Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
“Oh, okay, I understand. I’m sorry. Maybe I can pay for that myself so he doesn’t have to be bothered.”
“The bill for damage of that nature is in the tens of thousands,” he says. “Humans usually travel with a few hundred for,” he pauses again, perhaps trying to remain un-rude, “snacks.”
“It’s that much?” My blood runs cold. I wasn’t thinking about costs. One credit is at least ten thousand dollars. Tens of thousands of credits is… way more money than I will ever see in my life. “Don’t you have insurance? I mean isn’t—”
He uses one of his hands to pull a little comms table out of his vest pocket. I don’t know what he’s typing, but I do know that I’m not going to like it.
There’s a brief pause, in which I try to think of something to say that will make this go away.
He glances up from his device.
“I have informed your employer. He will cover the cost.”
“He will? He knows?”
“Yes. He knows, and he’s agreed to cover the replacement. He did ask that we put you in a more suitable set of accommodations. If you’d like to get your bag and come with me…”
I follow the guard. I don’t really have much choice. The room I was in was small and pretty plain. I wonder what more suitable accommodations means.
We go down several sets of stairs, which doesn’t feel good. The stairs stop being solid and sleek and start being the metal grille thing you can see through to the ground below, which also doesn’t feel like a good thing.
“Am I being put in the brig?” I ask the question nervously, hoping for some kind of reassurance.
“Not quite,” he chuckles in a way I do not find reassuring at all.
“Here we are,” he says, reaching a point of the ship that I would confidently categorize as nowhere at all. It’s literally a hall next to the mesh walkway, and below that is a kind of angular spiderweb of even more walkways going even further down into God knows what.
“Where we are?” I repeat his words with a different question that makes the whole exchange make much less sense.
He reaches into the wall and opens a door I didn’t know was there because at best it looks like a locker and at worst it just looks like a grated wall. With the door open, I can see into a relatively small space that makes the room upstairs seem palatial by comparison.
The light inside reveals a plastic mattress on the floor, what I hope is not a litter box, because if it is I will lose my mind, and a bowl of water on the floor.
“This is a kennel,” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “It is designed to keep the pets of traveling dignitaries. It is escape-proof and chew-proof and there are very few opportunities for mistaking expensive panels for storage lockers.”
“I’m not a pet,” I say. “I am a human being. We are recognized sentient…”
“Your employer has asked that you be transported in more secure environs,” he says. “This is our most secure room. Would you like to go in, or would you like me to put you in there?”
I stare at him. I think about asking to see a manager. I think about how much worse that could make this conversation, actually. Fuck. I am going to have to get into the kennel.
“How am I supposed to stay alive in there for days? Humans have to eat and drink all the time,” I say. “We’re basically constantly taking in water and calories.”
“You will be fed and toileted every few hours as is appropriate for your species,” he says, gesturing to the cramped interior.
“I wouldn’t like to get in,” I say. “I’d like to stay out.”
“You’re required to get in, I am afraid,” he says. “The extent and value of the damage you’ve done makes you a liability in shipping terms.”
“Is that even a bed in there?”
“That’s a thick plastic mat that can be wiped down if you find yourself unable to restrain any destructive urges.”
I thought I was going to get away with this, but I seem to have got myself into a worse position than if I was put into the brig.
“I need exercise,” I tell him. “I can’t be cooped up for days and days on end. I’ll go mad, and then I’ll be worth absolutely nothing to my employer and I might even be considered damaged during shipment, and I imagine that would be very bad…”
“You’ll be safe enough,” he says, grabbing me with three of his arms, using the fourth to prop the kennel door open, and tossing me in.
He shuts it immediately, and I hear the unmistakable sound of an alien lock engaging.
“Fuck me,” I curse to myself, setting my bag down on the plastic bed. There’s enough light coming in through the grates to keep the place illuminated, so that’s some small blessing. An orangey-red hue lights my face in slitted lines as I experience my first full light speed engine from the luxury of the bilge.