Page 8 of Single Stroke

Louella headed for the bathroom where she took care of pressing biological needs and freshened up. She wished the hulking general had a mirror she could use. She tugged on the shirt he’d given her to wear and decided to be grateful that it was at least long enough to provide adequate coverage for basic modesty, although the large armholes and deep neckline exposed more boob and back than she would have liked.

“At least I’m not flashing my lady bits when I bend over to sit,” she muttered with a sigh.

It was nice to hear her own voice without fearing that she’d be caught and captured. Those long, long months of silence had been brutal for the usually loquacious woman.

Her belly rumbled and she voiced its complaint. “I’m hungry.”

“Domestic service will deliver a meal of food and drink compatible with human biology to you shortly,” came a disembodied response in a dry, masculine voice in a language she knew she didn’t know but somehow understood.

Memory returned again, and again she spoke. “Ah, the translator chip the embassy installed in my brain—that’show I’m understanding a language I don’t actually know.”

“That is correct,” affirmed the disembodied voice.

Louella looked around. “Who is speaking to me?”

“I am the ship’s intelligence. Your vitals are elevated for a human.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Louella muttered.

“I do not understand that phrase.”

“Never mind.” Louella pursed her lips, thinking. “Computer?”

“Acknowledged.”

Louella sighed, then asked, “Is there a cafeteria or mess hall where I can eat?”

“Yes, but only if you are escorted by a ship’s officer.”

“Well, that sucks.”

“I do not understand that phrase.”

She sighed again. “Never mind.” She looked about the sparsely furnished room. “What is there for me to do?”

“Please provide more detail so that I may make an appropriate recommendation.”

Louella decided that was a fair request and considered asking for small meals delivered every couple of hours—a frequency and quantity her shrunken stomach could accommodate and her starving body needed.But supplies are stretched thin because of all the refugees.She discarded the idea and replied, “Is there a place I can exercise? Perhaps a library where I may read? Or maybe I could help in the medical bay.”

After a few seconds, the ship’s intelligence answered: “Only crew are permitted within recreational areas of the ship.”

Exasperated, Louella asked, “Where amIpermitted to go?”

“If you are feeling unwell or are injured, you may go to the medical bay. I will arrange for your escort.”

Louella rolled her lips under her teeth and took a deep breath through her nose in an effort to control her temper. She sat in the room’s only chair, crossed her legs, and waited. After a few minutes of sulking, the door to the room opened and one of those creepy robotic spiders entered with a tray. Louella dashed from the chair to catch it before the droid dropped it to the floor. For a moment, she considered darting past the robot and making a beeline for freedom, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. She’d caught a glimpse of those machines moving with uncanny speed.Besides, even if I got out of the room, I’d still be trapped on this ship.She walked to the chair and sat, gingerly setting the cold metal tray on her lap. The mechanical spider exited and the door slid shut behind it.

Just like her first meal onboard, she could not eat much. Luckily, the ship seemed to have anticipated her shrunken stomach’s reduced capacity and had provided small portions of only a few items. She noticed that the items served were the same foodstuffs she’d liked before.

“Hey, ship—”

“Acknowledged.”

“—how did you know what I like?”

“General Superior Yas’kihn mek Kuresh’Zha recorded your preferences.”

“Okay.” Louella wondered when he’d done that and reasoned that he could have easily noticed her preferences and keyed them into the ship’s computer while she slept. “That was thoughtful of him.”

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