Yesterday’s piece is here.
Copyright J.B. Norman
As the Dolphin’s autopilot guides the ship along the Starway to Ledu, Kathryn sits sullenly at the table in the living quarters, laying out the ranks of her beloved Osirium Sepulchrites, painstakingly assembled and painted by hand and currently boasting an impressive 15-6-2 record in sanctioned table-top competition in the past galactic standard year.
“It’s okay,” she tells the tiny cybernetic skeletons. “I still love you guys.”
She glances up as the door hisses open.
“Oh, hey, Princess Thinks-My-Hobbies-Are-Stupid,” she mutters.
“Captain,” Amarantha says, sitting down beside Kathryn. “I do believe an apology is in order. I had not idea you thought so highly of your…” She glances down at the plastic figures. “…robots? Skeletons? Them.”
“Osirium Sepulchrites,” Kathryn notes.
“Yes, exactly. Them,” Amarantha says, gesturing to the tiny army.
“They’re a race of immortal, undead cyborgs who’ve been in suspended animation for a hundred million years and now they’re reawakening to re-establish their dominion over the galaxy.” Kathryn says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not that hard to understand.”
Amarantha blinks mutely and clears her throat.
“Look, Captain,” she continues. “I think it hardly matters that I can’t pronounce their name right now. I’m trying to apologise for dismissing your hobby out of hand like that. It was hardly becoming of a woman of my upbringing.”
“I’ll send you some of the sourcebooks,” Kathryn offers, keying in the command on her communicator. And — What are you doing? Careful!” she cries as Amarantha gingerly picks up one of the figures and brings it close to her face to exam it.
“I can’t say I really understand, but they are quite darling, aren’t they?” she says.“Oh, look at his tiny little helmet!”
Amarantha sets down the Sepulchrite and turns back to Kathryn.
“Like I was saying, I’d like to apologise, Captain. Everyone needs a hobby and I promise not to mock something that clearly means so much to you,” she says.
“Thanks,” Kathryn says.
She turns to Amarantha.
And, I’m sorry I punched the engines before you could you sit down and, um, dumped you onto the deck,” she says sheepishly.
“Apology accepted, Captain,” Amarantha says.
A smirk tugs the corners of Kathryn lips.
“But that noise you made was so funny. I will remember that sound forever. You sounded like somebody just stepped on a chirr-cat’s tail.”
The Alvaraean princess indignantly wiggles her noses.
“I most assuredly did not! I am a Princess of the Ljósálf System. My education was both staggeringly comprehensive and painfully strict! A thousand generations of Alvaraean royal etiquette and protocol have been distilled in me! I have far too much poise and grace, even at my worst to, ahem, sound like somebody just stepped on a chirr-cat’s tail!”
“Hey, Wembley,” Kathryn says into her wrist communicator, “play back the recording from the cockpit.”
“Don’t you dare,” Amarantha growls. “Belay that command, Wembley!” she cries into the communicator.
“I am sorry, Princess Amarantha,” the robot answers through the communicator.
“The Dolphin’s established chain of command mandates that your request is overruled by a direct command from Captain Starstone.”
So, basically, even in Space, you can tell how close two people by how much they make fun of each other…
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