Ghosts of the Vale by Paul Grover

Author:Paul Grover [Grover, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781916126732
Publisher: AoS Books
Published: 2019-10-22T22:00:00+00:00

Mira reached for Tish’s hand as they left the docks and entered the station. It was hot, noisy and packed with humans from the resident and nomadic populations. The smell of street food hung pungently in the air while a million conversations in almost as many tongues combined into a solid wall of noise. Mira’s senses spun, her breathing quickened.

“You okay?” Tish asked.

“I’m good. I went travelling before I signed on with the Navy. I forgot how good it feels when you find somewhere new.” She paused. “I guess I lost myself somewhere between then and now.”

“Life,” Tish replied. “It moves too fast. Sometimes you have to step out and look around.”

Tish had changed into her standard station attire, synth leather lace up jeans and ornate high boots. She tempered the outfit with a simple black shirt. Mira saw the attention she attracted and how Tish’s confidence was fuelled from it.

She looked at her own black jeans and t-shirt, only her battered jacket expressed any kind of individuality. Who am I?

“Tish,” she asked, nervously.

Tish stopped and took Mira’s other hand.

“We can go back to the ship if you want; I understand this is hard for you.”

“No… really it’s fine.” Mira paused. “Tish, when we have picked up the parts we need, can you help me… buy clothes?”

“Yeah! I was going to anyway; you’re a mess. No offence.”

“I’m just tired of looking like a fleet-brat or a cargo hauler. I just don’t know what to do. The Navy supplied my outfits for years. In my teens I did the whole Rocket Punk thing; guess I’m too old for that now.”

Mira blushed, remembering the heavy black eye makeup her mother hated, the red highlights in her hair and her knee-high boots. It was a style ill-suited to the Namib desert.

Fuck, I loved those boots, almost as much as my JetSuit, she thought.

“You are never too old for Rocket Punk!” Tish said in serious tone. “Don’t worry, I have ideas… lots of ideas. You have just given me more!”

They walked on, pushing their way through the main concourse, heading spinward toward a commercial district. Unlike Tarantella, Baikonur’s retail sector comprised high end consumer outlets. Polished steel and tinted glass were the norm instead of the haphazard collection of stalls and hawkers. The clientele were similar, freighter jockeys rubbing shoulders with passengers from star liners bound for the Frontier. This was a border post, the point where the Core Systems met the Frontier, their flavours mingled and became something eclectic.

Tish led Mira to a map. She tapped in a search and downloaded the location to her personal datapad.

“This is too upmarket for what we need… there’s a used parts market three levels down. We have to cut through the entertainment hub. There’s also a bazaar; we can stock up.”

Tish pulled her forward.

“Come on!”

Mira was happy for Tish to lead. She confidently cut through the crowd, flicking off hawkers with a smile, a friendly word, and sometimes a joke.

Suddenly, Mira found herself alone as Tish disappeared into the crowd.

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