Quoted By:
Coughing, you decide to change the subject, fishing out a pen and paper from your pocket. “Here. If you wanna send me anything, put this on the address line.”
“…the Salvage Guild?” the seamstress says with a frown.
“Blame Stolze,” you grumble, “I got the transfer orders two weeks ago to hop on a salvage trawler-”
But you aren’t able to finish. Even as you’re talking, she puts two and two together, coming up with a startled interjection. “You were on the <span class="mu-i">Calypso</span>!”
Huh. Word’s already spread that far that a seamstress in the tiers can hear it. Looks like the rumor mill’s doing yeoman’s work in this otherwise dry spell of a slow summer. Although given the reception and the time it took the ship to burn back to Babylonia, it wouldn’t be unexpected for news to get ahead and settle among the citizens.
It’s not a question that she asks, but you answer, “…yeah. That’s where I got transferred.”
Caroline gives you a second glance, looking over you with a renewed concern. Her eyes flicker up towards the bandage on your forehead, and she releases a sharp breath. “Sinleq, you’re hurt!”
She reaches out to grab your face, inspecting you for any other injuries.
…you don’t fight it. Not immediately, anyway. But you eventually pry her hands off, and pull yours back just as quickly.
“It looks worse than it is,” you reassure her, “Besides, you should see the other guys.”
Your attempt at being glib bleeds some of the tension. Some, but not all, given how her worry still remains. “Sinleq, you were attacked by the Khanate. A fleet of raiders!”
“Just an attack group, not even a flotilla. And only attack craft and torpedo boats.”
The seamstress frowns. “So that means that the PUEXO pilot who fought them…that was you?”
You nod, shrugging slightly. “It wasn’t just me. The crew helped out, too. I might’ve been cockpit paste if not for the chief engineer. Crack shot with the .50 caliber at a Bloodied with a rocket launcher.”
“Sinleq!” hisses Caroline, alarmed. “That isn’t something to joke about. You could’ve died! The losses the <span class="mu-i">Calypso</span> suffered…”
“I know how many we lost,” you roughly interject, “I was there, Caroline. You don’t need to remind me.”
The cynic within you tartly notes that if you die, Stolze immediately axes Tom’s ongoing treatment. Not a completely unwarranted worry on the part of his mother. Caroline is only worried about Tom’s continued survival. Or alternatively, your continued existence as a metaphorical golden goose.
But you squash that thought like a bug.
“We survived,” you insist emphatically, “I survived. They didn’t. Barring one prisoner for the spooks, that attack group is gone-ate. With extreme prejudice.”
Caroline tries her best to hide her amusement. Her severe frown cracks, and a light note of laughter escapes her throat. “You always did have a way with words, Sinleq.”
(cont.)
