by Lyz Russo
*
31 March 2116, 5:55 am
Paean was standing indecisively in the hatch of a petite, minute, tiny cabin. It had everything she needed; a pull-down bunk that came out of the wall; a round porthole with blinds – those were important; and a small, squat chest for her belongings. Neo-compounding, of course. Ronan and Shawn had been assigned a similarly small cubicle, with the two bunks pulling out of the wall one above the other.
Ronan came in and unceremoniously dumped the clothes he’d packed for her, on her bunk.
“Freshen up, sis. Don’t want to present like street kids, now do we?”
She shook her head, still unfamiliar with the missing mane, and the way there were no curls to move around her shoulders but only a stark crew cut.
“Where are the bathrooms?”
He took her out of her cabin and pointed down the passage. “They call them the heads, like, on a ship, alright? We’d better wise up on the jargon, sis.”
She nodded, gathered up a fresh set of jeans and t-shirt and padded to the ‘heads’ to get cleaned up. The heavens knew, the blood she had tried to wash off her hands for a day now was bothering her a hundred times more than the foul-smelling gutter-mud.