Port Patrol

Izz swallowed hard as soon as the ship swayed with an uncharacteristic dip. A ping followed, as did the sound of a throat clearing.

“Captain, I regret to inform you – ”

She cut Greaves off before the sentient AI could go further. “Air displacement always means a sway like that. Don’t sound so apologetic or formal, you nincompoop.”

“Izz?” This time, the voice was shocked.

“Look, you can run the gamut of emotions you’re not supposed to legally have, or you can help me with port patrol.” She headed for the cockpit, the false lightheartedness in her voice belied by the sinking weight in her abdomen.

The cracked leather seat was surprisingly comfortable, and nearly as familiar as her old hammock had been back home, once. It had been barely two months, but she’d grown used to the unorthodox nature of her ship – and grateful for the profits that kept her from being a permanent port rat, surrounded by the stench of poverty.

“Being poor smells like cheap noodles,” she muttered. “Delicious, until it’s all you’ve had in three months. Worse, when you can’t even afford the noodles.”

“You do realize port patrol is shadowing us, correct?” Greaves was downright testy now. “On task, captain. Or we both die.”

“Get me ideas, ship. You’re the genius.” Izz bit her lip. She did need to study the scans, but the gleaming purple and red tones of the nearby nebula were just as distracting as the tourism brochures had promised. “I don’t suppose you can fake being normal for long enough to get by their scans?”

“I don’t suppose you could try getting into less trouble at the port itself?”

***

A quickie, prompted by the image over at MOTE, after forgetting to send in a prompt last week.