catch of the day

Crouched in the corner of the crate was a small figure that blinked up at us, clearly dazed. He? She? It? Seemed little more than a bundle of rags, bony knees protruding from torn pants, pale skin mottled with scabs and bruises. A fringe of hair poked out from a cap jammed tightly down to huge dark eyes. It appraised us quickly, then the small mouth opened.
“M is here!” piped a high voice, a woman’s or girl’s, raspy with thirst and desperation.

Caban tightened his grip on his gun. “You’re trespassing.”
“Just passing!” the girl replied. Caban raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“What I mean to say,” he went on angrily, “is this is my ship, and you don’t belong here.”
“You don’t belong with this crate” she replied, truthfully, as it was stolen goods.
“Well. You still owe me what should have been in the crate.”
“Not a speck of cash. Not a speck!” the girl replied, picking at the ragged spots on her baggy shirt.
“A fine start at thieving” said Caban.
“We all get our start somewhere.” She replied shrewdly. At that moment the bay doors burst open on both sides and Ice and Kon ran in, guns drawn. The girl jumped in surprise but Caban stopped all movement with an upraised hand.
“We have a guest,” he said, “No cause for alarm.” He shot me a look, knowing I had pressed the alert, and in the look I saw the memory and forgiveness for all my past disobedience. “We’ll decide what to do once we’ve slept, clear? No sense shaking over this.”

Caban dismissed us and took the helm, telling me to take care of the guest before going to bed myself. I took the stowaway to the medbay, a stop clearly necessary. After wiping away the first layer of grime I saw a young woman emerge. She’s small, but older than I first thought, more than half my age at least. Too skinny, a common trait of boxriders and station heapers. Dehydrated, but something more…jaundiced. As she sat in the medbay, I tried to remember how to be gentle, how to talk to this stowaway…an experience we both shared. She looked at me with her smudgy eyes, taking in my vest and boots, the holster at my side and the bullet at my throat, my dark smooth hair and pale eyes not meeting hers. This one has seen a thousand women, and dismissed them all.
I am no more inclined to trust women than men. I do not trust this one, she is wild and we both know it. She mumbled to herself, chewing over my name after I gave it to her, focusing and unfocusing her attention. Not just jaundiced, then, but chemmed over. Like so many heapers and spacelings, this one appears to be a Chemmie recently removed from the source of her deviation and delight. This one will be trouble. Kon won’t want her aboard, Ice will seethe either way. Caban is soft-hearted, but won’t endanger us. I can’t bring myself to speak out against a stowaway, and something in her gaze begs for consideration.

I left her locked in the spare room across from mine, curled tightly on the bed there. When I left she was humming to herself. I cannot think this is unusual, for tonight I will read myself to sleep.