Relief breathes through the showers, coolness. Hella fills her lungs with its breath; a task has been assigned to her by the best person who could have given the assignment—step one, complete. The counter, counting down until someone finds her to be a stowaway—the guillotine which hangs over her head by a fraying rope—resets. Hella smiles; another hour to spend free from the cargo chambers.

"Thank you," she says. Her toes dig against the grout and grain between the shower tiles. "Thank you for trusting us to the washing of the ogress, Chief Alice."

The chief is taken aback by this—there's no mask or helm on her face, so the slips, the gaps showing emotion, reveal the interior and her soul and thought. Perhaps new-hires from other planets need to be broken. Perhaps the steward-turned-chief, from wherever her hail of space floats, has never spoken with an Earthling. Perhaps Chief Regard warned her, as the woman warns every foreigner, of her settlement's people. Hella can use the subversion of expectation for a little favor—the chief should see firsthand how far Earthlings are willing to go.

"No problem, recruit. Carry on," she says.

Hella stands there for a while. There are two ways to do this; watching her brothers speak with Sawyer, there are two halves to this plan. Hella must accomplish hers before they finish the giant woman's cleaning.

"What is it?" Alice asks. "Why are you standing so close? The showers are designated break rooms—rules don't allow me to exert my authority, but understand, I am tired and I want to be alone."

"But there is another task I believe I can assist with."

"Do you?" Stools sit in the cubicles embedded across the wall. Alice pulls one, unfolding the plastic with a snap. She sits. The bin beside her fills with water; Alice squirts soap inside, then swishes her hand around until the substance foams. "We will be assigning you tasks throughout orientation."

"The task is one of importance and—"

"Orientation," Alice repeats. "While I cannot officially command you away from me, I do ask, as a person, that you step away. Far."

"But—"

"Wait outside the showers if the task is so serious. If not, go to my room, as I instructed." She pauses, looking at her helm. "As I instructed in the lockers, prior to both of us stepping inside a designated break room."

Hella takes a breath. Her boldness takes her to a place hard for her to stand and to a place which feels like groveling. "Have I done something wrong?" she asks.

Alice scoffs.

"Your curtness, while justifiable by your position as chief, is different from how we first met you. At the gangway to the crowd, you were all smiles and upbeat tones. Have we exhausted you already?"

"I was on the clock and I'm not your mother."

Hella pauses. Feigning disappointment on her face eases Alice's own. Hook-line—Hella says, "Have we not met you?"

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Alice looks up into the eyes of the stowaway. Something in both their eyes sit beside sincerity, but other intentions stand, choked and cramped like crowds or armies. Hella parses through the woman. By the woman's words, minutes before, the scan brought no mention of Hella being stowed away. While a wish of Hella's, this impossibility would drive Hella to delusion if left in her mind to simmer. The chief knows her to be a stowaway. This fact must be at her mind's forefront. Any other belief would, before long, make her believe herself to be a proper steward. This can not happen.

Because when the day comes and a steward says, "You are not one of us," she can not be amongst those in the confusion. She can not look around and say, "But I have been here so long and have done so well. I am one of you. I am also surprised that I have stowed away." Safety sits further, beyond the horizon. Because of this, assuming the chief knows the truth is best. Assuming the chief lied about the all clear, for some reason, is best. And, in a way, these assumptions ease her mind. These assumptions will not allow her to rest.

Alice points to the stools. Hella pulls one and sits.

"You met an exaggeration," Alice says. "A caricature—a skill you will learn as an asset of Ulysses Corp. You met me, you met an exaggeration, and now you're speaking to the coin's other end: an exhausted woman."

The exhausted woman sticks her towel into the wash bin and lathers her cloth with foam and water. The towel goes on her neck, back, beneath her breasts and under her arms. Hella does the same. Hella dips her towel into the woman's wash bin. Alice doesn't comment, but her face shows the shock: parted lips, raised brows, and a 'Wh—' sound from her throat.

Hella's plan begins with washing the feet of her superiors.

"Chief Regard," Hella says, shutting Alice to silence. "She was your contact with my settlement. I was her assistant. I assisted her a great deal."

Shock still grips the steward.

"You and I have spoken before today," Hella says. "More than my fears would let me say, but never with my name—always with Regard's. Because of this, because of the electronic mail passed between your settlement and mine, I know more than my fears will let me say. But I am not afraid of saying this—Regard will not act as an assisting leader. She will not help you control us. The promises will go unfulfilled, and I assume she told you this as soon as she passed you on the gangway."

The towel wraps her thumb, and her thumb goes between each of the woman's toes. Her palm circles the back of the heel then indulgently glides up the flesh of her calf before retreating downward.

"She did tell me that," Alice says.

"Regard hates lying," Hella says. "But she hates Earth more."

Alice takes a deep breath. Her toe curls when this happens, and Hella's hands hover in the air a little, then hover below the woman's sole. A lump in Alice's throat moves from her jaw to her collarbone.

"Your worries were palpable," Hella says. "But we're finally safe and aboard—this reality strikes me still, as it will you, after a night of rest. So now for the next part—there are a lot of us who will work, but some of us will not, registered or not. You and your sector put all your bets on the Earthlings, I know. So, you cannot take too many losses on the investment. Am I wrong?"

Hella presses into the woman's sole some more. Her exhalation escapes, forced by Hella's hand.

"Am I wrong about the desperation, Chief?"

The chief doesn't move, but her head shakes once. Hella smiles, pressing into the spot the chief likes, as the messages say.

"Give me a trial-run," Hella says. "I assisted Chief Regard a great deal; the Earthlings of my settlement know my face as much as hers—I can play the role."

With deftness of a masseuse, Hella continues on until Alice's head becomes light. Alice doesn't answer Hella's request. Hella chews the inside of her cheek throughout. This woman may say the scans are all clear, but she knows Hella stowed aboard. And Hella knows this. But both keep all they know to the chest—Hella presses on.