HMS Valediction

Chapter 13

My hands support my head as I squirm to find a comfortable position in my bed. "Bruises heal. Duh. I know bruises heal. I've had enough of them to consider that my expert content knowledge. But what is that supposed to mean?"

John's faint buzzing fills the air to mimic snores.

The only one who was better at these stupid analogies was Simon, and unfortunately, there's no way I can get him to weigh in on this now. But I wonder what he'd say.

I imagine he'd lean forward on the Sink's bar, his grease-speckled apron hanging off the loop around his neck. His legs would cross at the ankles where his rounded-toe boot would dig into the checkered floor of our family canteen.

"Bruises, huh?" He would contemplate this by resting on his elbows, squeezing his nine fingers together. "Do they heal? I thought they just moved around because whenever you got one and I thought it was on the mend, another would show up in a totally different location. You must have had them on some kind of rotation, am I right?"

I would be behind the bar, leaning against the well where I kept our stockpiled Junk Juice. The blinking fluorescent bulb over the dining room would flicker and remain mostly unnoticed. I would sync my blinks with it.

"Don't worry about it, Kiddo. Little Mo's got one thing right. It's all going to be just fine."

"How is everyone so sure of that? Shit's looking pretty bleak to me."

He'd grab the corner of the counter with both hands and pulling his lower body backward, popping his spine in a feline stretch. When he rises, he'd grab my forearm. He'd reach over the counter with both hands and plant a kiss on the top of my head.

"Stop being such a buzzkill. Have a little hope, would you? Not everything is so bad."

Simon's image floats away as I calibrate myself back into the cabin. John's heat warms my toes that peek from beyond the too-short blanket. There's no way to get my whole body under the covers anymore when I'm taking up most of the material around my middle. But John's here. So I'm okay.

"Can't sleep." I sit up. "Any chance you're up for a walk?"

He doesn't respond. Of course. He doesn't understand a word I say.

When I get up, I throw the green dress over my body and stuff my swollen feet into my black boots. They're too tight to even bother with the laces. Once dressed, I head for the door.

I step outside and wave my arm into the entryway, stopping my cabin door from closing. John lifts his head and cracks it sideways, giving me his full tilt. A strand of drool falls to the floor.

I wave him over.

Taking the hint, he picks his whole body up from the cradle and follows me out the door. It snaps shut behind us.

Late-night passageways are the same dense nothing as morning or noon passageways. The only difference is that I don't harbor the fear of running into civilians. It's so late, not a soul should be wandering. We're the two most hated things on this ship, but not now. At this hour, he doesn't have to creep from shadow to shadow or lurk in the jagged angles of his own ship. He can walk out in the open. We both can. This might be the only time of day when either of us is free.

I lead us to my favorite spot – the empty room with the gigantic jelly window.

"Don't you guys have glass? Plastics? Knowing what separates me from the vast vacuum of space is a large slab of marmalade makes me question your engineering integrity."

John dances in place, tapping against the black floor.

"That was cute. Do it—" I'm about to make the incredible effort to slide to the floor and be entertained by my friend when the walls begin to rattle against my back.