Go To Quarters

The door to your rooms is more like a shell than a piece of wood or metal. Unpleasant memories of fighting through Jelly ships flash through your mind. The shell slides open at your touch, and you enter.

The rooms assigned to you are huge by spaceship standards. Bathroom. Bedroom. A combo sitting area/kitchen. It’s nicer than the flat you call home back on Mars. . . . Small violet flowers grow along the frame over the bed. They smell like spiced liqueur.

You’ve barely slung your gear onto an odd, organic looking chair when your overlays flicker. A call coming in. The Ambassador. Oh shit.

You accept.

Ambassador Rohyamar’s face hangs in the air before you. She looks pissed. A stern-faced woman, with the telltale elongated earlobes that signals she’s had at least three rounds of STEM shots. She’s been in the service as long as you can remember; there’s a reason the Premier picked her to represent the League of Allied Worlds on Unity.

“Specialist,” her voice is razor wire. “Is there something about report in as soon as we dock that you failed to understand?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Then get your ass over to my office. We have a shit-storm of galactic proportions brewing here. Saya?”

“Yes, Ma’m. On my way.”

Rohyamar’s face vanishes. Somewhat ruefully you head toward the door. Great. What a way to make a first impression. . . .