Chapter 17

“Ican’t wear this!” Dante protested. “This is what I wear to clean and do heavy maintenance work! You know, change oil and spread lubricant and stuff. I only wear this in port!”

“Exactly,” Tinsley said. “You only wear it in port and we’re in port. Everyone out there is either on break or doing maintenance. We’re about to board an empty vessel, so we had better look like we belong.”

She squeezed some jelly-like substance into her hand and reached for his head. He recoiled in disgust. “What is that?”

“Relax. It’ll wash out. I use it all the time.” She spread the substance into his hair, starting at the temples and smoothing it through until it all stood back away from his face. “And wear this over your horns.” She held up a length of black fabric and draped it across his head, tying it underneath the curve of his skull. Finally, she found a tin of eye black and smeared it around his eyes. “There!”

Dante sized himself up in the mirror. “I look…” he thought for a moment, “… like a greasy, barefoot mess.”

“Good! Oh, put these on.” Tinsley tossed him some old shoes.

“Why is it good that I look like a mess?”

“Dressing like Lorr royalty is not the way to blend in. What’s more important—your pride or saving Maraliza?” Tinsley continued. “We saw the captain leave the ship with everyone else. If someone happens to come back on board, we can just say we were hired to clean up. Worst case scenario, they think we have the wrong ship and kick us off.”

Dante held up his hand to draw attention to his purple skin. “I’m pretty obviously Lorr. I don’t think kicking us off is the worst-case scenario.”

“Well, I choose to remain optimistic,” Tinsley said imperiously. “Your clothes cover most of your skin, and your hair and kerchief cover the horns. No Jorvlen prince would be caught dead wearing that, so hopefully they’ll assume the same about you and Lorr. And if you’re worried, rub some dirt on your face.”

“No,” Dante retorted.

“That’s what I thought.” Tinsley smiled sweetly and held the door open. “Shall we?”

Dante lifted his legs gingerly as though his breeches had been soaked with something distasteful.

Once they deboarded onto the dock, however, Dante seemed to relax, and Tinsley allowed him to walk a few steps ahead so she could admire her work. He really does fit in.

She leaned her head back and breathed in the salt air. Small stations like this couldn’t afford to pipe out the moisture and salts that accumulated in the synthetic atmosphere after they filtered it. Some captains hated it because it would erode their ships’ parts over time, but Tinsley just made a mental note to give her ship a good polish and breathed deeply.

Suddenly, her equilibrium was thrown off balance as a hand found its way around her waist and tugged sharply. “Hey!” Dante pulled her behind a stack of crates. When she tried to stand, the hand on her waist moved to her shoulder and pulled her back down.

“Shhh!” Dante put a finger to his lips and pointed. A group of Jorvlens were standing outside a bar smoking, and she had almost bumped right into them.

Tinsley heard the gruff belly laughs of a dozen ugly rock-people, but couldn’t make out the words. Assuming that if she asked, she would just get hushed again, she tried to focus on a few individuals.

They seemed to be waiting for entry to one of the station’s drinking holes. Tinsley wasn’t sure what was special about this particular bar, but it appeared as if the entire crew had lined up outside.

Bawdy music filtered out from the open doorway, where she could see the captain and his closest crewmates seated, drinking, smoking, and laughing. She still couldn’t hear anything specific in their conversations.

What’s the point of me even listening?she thought after a moment. We both know he hears better than I do. Even as she thought it was a hopeless case, however, a few words came over the translator in her earpiece that piqued her interest.

“So, what are we gonna do with those skanks when we get ’em…” began a particularly thick Jorvlen, only to get punched in the ribs by a smaller one before he could finish his sentence.

“Shut your hole, Garv!” said another. “This area isn’t secure!”

“Aw, I wasn’t gonna say nothin’! Just wonderin’ what we’re doin’ with them…” Another punch to the gut.

“I said shut it! Next time’s your ass in a sling!”

“Come on!” Dante whispered. He led her behind pallets stacked with equipment and merchandise, covered with tarps and secured with ropes. Burly male workers dodged this way and that, lifting, tossing, and cursing.

Not much changed in the shipping business. Manpower was cheaper than robots or heavy machinery, especially without the benefit of labor unions and anti-slavery laws.

“You were right!” Dante said with an incredulous exhalation. “Those idiots left the doors wide open!”

Tinsley snorted and poked him in the ribs. “Well, let’s not waste an opportunity!” The two of them grabbed a couple of mops and brooms before walking up the gangplank and through the door as if they belonged there—the first and only rule of sneakery.

Hurrying down the hallway so they would appear on camera as though they had an important mess that needed cleaning, they glanced side to side for signs that pointed toward the hold. Finding one, they followed the stairwells down to the lower decks and entered.

Dante shut the door behind them and flipped on the light, illuminating floor-to-ceiling stacks of unmarked crates. “Holy…”

“What are they?” Tinsley asked. Pulling the shipping log toward her from its place hanging on the wall, she read out loud, “Calcium sulfate hemihydrate, Xogoli, 8.7 tons.”

“Well, I doubt they’re that,” Dante said, snapping up a spare crowbar and lifting the lid of one of the crates. Sure enough, it was crammed with vacuum-sealed bags of white powder. “Yep. Tinsley, meet Motley. Motley, Tinsley.”