I searched the room for a rations tube and found none. “We don’t get our daily rations delivered to our quarters?” I asked.
“No, not on a ship of this size. The captain prefers we dine together.” She cast a kind smile in my direction. “I know you’ll have a lot of new routines to adjust to on board. I’m confident you’ll do well.” The door closed with a whoosh behind her.
Excitedly, I peeled off my underclothes and stepped inside the bathroom, eyeing the shower again. I extricated a hair tie from the end of my greasy braid, tossing it onto the floor and looking for an on switch. But—I wasn’t crazy, was I?—I didn’t see one.
“Shower on,” I said, and immediately water spouted from all directions. Unfortunately, it was freezing cold. “Too cold!” I shrieked, squirming with hands protecting my most sensitive bits from the onslaught. But quickly the water turned warm. I sighed, letting the pulsating rhythm of the jets of water massage my aching muscles, savoring the feel of water sluicing down my back, wetting my thick hair thoroughly.
“Please close your eyes,” a flat, feminine voice intoned, shocking me within an inch of my life.
“Wh-why?” I asked, sure this was a trick.
“I am going to provide soap now,” the voice continued. “I don’t want you to get any in your eyes.”
Of course. You talked to the ship. The ship talked back. I closed my eyes, then smelled the sharp aroma of soap. I found a rough sponge on a ledge in front of me when I opened my eyes.
“What about my hair?” I asked the shower. On the Stalwart, there was a special soap for washing hair.
“One moment.”
I felt the pressure of something squirt against my skull. I worked the gel into my hair until it foamed satisfyingly, sighing as the water washed away the last week. Death. Dancing. Saying goodbye to George.
“What is your name?” the voice asked.
“Stella,” I answered reluctantly. “And, uh, what’s your name?”
“Thank you for asking,” she intoned. “My name is Rori. Or Rochester Onboard Roving Intelligence.”
“Nice to properly meet you, Rori,” I said.
“Likewise, Stella. Please close your eyes again. I am preparing some conditioner.”
I didn’t know what conditioner was, but I obeyed. This time, it didn’t foam.
And then, after another minute, it was over.
“There is a towel to your right. Have a nice day, Stella.”
My shower was so polite! I dried off, finding a new toothbrush and toothpaste by the sink, so I happily brushed my teeth as well. With water, even. Now to figure out those new clothes.
“Stella, you look lovely,” Officer Xiao said when she came to fetch me, and despite her compliments, her gaze made me self-conscious. I tugged at the black fitted sleeves of my bodysuit, then adjusted my dress, fashioned on top like a uniform—stiff fabric, squared shoulders, a taut, half-neck collar—much like what Officer Xiao wore. I wasn’t accustomed to such luxe, tailored clothes. And so few pockets.
My new boots pinched my feet as I followed Xiao down the now properly lit corridor, recessed lighting in the ceiling panels revealing details the previous night had obscured. Where the Stalwart’s overwhelming geometric theme was squares, the Rochester favored the soft, rounded countenance of circles. Every twenty feet, between breaks in the bulkhead, were circular doorways, giving the corridor the feel of gliding down a tube. Our rooms may have been white, but the dominant color scheme in the gangways was black, offset with gray so dark, it might as well have been black. It was like walking through shadows.
“Officer Xiao?” I asked as we walked, remembering my query from the early hours of the morning. “Last night I thought I heard someone laughing outside my room. Do you know what that might have been?”
“Someone laughing? Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “I’m sure if you heard anything, it was just one of the cats or something.”
“I’m sorry, did you say cats?”
We turned right, down a shorter hallway, then left. “Oh, yes,” Xiao said. “Call it a quirk of the Fairfax family. The first generation aboard this ship brought their cats, and we’ve had them ever since. They’re harmless, I assure you. Friendly, even, if you’re their sort of person.”
It had been many years since I’d encountered a housecat, but I was sure they couldn’t laugh.
We arrived at a hatch door that looked no different from any other—how would I ever find my way around this place?—but when Officer Xiao pressed the button to open it, its function was clear. It was the ship’s mess hall, writ small. A table about eight feet in length and several feet across was bolted to the floor in the center of the room, with ten swiveling, padded seats lining each side and bookending the heads of the table. Directly across from the door was another magnificent window, the moon blooming in the panel’s right-hand corner. We were so close, I could make out details of individual craters.
If my eyes were overwhelmed, it was nothing compared to the onslaught my other senses faced. I breathed in the scent of food, practically tasting it on my tongue. My mouth watered. There was oatmeal, real buttered toast, soy bacon, sautéed tomatoes, baked beans, and my beloved tea, to cap it all off. We had had spreads like this on the Empire, but I never imagined I’d see one again. I didn’t wait for Officer Xiao’s permission to grab a plate, and she didn’t object. Indeed, she took a seat at the head of the table and nibbled on some toast.
“Jessa likes to sleep in, and we don’t press her about it, given her age,” she said. “You’ll meet her a bit later. Otherwise, the captain prefers we all keep to a strict schedule as outlined to you last night. Lights are out and everyone must be in their private quarters at twenty-two hundred hours.”
“Will I meet the captain later too?” I asked between mouthfuls of beans and toast. I imagined a man Xiao’s age, with a weathered face and imposing manner. My new boss.
“Oh, no, he’s currently off-ship. You’ll find he spends a good amount of time away.”
The dining room door slid open, making me jump. In limped a middle-aged woman with messy, graying hair stubbornly curling out of a tight bun atop her head. Her clothes were less formal than mine and Officer Xiao’s, more akin to what I had worn aboard the Stalwart, black and gray slick fabrics with many hidden zips and pockets. Following close behind her was a tall, dark-skinned man in a navy uniform who peered quizzically at me from behind rectangular spectacles.
“Good morning,” Xiao greeted them. “This is Stella Ainsley, the new governess and auxiliary engineering support.” She turned to me, first indicating the woman. “Lieutenant Poole is our primary engineer, so you’ll be assisting her on occasion with ship repairs.”
Lieutenant Poole grunted a response, looking me up and down and seeming to find me inadequate. She pawed four slices of toast onto a plate, spooned a heap of beans beside it, stuck two pieces of soy bacon in her mouth, and left.
The man laughed, taking a seat to my left and extending his hand to me. “I’m Orion Carmichael, Rochester’s Chief Technical Officer. Grace can be a bit . . . brisk,” he said by way of explanation.