Space Stations

She quietly made her way to the hatch, worked the controls, and slipped inside the freighter. Empty—of people anyway. It was otherwise filled. A glance through the hold revealed the lenses she had previously stored on her ship. There were also circuitry cards and various other things—all taken in a hurry judging by the way they were strewn about.

“Pirates,” she cursed, as she carefully placed the antique lenses alongside the others and backed out the hatch. Well, she could be a pirate, too, take this ship and head home. The station lurched and something popped deep inside a corridor, and for an instant she indeed considered taking the freighter right this instant—not only would she be saving her life, but she'd be saving the valuable, historical lenses. In a sense, she had a duty to save both.

But she'd prefer not to leave someone stranded here. And she was curious about the pirates and what else they might be taking from this place.

“How long?” she wondered, as she made her way through the network of corridors, glancing in rooms and in service ways and heading toward the observatory, where she was certain the pirates were working to gather the remaining lenses. “How long does the station have?”

She nearly ran into him as she emerged from the last corridor and into the observatory, and he released what he'd been carrying—a spectroscope, a mechanism used to show the spectra of an object being viewed by the telescope it was attached to. The device hovered in the space between them.

“Pirate,” she said.

He laughed, the sound odd and echoing in his helmet. It took him a moment to gain his composure.

“Pirate,” she repeated.

“Hardly,” he returned, his voice rich and deep, matching his youth. He was striking, though she wouldn't call him handsome, with a crooked hawkish nose and an impish grin. A dark lock of hair hung down what she could see of his forehead—skin eggshell white. His brown eyes flashed at her almond-shaped ones. “And you're hardly what I expected. I certainly wouldn't've released your ship if I'd have known that you were… an old woman.”

He looked through her faceplate, seeing her myriad wrinkles and noting her anger. “A very old woman.”

She snatched at the spectroscope with a speed that surprised both of them.

“I'm not a pirate.”

“A murderer, then,” she hissed. “You would have me die, marooning me.”

A shrug. “I shouldn't've released your ship. Truly, I'd never done such a thing before. But I'd never been challenged on a find either. It was impulse.”

“I was here first.”

“You can travel back on my freighter, old woman. I won't maroon you. But all the finds are mine. Be satisfied you'll have your life.”

Hoshi opened her mouth to argue. The antique lenses were hers, this find was hers.

Would have been hers much earlier had she not been ill, had her snip not needed repairs.

They were all hers—every piece in his hold. But she said nothing. There would be time on the trip back to Earth to think, to plan what to say to port authorities. She had a good reputation, and someone would listen to her. The lenses, and anything else she cared to claim from the young man's craft, would be hers.

He was continuing to talk, and she was shutting out his words, craning her neck around him to see the telescopes, several of which had been cruelly dismantled.

“Barbarian.”

“I'll settle for that,” he said, taking the spectroscope from her. “Keith Polanger,” he added by way of introduction.

She did not give him her name.

“You could help, grab some of those fittings—they're made of brass. And I've got a half dozen lenses loose.” He nodded upward, and she saw them resting against the ceiling.

“And stay close to me, old woman.”

It was clear he didn't want her out of his sight, didn't want to risk the chance she might take his freighter and instead maroon him. Two more trips, and Hoshi was moving very slowly, fatigued despite the weightlessness and despite her simmering ire. She would claim all of his hold, she decided, once they were Earthward. His ship for good measure.

And she'd see to it he was sent to prison. With fortune, he would be her age when he got out. Port authorities were hard on pirates.

“Aren't you too old for this?” Keith had been saying other things, all trying to draw her out, some an effort at feigned politeness. “I know there are astronauts your age. But aren't you a little old to be out here on your own?”

She still refused to answer.

This trip to the observatory—what had to be their last judging by the creaking of the station and its shifted position—they worked on the last few larger telescopes. They would leave only a few intact, the smallest and least valuable. He focused his efforts on the newest one, which suited her. She carefully loosened the fittings on her target, several meters away. Lost in thought, she continued to ignore his prattle, until she picked out a few words that piqued her curiosity. She moved aside a miniature-driving clock and glided toward him.