs, sat the berth door he searched for.
Dented, scraped raw from years of abuse, its paint had long since peeled away, revealing bare, scarred steel beneath.
Someone had once scrawled graffiti across it: warnings, gang names, or maybe just crude jokes.
A blinking access panel hung askew beside it, its cracked screen struggling to recognize clearance codes.
He knocked.
Once, twice, waited. Then a third time.
The door hissed into a crack, releasing the hiss of its seal as stale air escaped from within.
A single, wild, bloodshot eye glared out.
‘What?’ a woman’s voice screeched.
‘I’m looking for Soleil.’
The eye widened, then narrowed.
The door got pushed open, revealing a wedge of the view inside.
Santi stared at the woman in the doorway, who appeared disheveled, sporting wild-hued locs, mottled skin, and torn clothes.
Beyond lay a cramped two-room berth lined with patched insulation, scarcely holding back the cold of the outer hull.
This was survival space, nothing more. Functional, frayed, and forgettable.
‘The demon girl?’
His brow creased. ‘What?’
‘She spoke to things! They came from the vents, they’re still in the ducts!’
Santi took a calming breath, realizing he was dealing with a soul and mind that had long taken flight into fantasy. ‘Is she here?’
‘She left. Took her demons with her. Gone two nights ago!’
She tried to slam the door, but Santi’s foot blocked it.
He stared into her eyes, unleashing a storm of violet charge.
She yelped and then sank into the ground for a short nap.
She’d wake with no memory of him, but perhaps an echo of an amethyst-flamed demon.
Hell.
He swept the gloom of the hovel, activating a neural scan.
Violet glyphs arced from his eyes as he scanned the room.
The woman had spoken the truth; Soleil was not here.
Fokk.
