Keep Going

Posted on Thu 25th Jun, 2020 @ 6:17pm by Yuliette Marayan Dr.

1,139 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Resolution
Location: Brown Sector: Zodiac

Leaving Findley’s repair, Yuliette stuffed her map back into her bag. If she was going to find this Granddame Elery and ask her to certify those seeds from the desert of Rho Saro, she’d need to stop back by that apartment for the seeds first. She had a feeling she was going to see a lot of walking the Drift back and forth.

To think! She’d considered those little sachets of seeds worthless to her. Now she wished she’d ‘charged’ more from her patients! Hopefully there would be enough in her overnight bag for… for what? A ticket? To where? Where could she go next and not be found out? How could she get there without giving a name? Well then, money for the water filter for one thing. She’d had a glass with lunch and was content now, but how long would that last? She couldn't expect more charity to show up every meal. No one thought anything of water when she was growing up. In the desert, that was different, but it was still an act of hospitality to offer it. She’d get the filter and drink and shower and sleep and then decide what to do with the rest of the seed money, if anyone would have it at all like Findley said they might.

On the other side of the Rotunda, Yuliette began to hear the happy sounds of voices, laughter, and music with a driving beat. There was something familiar to it and she felt her spirits lift. The music was different, but not that different from the desert tribes. More electric, more industrial, more manufactured and mixed through tuners and effects. It was different but the same. And when she came to the source of it, she found the dance to be similarly familiar. Pounding feet, counter movements of shoulders and hips, the snaking bodies. It was different but not that different from the steps and popping motions of the tribes as well. She was enchanted with watching the dancers and found it irresistibly in her bones as she matched step to the beat without trying.

The dress was very different than what the vendors and domino players wore. Most were going for the grungy look composed of tatters and jackets with rivets and buckles. Not all, but many in this troupe of teens were Bajoran. They sat on the rails, perched off cans and bins, beat on anything roughly akin to a drum with abandon. Some hung back with their sweethearts possessively. Three leaned on their custom hover bikes.

And just as she was watching them, Yuliette noticed some were watching her back, though hardly with welcome. Maybe disgust. Because she was new? Because she was in their space?

Something stung her in the neck. Reflexively, Yuliette’s hand went to the spot where a little welt was. A bug? On the station? Zing. She felt another on her shoulder and looked up in time for a third to hit uncomfortably close to her eye. It was no bug. She saw the thing that hit her ricochet off the deck.

“Got her again!” There was a Bajoran boy flicking tiny shards of broken plastic at her from the rail of a nearby second floor balcony, a human friend slapping him in the shoulder and egging him on. For a moment she was dumbstruck, frozen, and then covered her eyes in time before another shard stabbed her forearm.

As much as she appreciated his incredible accuracy, she began to move on a little faster than the beat.

“That’s right lizard lady!” “Kanar breath.” “Occupiers go home!” “Look at her go!” “Go pillage yourself!”

Some of the dancers and their friends took up the hollering and throwing bits of trash. Many more insults came in Bajoran, which she didn’t want to get translations for. She wasn’t sure who did participate, or who didn’t, but it didn’t seem like any decried it. A glass bottle splintered on the heels of her boots, and then she was running. She ran until she was well out of view around the bend of the street and dove inside of an archway, back to the wall, trying to make herself flat, invisible.

They were kids. Just kids. There was no real danger. Just kids, she told herself over and over, catching her breath, waiting to see or hear any follow up to her flight, which never came. Because they were just kids.

After a while, she melted to the ground and folded her face into her knees. Maybe if she never lifted it, no one would ever see her father there.

---

When she had recovered, she decided rather than risk another episode she would try to find her way up across one of the breezeways above to keep off the street. She remembered she had a head wrap with her clothing, meant for keeping the sun off in the desert. Maybe that would be best if she went out in public anymore.

Every person she passed in the hall made her nervous for no justifiable reason, and she was keenly aware that her agitation and reddened eyes just drew more attention. She found the breezeway and crossed, looking over the Drift below. It still looked best from a distance. From there she managed to figure out the passageways to her own apartment. She fidgeted with the three keys, not remembering which key went to which lock. That knot of guys that was always in her hall watched laconically the whole while. She scowled and then jerked the door open with her full weight, practically falling inside when it gave all of a sudden.

She closed the door and worked all the latches. Wraiths! The stench! She went for her bag— For the tin of balm to put under her nose for the smell. For the seeds, which she moved from her overnight bag into her satchel. And for the long scarf. She formed a hood and wrapped her whole head save for her eyes and fished her oversized designer sunglasses from her satchel. She checked the mirror. No, her upper chest still showed the dull scales along her collar bone and second spoon form in the pit of her neck. She adjusted the scarf and found a pin to make her collar stay closed. Stepping back, she snorted at her reflection. Now she just looked like a holovid star trying to hide from the media. It only worked if you didn’t try to look too close behind the folds. Hopefully that was good enough to pass without being mocked or stoned.

“Right. Seed certification, then water filter.” Her eyes settled on the scary looking old mattress. Would she ever be tired enough to sleep on that?

 

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