Inti’s Satellite, Medical and Edification Area
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The air had a metallic, almost fake smell to it. Peter wasn’t sure how someone could make fake air, or why, but that’s what it smelled like. Maybe he was just too used to fresh Texas air, and was in a city hospital.
He pushed himself to his elbows, opening his eyes after a yawn.
“Hello,” a soft female voice said. “Please state your name.”
“Serge- Ped- Peter. Peter Lopez. Ma’am,” he stuttered, rubbing his face. He still wasn’t awake enough to answer complicated questions.
“Thank you, Peter Lopez. Please verify that all your fingers and toes move.”
Peter stopped. He finally looked around the room.
It was completely white. There was a bed, which he was in, a table with a glass and pitcher of water on it, and nothing else. No people, no windows, no door. There were creases in the walls in odd places, but no doorknob. Looking up, all he saw was two bars of light inset into the white ceiling.
“Hello?” he called, sliding his feet off the bed.
“Please verify that all your fingers and toes move,” the voice repeated. It came from above; from the lights.
He wiggled his fingers and toes. “Yep, they move.”
“Thank you.”
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“Thank you,” the feminine voice said. “Now please stand and state if anything hurts.”
Marie watched the ceiling suspiciously. “I’m nearly sixty years old,” she told the lights. “Something is going to hurt. If it doesn’t, I’m dead.”
“Please stand and state-”
“Yes, fine, I’m standing,” she snapped, getting to her feet.
As always, her left knee objected to moving. Her lower back felt sore, and her scalp itched. Other than that, cold feet, a bruise on her arm, and a twinge in her hip as she took her first step of the day, nothing was wrong. She told all that to the ceiling.
“Thank you. Please remove your clothes for cleaning.”
Marie’s hands closed around her weapons. “Say that again?”
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“Please remove your clothes for cleaning,” the voice repeated.
Sophie looked around, hugging her arms to her chest. “No.”
“This is a necessary part of the process,” it said, perfectly calm. “Would you prefer if the room were darker?”
Sophie pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself. “What process?”
“The process of preparing you to meet your group. You will wish to look your best.”
“My group?”
“Yes, the group of people you will be working with.”
Sophie looked at the section of the wall she suspected was a door. “Are there good-looking men in my group?”
The voice didn’t answer for a few seconds. “The group consists of two men and two women. As I do not know what you would consider good-looking, I cannot say if you would find them attractive.”
“That’s fair,” she said thoughtfully. “I can keep my purse with me, yes?”
“It will get wet.”
Sophie hesitated. “Wet?”
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Razan stepped out of the “shower area”, feeling cleansed and ready to meet the Divine Being who had brought him here.
He wasn’t stupid, he knew he was going to be a servant or in some menial position, but surrounded by this much luxury he didn’t care.
As if by magic, a part of the wall went up. Behind it was a glass of blue liquid and a toothbrush.
“Please clean your teeth and rinse your mouth out with the liquid,” the goddess ordered. “Do not drink the liquid.”
Razan bowed, as was proper, and took the brush. The blue liquid was absolutely vile, but as this was the first unpleasant thing here, he did his best to not act disgusted. A minute later, his teeth were clean.
“Your clothes are ready,” the goddess announced. “You may return to the first room and dress yourself.”
“Thank you,” Razan said, bowing again.
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Peter sniffed his clothes. They smelled wrong. From the day he got them, they’d always smelled like dust and sweat. Sure, he’d cleaned them from time to time, but you don’t waste water on clothes out in the desert unless it's absolutely necessary.
But now they smelled like someone had tossed a bouquet of flowers and a bag of sugar into a tub of lye with them. The fancy soap and hair stuff had been bad enough; would everything here end up literally smelling of roses?
He sighed, then shrugged with a slight smile. Well, there were worse things to smell like. And he’d smelled like many of them.
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Marie adjusted her belt, noticing it was clean, too. Out of curiosity she pulled the cutlass out of its scabbard, and her eyebrows went up as she saw it shine. The old metal now reflected her face like a mirror. Without touching it, she could tell the blade was sharper. A few familiar notches showed it was hers, but it was as good as a well-used sword could be.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Interesting.
Marie couldn’t decide if them sharpening her cutlass was good or bad. Returning it at all was good, but sharpening it implied they wanted her to fight.
“When ready, you may go to the main room for food,” the voice said.
“Not yet,” Marie said, pulling a pistol off her hip. She wanted to see if they’d cleaned all her weapons.
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With an air of ownership, Sophie walked through the door and into the Main Room.
It was a long rectangle, with padded brown couches at the near end, a square oak table with four simple chairs in the middle, and what must have been a kitchen at the far end. Along the pale blue walls there were more seams and indents. Sophie spotted five doors aside from hers.
Most importantly, there was a man at the table eating a boiled egg. An Oriental man, in odd Oriental clothes. He stopped fiddling with the egg and stared at her, confusion on his face.
Sophie nodded politely. “Good day,” she said, and walked to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” the man said softly, in accented but clear English, and looked back at his egg.
Sophie got to the kitchen and looked around. There was a grate in the ceiling here, with a faint breeze moving towards it. Directly below the grate was a counter with several unknown appliances. To the left was a sink and faucet, with a bar of soap on a tiny drying rack attached to the wall. To the right of the appliances stood a tall square box. Drawers and cupboards filled the space under the counter.
Aware the man was watching her, Sophie took a deep breath. Logically, the sink would be placed on the opposite end from the food. The drawers closest to water would have cleaning supplies, while tea and dried spices would be furthest away. Silverware, cups and plates would be in the middle.
Logically. Probably.
Moving confidently, she opened a cupboard and found mugs and plates. She chose one of each and put them on the counter. Pulling open a drawer, she found silverware. One of each item joined the plate, and she moved to the tall box.
A wave of cold air hit her as she looked at milk, eggs, an assortment of fruit, a few tomatoes and onions, two jars of jam, six bottles she couldn’t identify, and butter.
Butter and jam implied there was bread. She pulled them out, along with the milk, and looked for a square drawer.
There were two. The first she opened had tea, coffee, powdered chocolate and sugar in it. After taking out chocolate and sugar, she tried the second drawer.
Bread. A loaf of pre-cut wheat bread, to be precise.
Behind her, there was the sound of a door opening and a few footsteps.
Sophie turned to see a tall black woman in faded trousers and an alarming number of weapons. The woman frowned slightly, scanning the room.
“Hello,” Sophie called, smiling brightly. “I’m just making toast, would you like some?”
The woman’s gaze focused on her, and the frown turned suspicious. Sophie focused all her energy on portraying “amiable idiot” as she held up a few slices of bread.
Suspicion faded. “Yes,” the woman said with a distinct French accent. “Thank you.” She walked towards Sophie with determined, surprisingly quick steps.
“Excellent,” Sophie said cheerfully, and looked at the appliances.
She prayed one of them could be used to toast bread.
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Razan finished his egg and looked up questioningly.
“Please put food residue in the garbage disposal beneath the sink, and dirty utensils in the sink,” the goddess said.
He bowed, getting to his feet.
The two women, who had been discussing the merits of chocolate with vs without sugar, looked up at the words then over at Razan.
He wasn’t quite sure what to do. He’d been the first one here this morning, but the white… girl? woman? …woman knew the kitchen well, as if she’d been here for days. Did that indicate she was in charge? And the black woman, clearly the oldest here, looked like she would use one of her many weapons on anyone who disrespected her.
He wished he could ask the goddess what to do, but in their presence that would be rude, and they spoke Japanese. Not perfectly, of course. They had distinct accents, and some phrases were odd, but they were speaking his language.
Or perhaps they were all speaking and understanding some new Divine language. Either way, they would understand if he asked anything aloud. He couldn’t risk it.
Instead he picked up the spoon, eggshells, and cup, and walked as quietly as possible to the sink. The women watched him, silently stirring liquid in their cups. Razan bowed slightly as he approached them, then focused on getting all his eggshells into the box under the sink.
Thankfully, at that moment a new door appeared, and a thin man in a cowboy outfit strolled into the room. He looked around, saw the group, and beamed.
“People!” he declared, and walked over to them. He took his hat off with a flourish and bowed. “How d’you do, my name’s Peter, it’s a pleasure to meet y’all.”
His manner of speaking was nearly painful to Razan, but it was polite. He bowed, not afraid to look this one in the eye. “I am Miyamoto Razan, pleased to meet you as well.”
“Sophie,” the white woman said with a smile, making a bobbing motion that wasn’t quite a bow. “Would you like some chocolate? There’s also coffee, if you prefer.”
“I do prefer, thank you miss,” Peter said, putting his hat back on. He looked at the black woman, smiling.
“Marie,” she said, looking him in the eye. “Marie LeFleur.”
Peter took a breath to say something, stopped for a quarter of a second as his smile faltered, and brought it back to ask “Captain LeFleur?”
Razan saw her free hand touch the hilt of a dagger on her belt.
“Aye,” she said, not breaking eye contact.
Peter didn’t flinch. “You prefer chocolate to coffee? Or are you just drinking the fancy drink ‘cause it’s fancy?”
The tension broke, Marie’s hand relaxing. “I prefer tea, but if the fancy drink is free I’ll happily down ten cups a day.”
Peter and Sophie both laughed at that. Razan finally put his spoon and egg cup in the sink.
“I’ve only ever had tea,” he said carefully.
“Really?” Sophie asked. “Would you like me to make you some coffee and chocolate?”
“I can make two cups of coffee,” Peter said, looking at the things on the counter. “Well, I could, if I knew which of these contraptions was a coffee pot.”
“I believe it’s this one,” Sophie said, pulling forwards a glass pitcher with a mesh plunger in it. Then she pointed at a metal pitcher. “That one boils water, so put dry coffee in this one then pour in hot water and wait a bit?”
“Sounds about right,” Peter said, nodding. “Any grub in this place?”
Razan stepped away, wondering if he could go back to his room and ask some questions.
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Peter finished his fourth slice of toast with egg, second cup of coffee, the best orange he’d ever had, and decided he’d eaten enough for one meal.
He wasn’t hungry, but life had taught him to always eat as much as possible. There was more food, so a part of him wanted to keep eating. But another part of him suspected whatever was going to happen next was waiting for him to finish breakfast.
So he picked up his cup and plate, taking them to the sink.
Marie, who was rinsing out the pot Sophie had made chocolate in, glanced at him.
“Which side did you fight for?” she asked, her voice low and calm.
Peter smiled amiably, leaning against the counter. “The side that didn’t buy muskets from pirates.”
“The winning side, then,” she said, setting the pot in its place and stepping back.
Peter shrugged. “Is there ever a winner in war?”
Marie looked him dead in the eye, and he got the sense she knew everything. Or at least enough. He should have just said yes.
“Attention,” a new voice from the ceiling said. “Please go through the door that is now opening. A presentation has been prepared which will explain your purpose here.”
Peter looked over as a section of the wall drew back. He put his dishes in the sink, making a mental note to clean them later, and followed Marie to the door.