looked at Asala. Her face was cool as ever, but her stare shouted do not fuck this up loud and clear. “Have to have something to do for three weeks, right?” Niko said.
Cynwrig considered them. “Well, if you’re good with computers, perhaps you could take a look at the communications hub in my quarters. There’s some kind of minor malfunction with it.”
Asala looked up. “You too?”
The general raised her eyebrows. “Is there a problem I should know about?”
Niko shook their head. “Asala experienced a response lag with some of the interface panels. That’s usually due to a combo of faulty wiring and ex-atmo radiation. I can take a look at it.”
Cynwrig nodded, but her eyes had gone a touch harder, the look of a woman used to knives at her back. “And what else do you plan to do while we’re here, aside from your . . . hobby?”
Research for our mission was the answer, but Niko couldn’t . . . well, maybe they could. A rebellious impulse bubbled up, born out of the disgust they’d been trying to smother. Cynwrig had asked the question, after all. Might as well tell the truth. “Do you know who Uzochi Ryouta is?” What did I say about not fucking this up, Asala’s unblinking glare said.
“Of course,” Cynwrig said. She smirked as she chewed.
“She released this video series on one of the free-public channels,” Niko said. “About the Eratosi refugees.” They glanced at Asala, who had stopped eating. “I thought that since we’re on our way to talk about relief efforts, it might be a good way for me to better understand what they’re going through.”
“You’re going to Hypatia, are you not?”
“Yes.” Niko’s hands felt shaky, but in their head, their friends cheered them on. They looked Cynwrig dead in the eye. “But refugees are refugees. I figure all people suffer in pretty much the same way.”
Cynwrig did something truly disturbing: she smiled at Niko. An acid smile. A mocking smile. She took one more bite and stood. “If you’ll both excuse me,” she said. “I think I’ll finish my meal in my quarters.” Asala didn’t move. Her eyes watched Cynwrig exit the room, remained on the hallway until the lift took off, then swung hard back to Niko.
“What the hell was that?” she said.
“What the hell is this?” Niko said, gesturing around. “Why is she here?”
“We went over this already.”
“It was rhetorical! This is . . . this is ridiculous. How can you stand being here with her?”
Asala looked at the thick hull shielding them from the vacuum outside. “Where else would I go?”
“But—” Niko closed their eyes and shook their head. “What she’s doing to your people. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being around her. How can you?”
“It’s my job,” Asala said.
Niko stared at her. So neutral, so poised. When their father had come to them with this job and told them who they’d be accompanying, Niko had been elated. They’d expected danger, yes, and discomfort, sure, but not . . . not this. “What is wrong with you?” they blurted out. “Those people on her Marauder—”
“Keep it down.”
“You shoved them back in the hold. You looked—you looked annoyed by them.”
Asala squinted. “Has this been bothering you since then?”
“Yes! They’re your people. They’re dying. You made the same trip they—”
“Do not.” Asala’s voice was as sharp as the crack of a bullet. “Do not tell me what I did.”
Niko wet their lips. “Why don’t you care about them?”
Asala took the last of her bread and cleaned the sauce from her plate until it shined. “Are you armed, Niko?”
Niko was taken aback. “What?”
“Are you armed?”
“No, of course not. Why would I be armed?”
Asala began to clean up her spot. “You just shared a meal with two people who are.” The general’s pistol had been impossible to miss, but Niko hadn’t noticed a weapon on Asala, and they couldn’t see one now. Asala gathered her dishes and left the table. “In the future, that’s the kind of situation in which it pays not to piss anyone off.”
• • •
Would you say your name and position here for the camera?
My name is Apirka Amin, and I’m the ship’s captain.
Captain Amin, what are some of the biggest challenges you and your crew are dealing with right now?
Well, for starters, this is a ship designed for eight hundred people, not two thousand. The Khayyami government didn’t expect so many when they sent us out here.
You’ve done your best with the space you have.
That was all the Blue Hats. They came in and put up the privacy dividers in the cargo holds, and gave us the sleeping mats and whatnot. And the lavs.
Yes, the pop-up lavatories. We’re all well acquainted with them.
They’re god-awful.
I’d have to agree.
The ship has a sewage system, but again—
It’s built for eight hundred.
Right.
The Blue Hat volunteers provided the rations and basic hygiene items, too, right?
Yeah. They were pretty
