familiarity

Stowing away must be one of the most oft-repeated stories in this world we've made, in every new age there are those who simply do what they must do to move on, to move ahead.

I cannot describe the thoughts that ran their way through my mind as I sat hunched in the crate that I had stowed myself in. It was inconceivable that I had actually gotten that far at all, with a handful of food and water, a pocket light of coin, a head full of doubts. It was inconceivable that I was in a ship, in space, no one knowing where I had gone. My grandparents dead…try as I might, I can’t stop doing idiotic things when I am grieving.

It is terrifying, that uncertainty. Sitting in the dark, waiting. What if I were discovered and jettisoned? Taken to some warehouse and sold? Or if no one came, how long until I would emerge on my own? I didn’t know what to expect, I didn’t know what to do. Even now I can’t be sure how long I crouched there, until suddenly I heard a loud grating sound and the top of the crate popped off. I stared up into the brightness and saw a face smiling down at me.
“Surprise!” it said. Then it laughed at how foolish I must have looked, the deep chortle did nothing to reassure me. A fleshy hand reached down and helped me out of the crate. “Just so you know,” said the man, “I’ve known you were there since we left Earth. Thought I’d give you a bit of time to get adjusted. And believe me, its better that I found you than anyone else. I’ve got a soft spot for boxriders, I stowed away when I was a little girl, too.” He laughed again. “I’m Ollie.”
I introduced myself, barely clutching at my wits. Ollie took me by the shoulder and began to lead me out to the bridge. “Don’t be nervous, girl! I got your back!”
I took his advice until we set foot on the bridge, and a multitude of strangers turned to me. When Ollie announced me, there was a sudden hush, and then a woman stepped forward and locked me down with her eyes. She was my height, bony, with brownish-blond hair and a weary expression. Pistols hung at her hips, and the rank marks of her military jacket had been cut raggedly away.
“I am Lt. Sandy Havers. This is my ship, and you’re trespassing.”

I remember her exact words, but I don’t remember mine. I said something, a string of somethings, I am sure they sounded frantic and hollow. Her eyes didn’t soften, but her hand relaxed on her holsters.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Junkheap, kid. How old?”
“Sixteen.” Caught in my first lie, and even with the second answer she looked skeptical.
“What do you propose to do?”
“I’m a navigator.”

Then she quizzed me, testing my knowledge of different systems and controls. Suddenly I realized that she was, in truth, treating me like an adult. I did not know then how incredible this was. I must have passed the test, because she bit her lip and looked at me carefully.
“Waller?” she said loudly, and the thin man behind the controls spoke in reply.
“Heap me if she flies this ship.”
“Terence?” Havers said, still looking at me but managing to ignore me. The dark-skinned man sitting behind her grunted. “Fine. Don’t care.”
Ollie cleared his throat and announced that he liked me, and wanted to keep me.
Havers pressed the com unit on a control board. “Nawra?” she said, her voice echoing strangely through the ship. “Nawra, we got us a stowaway.”
After a moment, a high, girlish voice came back over the com. “Trouble. Too much bother.”
Havers smiled, briefly. “Need a job, kid?” she asked.
“Whatever you can give me.” I replied. Finding a job is easy if you don’t care what it is you’re doing.