She didn’t know how long she’d been lying there, staring up at the metal grate on the underside of the bunk above her, when she heard the sounds drifting down the hallway. Muted whispers and laughs mixed in with noxious smacking noises. Violet had been to enough mixed-company parties without parental supervision to recognize the sound of a hookup in progress.

A glance at the time told her she must have drifted off at some point. It was afternoon. She’d missed lunch and her stomach was letting her know it.

As she listened to the sounds echoing out in the hall, she wondered how long she would have to lie there and wait for them to finish. Then the noises grew louder, and she jumped as the couple thudded into the wall directly on the other side of her bunk.

Her heart skipped a beat, and her cheeks flushed red when she realized what was going on. The couple wasn’t hooking up in the hallway, they were hooking up on their way to the bunks where she currently resided. She didn’t know what to do, and so she did nothing. She lay as still as possible, frozen in terror as the two lovers tumbled into the room and awkwardly shuffled down the row, only to fall on top of Violet as they attempted to use the bunk which she occupied.

Without breaking from their dance, they uttered unashamed noises of surprise and backed out of the bunk. “Looks like we’re not the first today,” the woman managed in between face sucks.

The pair moved down to the next open bunk and rolled over each other, giggling and groping all the while. The sound of buckles being undone drew the last straw for Violet.

So much for having the place to herself.

Just then she recalled the smug smile on Porter Byrns’s face as he’d uttered those very words, and she was filled with the anger and hatred of a thousand fiery suns.

The panting turned to moaning and Violet beat a hasty retreat, intent on finding Porter and handing him a piece of her mind.

Out in the hallway she was nearly run over by another couple hastily making her way to her quarters (the area on the ship known as the bump bunks, she would soon come to discover).

“What is it? Fuck-o-clock?” she muttered, spinning out of the way and continuing out into the cargo hold proper where yet another man and woman were making their way toward her quarters with a gleam in their eyes.

Violet stared at the dull, durasteel wall, its paint scratched and chipped in a hundred different places, in an attempt to avoid eye contact with the latest couple. These two may have actually been doing their jobs, she couldn’t tell, but so far it seemed that all crew members did down in the cargo hold was copulate.

Several different sets of initials were etched into the faded paint of the metal siding underneath the stairwell. Violet wondered if the people who had left them had been in love or just caught up in the thrill of a close-quarters romance.

She bounded up the grated spiral stairs two at a time, rehearsing how best to tell off Porter Byrns when she found him.

She was moving so fast, she didn't see the tall black man descending the steps and nearly slammed her head off his knee as she rounded the upward spiral.

The first thing she noticed were his green eyes, and then the short stubble that covered his face and the top of his head. A few moments passed, and she was staring now.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, managing to break off eye contact so maybe she wouldn’t seem like a complete dweeb.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

As he studied her with those dark, green eyes, his expression changed from one of irritation to something softer, if only just. “You must be new here,” he said.

“How could you tell?” she asked.

“You're not wearing a uniform, for one. And secondly, everyone goes through mandatory orientation their first day on board where they learn, in no uncertain terms, that spiral stairs are strictly one way modes of transportation, and that way is always down.”

Violet blushed a beet red. “I’m going to kill him,” she said, the words seething out from between her clenched teeth.

“Making friends already?” He smiled.

“Something like that.”

“I’m Virgil, by the way.” The man extended his hand and Violet shook it, transfixed by the way the veins stood out on his arm, bulging against his skin like they were trying to break free. She was pleased that he didn't try to crush her hand as some men tried to do—whether in a misguided attempt to impress her with their strength or for some other equally absurd reason, she couldn’t say.

Instead, it was Virgil who yelped and pulled his hand back, rubbing it as if he’d just touched a live wire. “Woah, there! You trying to kill me?” he asked, laughing nervously and perhaps only half-joking. “That's one hell of a grip you got there.”

Violet squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, hoping that maybe when she opened them she’d be alone in her quarters discovering the last ten minutes of her life had all been one embarrassingly bad dream. She peeked one eye open, keeping the other shut tight. Shit. The tall good-looking man was still there, and she was still blocking his way like the complete newb that she was. “I’m a total ogre,” she uttered, resigning herself to the reality that there would be no salvaging this first impression. “Let me get out of your way and release you from my foul presence.”

She twisted, nearly losing her balance, and her made her way back down the spiral stairs. The heavy footsteps of Virgil behind her echoed in the compact space.

They reached the bottom, and she turned to the handsome man one more time with a sheepish grin on her face. “So that was the only way in or out of the cargo hold that I was shown. Don’t suppose you care to show me how I’m supposed to get out of this dungeon?”

Virgil seemed to consider it for a moment and then took pity on her. “Come on, there’s a lift on the other side of the ship. One that goes up and down.” He leaned closer to her and whispered conspiratorially: “It’s what most people use to get around.”

She found herself leaning back into him as though magnetically drawn to him. “Thanks,” she whispered, catching a faint whiff of the pleasant scent he was wearing.

They both straightened back up and made their way across the cargo hold, weaving around various sized crates. “Who was it that left you stranded like this without knowing even the basics of ship etiquette?” Virgil asked.

“You really want to know?”

Virgil nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I want to make sure I don’t piss them off, whoever it is.”

Violet chuckled. “Colonel Webster’s aide, Porter Byrns. You know him? Catty tongue, slightly effeminate, prone to strutting when he walks?”

The tall man broke into a full belly-laugh. “That’s him all right. Yeah, everyone knows the Byrns. Had a feeling it was him.” He playfully smacked Violet’s arm with the back of his hand. “Don’t let him get to you. He razzes everyone when they first get here, but he’s mostly harmless—here you are.” They’d arrived at the lift.

“Thank you so much.” She started to leave and then stopped and turned back. “Just out of curiosity, how often are the guest quarters onboard usually booked up?”

He squinted, considering her question. “Rarely, and as far as I know they aren’t even close to being—wait, he didn’t…? He told you you were staying in the bump bunks?” He began to laugh and then stopped, trying to control his amusement. He shook his head. “Byrns really is a bastard, isn’t he?”

Violet regarded his amusement with a tight-lipped raise of her eyebrows as she really didn’t find the situation all that funny.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but—”

“Bump bunks?” Violet wondered aloud.

“Kind of the ship’s version of a lover’s lane. They never get used for anything else. The ship would have to be seriously overstaffed before anyone was actually assigned them for quarters. I’d wager a month’s wages that there’s plenty of standard rooms available that you can stay in.”

“Good to know,” Violet said. “I’ll be sure to bring it up when I find the smug bastard.”