The captain was smiling as she inspected my choices despite the huge amount I’d spent. Or perhaps she didn’t yet know how much it came to.
In a few minutes, we were dressed much as other tourists in the spaceport, even Bert. He had removed his gun belt and stored it safely inside a suitcase, and he’d found a vest made of a shimmering pink material that he believed accented his soft brown fur positively. With a few humorous wiggles, he managed to slip into it and looked ridiculous—so he matched the appearance of many other wealthy travelers.
I reassessed his appearance and found that perhaps he did look better in the vest. It just was not what I was used to. I couldn’t place a finger on what he looked like, but the overall impression was one of fun, wealth, and respect, a powerful combination.
We moved out of the storeroom together. My past and caution meant my eyes watched every being of every race we encountered. In my thoughts, I waited for the police to come crashing in, weapons in hand. Instead, nobody paid the slightest attention.
The captain indicated an overhead sign that pointed the way to the access tunnel for departing passengers. We tried to casually stride down a wide corridor with others dressed in expensive clothing like us and acting just as aloof as we pretended. Our act must have worked.
Besides the passengers, the spaceport gleamed with polished chrome and gold fixtures, expensive shops offering most anything a rich traveler might wish for—at prices that astounded me. A simple shirt with the logo of a franchised gladiator sold for a couple of credits in our part of town. A shop we passed had it on sale for three thousand. The sign said it was a “reduced price” sale, which was more than Bill and I had ever had in our accounts. It was near the total of all we’d ever banked, and that was the reduced price.
A fine sweat broke out. I wanted to comm Captain Stone and confirm our spending limits until I pulled up the balance she had placed in our accounts. I swallowed hard at the total. I didn’t have to buy a reduced price.
At the end of a corridor lined with lounges for passengers, a pair of smiling crewmen with little insignias on their uniforms that said “Dreamer” helped us with the luggage as if the automatic rollers required any help. They accepted and verified our tickets with a lot of teeth showing in their smiling, subservient faces.
An enclosed ramp extended from the building and reached the entry door of the ship. I found my breath stuck in my throat. This was it. If we made it another fifty steps, we were on an actual spaceship. No matter where it was bound, Bill and I were about to leave Roma.
It was like everything up until now had brought us to this moment. Make or break, as they say. Walking down the mall of the spaceport had been magnificent, the nicest building I’d ever been in. The shopping had been fun, like from a dream.
However, a few steps ahead lay the edge of the lip of the opulent ramp. Beyond that, a spaceship waited to carry us away. The idea of climbing a hillside that never seemed to end came to mind. Finally, we could see the top, just ahead.
Only a short while ago, I’d been sucking down weak beer inside a filthy tent that had more patches than original material. Water poured inside when it rained. A single credit added to my bank account was a windfall. I lived and survived on tenths of a credit. That small amount paid for all my expenses, and usually those of Bill and Bert.
My mind hadn’t yet grasped all that was happening. It felt more like an event from a powerful stim supplied in one of the drug houses. Sure, I felt good now but would awaken in our patch of woods, where Bill would grumble with a hangover and Bert would call out his irritation from his warren of tunnels. Bert hated drugs of any kind and as much as forbid us to use them.
My foot gingerly stepped over the lip of the extended passage and touched a frayed carpet with the insignia of the ship woven into the center. It was faded and old. Countless feet had walked on it.
The sour, stale, oily smell of the Dreamer almost caused me to back up and reassess the wonderland I was leaving for what lay ahead. A crust of grime coated the corners of the floor where the walls met it, and the walls were not much cleaner. The carpet was not the only thing unclean. Our tent may have been ragged but at least it smelled good.
Stone said, “Move on, Kat. This isn’t a pleasure liner, it’s a tramp transport.”
“It smells bad,” I said.
“They all do,” she said. “You won’t notice it after a day or two, although my first impression is the same as yours.”
“Is it safe?” Bill asked his nose curling and twitching.
“Smelling bad and being safe are different things,” Stone said, beginning to sound irritated. “You’ve all lived in worse.”
I walked a few steps ahead, my eyes flitting from here to there, taking it all in. A wheel used to spin, and close the outer door caught my attention. It was painted metal. The ring where crewmen placed their hands or whatever passed for hands, was shiny and worn smooth from time. How many times does a wheel like that have to be handled to wear away paint and expose bare metal? I decided many.
There was no carpet on the floor further inside. The center of the narrow passage was like the wheel, metal worn shiny from feet,
