She found Porter Byrns sitting at a table in the mess hall with a small group gathered around him. He spotted the motion in his peripheral and looked up as she neared.
“Ah, there she is now! I was just telling everyone all about our latest addition.” Porter flashed his best shit-eating grin at her.
A few, small laughs rose from the people sitting at his table. Violet felt her cheeks flush red.
“I’d like a word with you,” she said in a smooth, calm tone that belied the fury boiling beneath her surface. She wanted to explode and drag this sorry excuse for a person out of the room by his throat, but it wouldn’t do to let those gathered around see how easily her emotions had been triggered.
“What is this about?” Porter asked innocently, as though he had no idea what might be upsetting her.
Despite Violet’s best efforts, she couldn’t keep it together any longer. “You know what it’s about!” She pounded the metal table with her fist, leaving a sizable dent behind.
The benches surrounding the table cleared. Men and women scattered to get free of the potential fallout. “Good luck with that one,” someone called out to Byrns as they retreated.
Porter watched his audience disband, a frown taking hold of his face, and then turned to the smoldering gaze of Violet Weaver bearing down on him.
“What? You can’t take a joke?” He dropped the innocence facade. “Took you long enough to figure it out.” He stood and scooped his tray off the table, walking toward the recycling receptacle. “Must be a busy day if the hot-blooded spacers are only now getting around to the rut.”
Violet followed him, intent on not letting him weasel away without claiming her pound of flesh, figuratively or literally. “Jokes are funny. I can take them just fine. What you did is just plain mean, and I won’t stand for it.” She stood with her arms crossed and stared Porter down, watching for any signs of a crack in his demeanor.
He placed his tray into the appropriate slot in the wall and turned back over his shoulder. “Well, try sitting down then, I guess.”
Despite being upset, Violet couldn’t help but titter at the terrible pun.
“See? I’m a funny guy,” Porter spun to face her, seeking to take advantage of the small opening her laugh had offered. He held his hands up, palms facing out toward Violet. “Look, it was just a little new guy initiation bullshit. Nothing personal… I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I promise. And I sure as shit won’t do it again.”
Violet cocked her head to the side and intensified her stare.
“What?” the man asked.
“That still wasn’t an apology.”
Porter sighed, as if to say nothing about this girl was going to be easy. “Fine, I’m sorry. I’m a terrible, hilarious, good-looking person, and I’m sorry.” He bowed low, prostrating himself before her, whether in jest or in earnest, it was hard to say. “There, is that better? Can we move on? Would you like to see where you’ll actually be staying?”
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Violet softened her glare. “Little dramatic, but it’ll do… Show me where I’m staying.”
Porter tsked her. “Touch bossy, isn’t she?” he asked as if someone else was standing there, but no one was. “Come on, your room is this way.”
Standard ship quarters turned out to be a pleasant seven by seven foot room with a door that opened and closed all the way and a full size bed that took up a decent portion of the room. She went to place her bag down but it wasn’t around her shoulders. In her haste to escape the apparent ship-wide orgy, she’d left it in the bump bunks.
“I’d wait until shift-change,” Porter suggested. “Just before dinner. Everyone’s usually finished up by then.”
Violet screwed up her nose at the thought of what was happening down there, and begrudgingly thanked Porter for his help before he left her alone to examine her new quarters.
Despite the improvement in her surroundings, a room was a room and a box was a box—nothing much to write home about. And so, with nothing else to occupy her time, she nodded off only to be awakened by the whistle for shift change. She yawned and stretched before rolling over and plopping her feet down on the floor. Her boots made a satisfying thunk against the military grade flooring.
She left with final look around her empty room.
Retracing her steps to the cargo hold was nerve racking. She passed several crewmen and couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact lest she recognize them from the bump bunks.
As she neared the hallway in the corner of the cargo hold, she paused, listening for any noises of two people still going at it, but she heard nothing. She composed herself outside the door with several deep breaths, and then, coaching herself along, she worked up the courage to storm the sordid bunk room.
The lights were dim overhead, casting most of the room into shadow. Not daring to look up for fear of seeing something she’d never be able to forget, she kept her head down, eyes glued to the floor. She didn’t remember exactly where she’d placed her bag, but she had a good general idea where it was. Before long she spotted it underneath the second bottom bunk. Whether she’d put it there or it had been shuffled there by the parade of horny feet, she didn’t care to discover. She thought she heard a noise coming from the end of the bunk room and grabbed at her bag, pulling it out and sliding it over her head in one smooth motion. Then she turned and all but ran from the bump bunks, wondering if the hand she’d grabbed her bag with was moist with her own sweat or something else.
She shuddered and fought down her gag reflex.
Sanitizer, she thought. That was what she needed. An industrial-sized barrel of sanitizer.
She returned to her quarters, slung the bag down—intent on not touching it again until she had thoroughly disinfected it—and then made her way to the woman’s facilities, walking just a hair slower than light speed.
She heard some activity back where the showers were, but no one was at the row of sinks. She plunged her hands under the automatically-triggered flow of water and palmed the sanitizer dispenser on the wall before scrubbing like she was about to perform surgery on a family member. A pleasant lavender scent filled her nostrils as she rinsed the foam off her hands.
Only when she’d applied a second lather of sanitizer did she allow her shoulders to relax and her ass to unclench.
Leaving the communal bathrooms, Violet wandered the ship’s halls, briefly considering sneaking up to the command level where the bridge and the colonel resided, but she’d had enough excitement for one day. Eventually, she wound up in the cafeteria heating up a pre-made ration pack. The remnants of the dinner that she’d missed still hung in the air and whatever the cook had prepared, it smelled delicious. She looked down at her ration pack and doubted that the meat substitute and colorless vegetable mash medley would be quite so tasty.
She choked down her food, if it could be called that, and made herself a promise not to miss regular meal times with fresh, professionally-cooked food ever again.
With nothing else to do, she returned to her room, collapsed onto the bed, and stared up at the blank grey ceiling until she fell asleep and dreamed of her first death again.