Aurelia
The shuttle arrives at our apartment at exactly 5am. Enea has packed six bags to the absolute brim, but the driver, a sharply dressed man, forces her to choose only one.
Of course, they have to take our possessions away. We can’t even keep that in our new life.
After much complaining and wailing about the bag situation (to no avail), we climb into the shuttle. It’s spacious enough so that I can sit beside Enea and still avoid her mascara tears.
“Please don’t tell me the whole cruise ship looks like this.” She whimpers.
The seats are made of baby blue leather, the windows are tinted pink, and the trim is soft lemon. Someone decided to take the candy aesthetic to a whole new level.
Stealthily, I pull out my phone and search it up.
Images of a trippy paradise appear, as well as The Marillion advertisements that used to circulate these planets a hundred years ago. If I thought the car was over the top, the actual starship is an opioid’s dream.
“My gods, look!” Enea reaches over and clicks on one of the advertisement videos, “it’s your new hubby!”
“Stop it!” I go to close the video, but the flashing scene catches my attention.
There he is. The lunatic himself. The mentally-unwell-yet-still-somehow-operates-an-entire-fleet captain.
The kinda hot captain, even with his oversized red glasses.
What the fuck, Aurelia?
“Oh, my godssss.” Enea squeals, wiping her mascara tears with her sleeve as she dissolves into giggles, “I completely forgot he’s your type!”
“In like seventh grade!”
“I remember them showing us these videos in class! Don’t you? You always loved to watch Illion, with his soft blond hair, and those big crimson glasses and that dimply smile-”
“He’s insane!” I protest, “literally insane!”
But I don’t stop the video. This is too enamouring to watch. I can’t actually be marrying this guy, can I?
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Who cares if he’s crazy,” Enea throws her hands up, “he’s cute!”
I stab a finger at the screen. “No one in their right mind dances around a spaceship looking like that!”
“Come on, his suit is a vibe.” Enea snataches my phone, and then shoves it in my face again, with a video of Illion spinning around and waving some sort of ray gun.
His suit is a vibe I guess, if you’re into strawberry styled clothing and boots done up with rainbow strings, and massive, oversized crimson glasses that cover half your face.
“I’m not into weirdos anymore.” I sniff.
“But he’s hot!” Exclaims Enea, “and you’re married! Get over it!”
The video shifts abruptly to a new location, with pipes lining the ceiling and a narrow path winding along a dark pool.
“And this is where we throw anyone who misbehaves!” Illion grins, and points to a dark whirlpool over the edge of the path.
“Just kidding!” He laughs maniacally and the video cuts to a cheerier scene of kids playing ping pong.
“This guy is fucking crazy.” I whimper, “crazy. We’re all going to die. The engine’s going to implode, and he’ll just be dancing to cereal adverts on the bridge.”
Enea shrugs and hands my phone back to me. “Maybe cryosleep helped. I thought the whole crew was on some sort of mental reprogramming therapy.”
“Gods, I hope it worked.”
“The crew has reported an improvement of feeling 37% more calm in the past three weeks.” The driver chimes in.
“And the captain?”
“I doubt it.” He chuckles, “I really doubt it.”
***
We’re the first to board.
A noisy crowd is lined in a row outside the docking bay, mothers and children, husbands and wives, businessmen, performers, regular people, but no one over the age of fifty. Their heads lift upwards as our shuttle flies above them. The low hum of our engines vibrating the metallic walls of the docking bay.
The shuttle lands in the centre, and the side doors pop open. Several of The Marillion staff are waiting for us, and immediately snatch up our two pathetic bags.
“Miss Anique!” A high voice exclaims, and a vintage android with pastel pink wheels for legs rolls up to us. Her white hair is pulled into two braids and splattered with bows. “I’m Lolli-N!” She extends a metal hand to me; I shake it.
“Homebot Model – A3?” I ask.
Her mouth drops open in surprise. “First try!”
“Your eyes gave it away. They’re a little brighter than the later models. Prettier.”
“Thank you!” A smile spreads over her face, but just as she’s about to say something more, a crackling voice echoes over the bay.
“All crew aboard the transport shuttle. Ascent to the Marillion begins in three minutes!”
“Oop, that’s us!” Lolli-N flashes Enea a quick smile, then gestures for us to follow her.
The transport vessels are similar in style to the shuttle that brought us here; neon pastel, but with images of planets and spaceships drawn onto the hull with chalky paint. As we approach it, a side door slides open, revealing a narrow passageway lined with boxes and crates.
“It’s a bit tight,” Lolli-N says apologetically, “we’re just bringing up the last of the supplies.”
“It’s just…. Cozy!” Says Enea as brightly as she can.
I grimace.
At the end of the hall is another metal door (painted pastel pink, of course), and beyond it is the cabin lined with seats – most of which have crates buckled in instead of people.
“Just up here.” Lolli-N takes us to the front, where two seats are empty. “Strap yourselves in – tight. The captain hasn’t flown one of these in a while.”