The next day was a series of annoyances for Kalan. Tessan showed up so early that only EM 2073 was available to go out and meet him. The robot dutifully accepted the package, confirmed the recipient information, verified the content of the little box as a data crystal, and ensured Tessan transferred the traditional half-pay upfront. When Kalan arrived on the bridge to start making arrangements for the rest of the day, Em handed him the box.

“What’s this?”

The robot stood in placid silence for a few seconds before he said, “A box.”

“I can see that it’s a box, Em. Where did it come from?”

“A man named Tessan Turial dropped it off this morning.”

Kalan muttered a curse beneath his breath. He’d meant to ask Tessan a few questions about Estra’s history. He supposed it would need to wait until another time. He tucked the box into an inner pocket on the hateful captain’s coat.

“Very well. Did he have any last-minute instructions?”

“Not as such, sir.”

“What does that mean?”

Kalan felt sure that if the robot was programmed to sigh, he would have done it then. A moment later, an eerily exact copy of Tessan’s voice boomed from Em.

“My fine robotic friend, I must prevail upon you. Tell your captain that his taste in wine is simply heartbreaking. He must, I repeat, must visit the Guralan vineyards on Hasen 5. Tell him to ask for Mistress Yena. He’s to tell her that I sent him to sample the Imperial Red. Not the substandard swill from five years ago, either. That batch from nine years back. That’ll make him a convert.”

“A wine tasting. He wants to send me on a wine tasting?”

“Shall I book an appointment at the vineyard, sir?”

Kalan squeezed the bridge of his nose. “No. Thank you, Em. Has Artex arrived with the cargo?”

“He has not.”

“Fantastic. Fine, I’ll go prep the cargo bay.”

“Sir, there is nothing to prep in the cargo bay. It’s empty.”

“Em,” said Kalan, “it’s been a frustrating day or so for me. I’m going to go and pace the decks until I feel better.”

“Of course, sir. Shall I alert you if Artex arrives?”

“Please.

Kalan walked off the bridge and began a slow walk down the length of his ship and back, down a deck, and repeat. He continued on in this fashion for the better part of an hour before Em reached out through the communication system.

“Sir? Do you have a moment?”

Kalan paused his relentless stride. “Yes. Has Artex arrived?”

“No. I’m sorry, sir. There’s someone outside that demands to speak with you. She’s rather,” Em apparently needed a moment to find the right word, “insistent.”

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know, sir. She just keeps saying that I need to get that good-for-nothing Captain Kalan out here to talk.”

Kalan tried to imagine who it could be, but finally just resigned himself. “I’ll deal with it. Thank you, Em.”

“Yes, sir.”

It only took a short walk down the passageway, up a few decks, and then out the lock before Kalan discovered that he also didn’t know the woman. He was quite sure he’d found the right woman because the minute he stepped off the ship, she limped up to him, grabbed his chin, and forced him to look her in the eyes. They were dark eyes, smoldering with anger.

“You the one they call Kalan?” She demanded.

He resisted the instinct to bat aside her hand and answered, “Yes. And you are?”

“I’m Fresia’s mother.”

A quick glance beyond the angry woman showed Fresia lurking guiltily and looking mortified by the scene her mother was making.

“I see,” said Kalan.

“Did you really think that I was going to let some stranger I’d never laid eyes on take my baby girl off in his ship?”

Kalan returned the woman’s look with one of equal intensity, if not as angry. “Frankly, I didn’t think about you at all. I was more concerned with saving her life at the time.”

Fresia’s mother glared up at him for the better part of thirty seconds, her gaze boring into him. Abruptly, like smoke carried away on a swift breeze, the anger vanished. With the anger gone, the woman looked somehow frailer. No, Kalan realized, she looked ill. He had to give Fresia credit. She wasn’t overselling it when she said her mother couldn’t work. Kalan wasn’t even confident the woman would make it back to her quarters unaided.

“Alright then,” said the woman.

Confusion blotted out all of Kalan’s other thoughts. “What? That’s it? You’re fine with her coming along, now?”

The woman gave him a wry smile. “I’m a lot older than you, boy. I’ve looked into a lot of men’s eyes. You can read everything you need to know in them.”

A kind of morbid curiosity overcame Kalan’s better judgment for a moment. “What did you read in mine?”

He read some pity in those eyes as she answered.

“Oh, you’re lost something good. Maybe more lost than any man I’ve ever met. But you’re also decent. Decent enough that my Fresia will be safe with you. Certainly safer than she’d be here.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“All of that from a look?”

She gave him an opaque expression he couldn’t translate before snorting a little laugh. “Of course not. I asked around about you. But I needed to see you with my own eyes to be sure.”

Kalan glanced back over at Fresia, who looked like she wished there was something to hide behind. “I won’t let any harm come to her that I can stop.”

“Don’t you mean you won’t let any harm come to her at all?”

“No one can promise that, and the universe is too unkind to let anyone keep a promise like that.”

“Isn’t that just the gods’ own truth,” she said with a nod before gesturing sharply at her daughter.

Fresia trudged toward them like a condemned prisoner on her final walk. She stopped in front of her mother but didn’t quite meet anyone’s gaze.

“Alright, Fresia. You mind what the Captain tells you. I don’t want to hear any tales of you wandering off or causing trouble. No stealing, do you understand me?”

Fresia looked up, sharp disbelief etched across her features. “What? You mean, you’re letting me go?”

“Of course, I am. The man offered you a job. You need one. Just needed to make sure he understood what kind of work a young woman will and won’t do.”

Fresia squinted at her mother in confusion before turning bright red. “Mother!”

“You hear me now, Fresia. This is an opportunity for you. Don’t waste it.”

Fresia stood up a little straighter. “Yes, mom.”

The old woman gave her daughter a smile, pulled her in for a brief hug, and then limped away without another word. Kalan stared after her. The whole encounter had perplexed him more than anything else. He shook his head and gave his attention to Fresia. She saw him looking at her, straightened again, and gave him some kind of salute.

“Ready to come aboard, Captain,” she half shouted.

Kalan found himself working very hard not to laugh at the girl. Her intentions were good, even in the results were silly.

“You ask permission to come aboard,” he corrected gently.

“Right,” she said. “I thought that sounded off.”

“Also, you don’t salute me, Fresia. That’s a military thing. We’re just a humble freighter.”

Not as humble as when I bought her, he thought. No, not nearly so humble at all. He glanced around for a bag of some kind. The floor around them remained bland, indifferent, and empty. He gave Fresia a questioning look.

“What?” she asked.

“Where are your things?”

“What things?”

“Your clothes? Personal items?”

“Sir?”

A slight rush of pink to her cheeks told him that he’d misunderstood her. She hadn’t meant what items. She’d meant she didn’t own anything to bring. Kalan added another item to his to-do list with a mental sigh.

“We’ll see to that later. I will need your banking informa…” he trailed off as her face went bleak. “Right.”

Kalan turned and looked at his ship for a moment to give the girl some breathing room. Fresia stepped up next to him and gazed up at the ship in something like awe.

“What’s its name?” She asked.

“Her,” he said automatically. “Ships are always her. This is the Ankala Rising, but we just call her Kala.”

“Who’s Ankala?”

“It’s an old legend. Remind me sometime when there’s nothing to do and I’ll tell you the story. In the meantime,” he said, eying her, “we need to get you sorted.”

Kalan took her back onto the station proper and went to the same store where he’d purchased his coat. It was run by a hard-faced woman named Khem. She greeted them with a stare so stony that even Kalan didn’t try to meet it for long. He explained that Fresia needed a few functional outfits. The woman nodded before she took Fresia off to the side and, in marked contrast to her face, gently poked, prodded, and measured the clearly uncomfortable girl. Fresia was promptly sent to a back room with an armload of clothes. The woman eyed Kalan as he idly fingered a bolt of soft, black cloth.

“How’s the coat?” She asked stepping closer to peer at a slightly discolored spot.

“Effective. Worth every credit. Saved my life twice. I just wish it wasn’t so,” he broke off.

“Silly?” She supplied.

“Yeah.”

She shrugged. “Fashion often is silly. What’s her story?”

It was Kalan’s turn to shrug. “New crew member. She showed up with nothing but the clothes you saw her wearing.”

“What? Just those,” she turned a glare on Kalan. “You have me give her those work clothes. No, you must buy her something beautiful.”

“For working on the ship?” He asked, confounded by the words.

“For her soul, fool.”

Khem stalked away, muttering, and disappeared into the back. Kalan heard drawers or doors being forcefully closed. Then, he heard Khem’s voice. “No, no, take that off. You’ll wear this.”

There were more words he couldn’t make out, followed by several minutes of silence. Khem reappeared and came to stand by Kalan. She directed another of her stony glares at him.

“Now,” she said. “Now, you will see.”

Fresia stepped out from the back of the shop and Kalan froze in place. The waifish thief was gone. Khem had put her in a sleeveless dress that transitioned from a nearly black blue at the shoulders down to a shade of blue he’d only ever seen on a colony moon. There were endless ice fields on that moon precisely that color. Fresia no longer seemed thin, but slender and hauntingly ethereal. Her expression was no longer bleak or hunted or desperate. She was transformed, radiant in the sense of her own beauty. She shot a bittersweet smile at Kalan. She thinks she has to give it back, he thought. He glanced over at Khem who looked almost wistful and the tiniest bit smug.

“Fine, she can have it” he conceded, “but she needs the work clothes, too. It’s a cargo ship for the gods’ sake. And pack it at the bottom or she won’t stop talking about it the rest of the day.”

Khem nodded and, after complimenting Fresia, ushered her back to the changing room. She came back with the clothes and packed them into a ship’s bag that she apparently just had lying around. Kalan paid the woman and tried not to count up how much hiring this girl was actually costing him. Khem came out from behind the counter and gave Kalan a professional look. She stepped in closer, far closer than Kalan let most people get. Her usually hard gaze softened as she looked up at him.

“The coat might look silly on others, but it doesn’t look silly on you,” she said, fingering one of the buttons. “What you’re doing for her, it’s a good thing.”

Then, Khem left him speechless as she went up on her toes and brushed her lips against his. As unsettled as the moment left him, it didn’t seem to bother her at all. It was only much later that Kalan realized how irrational that thought had been. She gave him a small, amused smile, then settled back into something like her usual demeanor. He eyed her a little warily and, if he was being honest, a little intrigued.

“Nothing to say?” she asked.

Kalan shook his head, not trusting any words that might fall out of his mouth at that moment.

“Good,” said Khem. “Most men talk too much. Come see me when you are here next. I might let you buy me dinner.”

Kalan thought carefully before he answered. “I will.”

In what Kalan felt was surely a gesture of divine pity, Fresia came out from the back wearing boots, pants, and a light jacket over a comfortable-looking shirt. The look of radiant joy was gone, but she seemed happier and more confident. He silently handed her the bag.

“Where are your old clothes?”

Khem chimed in. “I will burn them. Cast out their bad energy.”

Freesia nodded emphatically and Kalan, deciding he didn’t really want to know that badly, let it go. As they left the shop, he gave Khem a speculative look over his shoulder. She simply lifted a hand in absent farewell. They made a few more stops for things Kalan or Fresia considered necessities. Finally, they landed back at the bank. The guards gave Fresia chilly side-eye looks, but let her in without comment. Fresia only understood banks in the most general way, so it took nearly an hour to get her set up with an account, set up the rent payments, and ensure some of what was left of her pay went to her mother. To her credit, Fresia asked a lot of questions. To the teller’s credit, she answered them all with tremendous patience.

Once it was all done, Kalan sent Fresia outside to wait while he did some banking. Once she was out of earshot, he turned his attention back to the teller. “Thank you for being patient with her.”

The teller offered a surprised smile and said, “Not at all. I never do anything but move money from here to there for people. No one ever asks me anything. It was fun to look smart.”

“Fair enough.”

Then, Kalan had the teller set up an automatic transfer from his personal account to Fresia’s mother’s account that doubled what Fresia was able to give. Kalan knew what food cost on the station. What Fresia could contribute wasn’t enough, even for someone frugal. He imagined there would be some wounded pride later, but he could weather that storm with excuses or vague comments about paying him back when Fresia’s mother went back to work. The last thing he needed was for the girl’s mother to starve to death while Fresia was away with him. He wasn’t sure anyone would weather that storm.