Time spent in warp might be compressed compared to the travel time it should have taken, but that didn’t stop Izz from feeling as grungy as a dirtside cattle drive through the dusty Old Earth Westerns that her father had loved.
“It’s been two months,” Greaves noted. “Warp drives disengaged. I handled the station docking comms for you, so we’ll be parking soon. If you meet space traffic control in person, try to sound like me.”
Izz ignored the AI’s acerbic comment, peered through the port view, and gave a hip shimmy in celebration. “Ground that doesn’t move as much, a slightly less rationed shower, and atmosphere where ozone or my own sweat isn’t the prominent scent? And it looks like that burger place with the pickles is still open.”
“We drove all this way for a box of meat patties and some buns?”
She eyed the storage compartment, filled with carefully salvaged and packed antiques. “And to get rich, Greaves. Rich enough to afford burgers whenever we want.” Izz patted the ship’s wall and tried not to think about the trouble her ship had gotten her in on the last three stations. “But I’ll settle for a single indulgence for now.”
***
This week’s meat patty prompt was from Leigh Kimmel, while mine on ominous chickens went to AC Young. Read them all, or join in, over at MOTE!
