Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
But my Jerrok is busy and I don't want to be the reason he misses something important. With a sigh, I turn toward the lavatory. It's the last room left, and the lavatory itself is a project all on its own. There's a massive steam shower, toilets, sinks, and enough equipment for a contingent of eight, the capacity of a ship like the Sister. Each private room has its own small lavatory, but the showers in those are sonic.
This one's water, and the thought of a hot, steamy shower sounds amazing right now.
I hesitate for a moment and then look around for Sleipnir. He paces around the hall, sniffing along the cracks I just cleaned, and then paws at one.
I move forward, curious, and peer at the narrow space between the door and the hallway that's a handspan wide. I thought it was a slot for more bots, but Sleipnir seems very interested in it. I put my hand in—and touch cool metal.
I pull out a long-handled freestanding broom, shiny and chromatic, and Sleipnir's ears perk up.
"You," I scold, even as I screw the bottom of the broom off. "Such a naughty baby, aren't you? You smelled all that metal and wanted a snack." I pull the long handle off of the broom and hold it out for Sleipnir.
His powerful jaws immediately crunch around it and he races down the hall with his prize, no doubt off to find a bed where he can slobber on it in private.
I roll my eyes and head into the lavatory. Perfect time to shower, at least. The lavatory's just as gross as I thought it would be, but after living with three guys on board the Sister, I'm not entirely surprised at the state of it. Nothing here looks amiss either, right down to the finger smudges on the big mirror over the sinks. I shake my head in disgust at men, alien or otherwise, who don't know how to turn on a damn scrubber, and strip my clothes off.
I turn on the shower heads—all of them—and the room immediately begins to fill with steam. There's a wooden bench at the far end of the shower booth, and I sit on it, closing my eyes and letting the steam melt some of my worries away. It feels good in here, I realize, the heat easing some of the aches out of my body like a sauna, and I wonder absently if it'd be good for Jerrok to try. Maybe we need to get a steam shower back on our station.
Our station. Funny how I've decided it's half mine, though I don't think Jerrok would disagree. He'd give me the entire thing if it made me happy. I don't want anything but him, though.
Smiling, I open my eyes and get to my feet. The lavatory is filled with clouds of steam, the air thick and muggy. I glance over at the mirrors absently…and pause.
The mirrors are fogged up with condensation. In the condensation, someone's written something.
It's a message.
77
SOPHIE
I stare at the mirror in utter fascination. It's a message. Someone's left a message for us.
I just…can't read it. The lettering is unfamiliar to me, and I can't read mesakkah. Obviously this message was meant for someone to find. I gaze at the lettering, trying to make it out, and the symbol at the front looks vaguely familiar. I think that's the mesakkah honorific for “lord.” Is this…a name?
Jerrok will know.
Excited, I go to open the door to the bathroom, even though it's steamy and I'm still naked. It's not like there's anyone else on the ship anyhow. As I touch the handle, though, the door doesn't move. I frown, running my fingers along the edges, and discover that one of the wires connecting the door is broken, hanging limp next to the panel as if it's been cut. How did I miss that earlier?
Something moves in the steam behind me, and my heart plummets.
I'm not alone in this room.
My first instinct is to curl up in a ball and try to hide, but that's stupid. Whoever is in here knows that I'm in here, too. It's not like I've been quiet about it. I move away from the mirror, looking for something to use as a weapon. I can't find anything, and my searching hands move over smooth porcelain and metal, trying to twist knobs off or pull a handle free so I have something to use. The only thing I have is a towel. The moment I grab it, I hear the click of a blaster being armed, and the gentle whine of it firing up.
I freeze as the barrel moves next to my head.
"Who are you?" I ask. The words come out in English, which is silly, because this alien won't know English.
There's a squawk, and my translator chimes in. "Remain where you are."