“Weather approaching,” Greaves announced over the intercom, startling Izz out of her inventory.
“We’re not near atmosphere.” She frowned, still clenching a brass-colored — well, something, she hadn’t a clue what its original purpose was, although surely it would make a lovely, albeit narrow, vase. Her frown grew deeper, though the edge of panic in her voice was well-hidden from all but the AI she spoke to. “Unless you happened to change course and put us near atmosphere for some reason?”
The AI in question laughed at her. “No. It’s a space storm.”
The wind chimes Izz had hung over the cockpit chimed softly. Loud enough to be heard two compartments away. In the three months she’d been running salvage, they’d only ever chimed during takeoff and landing.
Rastan, that absolute pirate, had told her last month that it was silly to have them inside. Izz had given him the aghar with a flick of her fingers and hadn’t cared how rude she’d been. He was a pirate, after all.
And they were the last memory of her sister, who’d loved the obnoxious, cheerfully noisy things.
A low wind began a faint howl, and the wind chimes sounded more desperately.
Even if it was an annoyingly cheerful warning.
“Shall we change course before we’re trapped?” Greaves asked merrily. “I’ve plotted the optimum way out.”
“Yes, yes,” Izz murmured, and bumped her forehead with the brass vase-thing as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You know, this is the sort of situation that you should change course without asking me.”
“Not after last time,” Greaves muttered darkly.
Izz was fairly certain the subsequent course correction would have been significantly smoother if she’d kept her mouth shut. “Only a sentient ship.”
***
Thanks to Becky for a chance to redeem myself with chimes this week! My prompt on aliens went to Leigh – find more, and play along, over at MOTE!
