Twenty-two sat on the hard plastic seat, looking out the window at the shuttle being fueled on the landing pad. Soon it would take her to a bigger ship in space over the planet, and the bigger ship would take her away for good. Somewhere on the horizon past the landing pad, a column of black smoke rose against the orange sky. Twenty-two looked down at her small hands resting in her lap, feeling the sinuous movement under the ugly, bulky dress she wore. Now, she thought, would be a good time to try a smile.
It didn’t feel quite right.
The starport bustled around her. Everyday people doing everyday things. Looking out from under her dark, greasy bangs, she watched them mill past her carrying their bags, poking at augmented reality displays that hung in the air invisible to Twenty-two’s eyes, talking and laughing and cursing and glaring and worrying and thinking and lusting and fretting and…
She dropped her gaze to her hands again, wrapped in the dull gray thermal sleeving that had been the only clothes she’d ever known. Strange creatures. She didn’t know much about them, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
As she moved with the line of other passengers towards the shuttle, a woman with bright green eyes and a red and white uniform stopped her. “Hello there! Are you flying by yourself today, sweetie?”
“Yes,” Twenty-two whispered, not meeting the woman’s gaze.
“And where’s your final destination?”
“Not here.”
She felt the woman’s mood change, the impatience beginning to uncoil in her mind. “Sweetie, I need to know where you’re going, to make sure you get there safe.” Twenty-two felt the movement again under her dress, fast and hot against her body, metal whispering against cloth. She forced it down, willed it against her, kept her temper and her secret. She looked up at the uniformed woman.
The woman blinked, and then gave a satisfied, practiced smile. “Thank you so much! Have a nice flight.”
Moments later, Twenty-two was aboard the shuttle, sitting in a padded chair, which made her uncomfortable. She sat next to a window where she could see the smoke, which made her feel a little better. Maybe now she could smile.
She watched her reflection in the window, young and pale. The corners of her mouth didn’t so much as twitch. Oh, well.
The shuttle rumbled to life and lifted from the pad, heaving slowly into the thick air. Twenty-two watched the smoke disappear over the horizon as the shuttle accelerated towards escape velocity and its rendezvous with the passenger liner overhead.
In the dim, cramped space of the shuttle, Twenty-two reached out. Boredom. Anticipation. Depression. Fear. Contentment. She held each of the passenger’s emotions in her own mind, turning them over like a jeweler examining a strange new gem. Underneath her dress, metal and fabric twitched with curiosity. And then she noticed it, almost too late, insidious as a serpent sliding beneath tall, waving grass.
Shielded. Trained.
Twenty-two stood in the aisle and turned. She didn’t know the man approaching her, but he had a familiar black stun baton in hand. Twenty-two screamed, and her ugly dress tore to shreds as the ruins of her restraints — chains, buckles, synthweave — reared up behind her and then lashed out, knocking the weapon from the hunter’s hand and reaching for him hungrily.
The lights flickered. The hunter roared in surprise, and then pain. The passengers screamed, flooding Twenty-two’s mind with fear.
Finally, she smiled.