Day 8 - Noble Intentions

Day 8 -

I am so fucking hung over. Sweet fuck, it feels like I've been steamrolled. I'm looking over what I wrote in my journal last night and holy shit, I get angsty when I get drunk off my sweet perky ass.

I woke up this morning with Lily curled up in my arms and that was nice. Damned Nalisk are so warm. It's kind of normal for them, I guess. She was all but latched onto me, holding so tight. I could have moved, but I didn't want to. 

Not with… what was on my mind.

I feel better after yesterday. I got all my crying done.

I had me a realization lying there in bed with that stranger. I might be more of a cold hearted bitch than I realized. All it took was a bottle of booze, some crying, drunken sex, and a hangover to make me feel better about outright killing half a dozen people. I mean, I went a little schizo and talked to a corpse for half an hour but I count that as therapeutic or something.

I don't feel guilt really, not anymore.

I did good.

Anyway, enough about me.

Lily is nice. She cooked me and Marty breakfast. I sat her down and had a talk with her about some things.

She was a slave for ten years, taken from her family when she was fourteen because they couldn't pay back a friggin' loan shark. She found out later that her family wasn't too broken up over it because they just… moved on. Took all the pictures of her down and pretended she didn't exist. The slavers brought her by and showed her that so she wouldn't try to run. She had nowhere to run to.

She said they used her for things. Theft, sex, lying to enemies, spying on enemies. She gained trust, made friends, learned the hard way that the universe ain't friendly to no one once you step the fuck off of the rocky soil of whatever shithole planet you're born on. The law ain't as awesome in space, you see. It's harder to enforce things out here and bad things happen to good people. You can hide crimes by throwing a ship into a sun. You can kill people, jettison their bodies. Burn hard drives, scatter storage crystals, overload engines…

Yeesh, I sound like a pirate or something.

The point is, she learned that space is cold in more ways than one.

I feel bad for her, being used like that since she was… sixteen, she said. At least… for the sex. Nalisk reach sexual maturity at about fourteen. Figuring in Universal Space Time or whatever, that's… sixteen, back on Earth. It's tough to figure out. Point is, she was young, and started getting screwed too many ways too young.

That right there evaporated a whole mess of my guilt about the killing. They raped a girl who they used like a tool, a slave.

I tell her I understand that she doesn't know much different. That's why she crawled into bed with me when I was drunk. I feel a bit of guilt over that, but she's smart enough to know the difference between having sex when you want it and being forced. I still feel like she's not all right in the head with the sex stuff, but… well, I've told her she should have sex when she wants to. I told her she'll be paid for work on my damned ship.

I ain't a slave driver. I ain't gonna be like them. No way in hell.

She cried when I told her about the pay, told her she was free to do anything she liked as long as it didn't damage or alter the ship. I told her that her quarters are her quarters, I'll be providing her a stipend for picking up clothing and some things she might want.

I have no fuckin' idea what to do with some cute chick crying on my shoulder. For starters, I was weirdly aroused. Secondly… I was raised by a giant bug. What the fuck do I know about crying? Elliot was a great guy, and a great pseudo-dad, but his comfort was always very logical and blunt. He never obfuscated what he was trying to say, he just said it. And uh… the bugs don't cry.

I guess I know where I get that all from.

We got to talking next about what she'll do on the ship.

I told her it was her responsibility to keep the bar stocked with good booze, which she said she knew a shitload about. She can give Marty a list and he'll give her the funds to procure it, or he'll add it to the supply list that will be given at places that are just auto-stock stations with no actual boarding locations. The cute little thing actually asked for a pen and paper and took notes on what to do.

She told me that in return for all my kindness, and for giving her an honest job, that she could do some things for me.

For instance, she told me, she did some serious spy work for them. She knows things about fighting, about breaking into places easily, about killing. That about broke what little bit of a heart I have. I could see there in her eyes that she's killed before - and she's killed more than one person.

I ain't sure I'm gonna be able to order her to shoot, but I told her if she needs to defend herself, if someone shoots at her…

She has every damned right to shoot right back.

That was a hell of a conversation. I've got a slave girl who was… young when she was taken, but who knows enough about the world to not be totally broken into thinking she has to be property. I guess that's good. I guess a space station is a hard place to truly isolate someone. Maybe I just don't know enough. Maybe I don't understand shit.

I'm doing the best I can, here.

She told me she could show me what she knows about fighting.

I decided she wouldn't handle fighting me well.

Marty's good at fighting, but he's too strong though, so… I said fuck it, and I fought her.

God damn can that girl move. She's fast, faster than I'll ever be thanks to my size and weight and whatnot. I thought I'd take her in an instant, but after about ten minutes I realized she was playing with me. Enjoying herself.

I told her to get serious.

In under a minute, she was on my back with a knife pressed to my throat.

My knife, from my belt.

It occurred to me that maybe she was a little touched in the head about the whole property thing, there in that moment. Partly because she could have escaped at any time with these kinds of skills. Problem would have been finding a ship with someone on it who cared, so there's that - and removing the poison implant.

But she also asked me right in my ear, and I felt a little sick to my stomach at the same time as a little more than a little aroused, a very simple question.

"Are you satisfied, Mistress?"

Oh god, don't even get me started on the shit that did to my libido.

But I ain't going to take advantage of her psychology like that. Gonna make it full on perfectly clear that she doesn't gotta be like that and I'm going to make it clear to Marty that if he takes advantage of her shit is going to be real bad for him.

It might take some time, but she'll understand her body belongs to her, and not to me or anyone else.

I plan to talk to her in a few minutes about it.

Okay, what the Hell?

So I talked to her.

It went… well?

She said she was sorry for making me uncomfortable. I said I was sorry for… something. For being weird about things. I don't know how her mind works, you know?

Well, you don't, obviously.

You're a microphone.

So we worked some things out. She's got the picture that I don't own her. I explained carefully to her that she should think about it like she owns her. She made the decision to try to get me out of there alive because I was nice to her. I told her it's like that. Do good things to do good, do bad things to bad people, et cetera.

She's bright. She understood.

She then calmly explained to me that she ran with a rich crowd, and her family prior to needing to borrow money had been pretty rich. Employees of the rich people call them Mistress, or Master, or some weird S&M crap like that. It's a respect thing. She wasn't saying I own her.

She was saying she respects me as her superior. She said it because I hired her.

… so she's gonna keep calling me Mistress, and that's just uh… that's pretty okay with me.

I am a fucked up person.

Worse yet, the intuitive little wench told me that she knew what it did to me, and she was amused as Hell by it.

"Really, I promise you. I understand all of that. I didn't want to interrupt all your frantic explanations… I'm not used to being allowed to speak whenever I want. So, if that's all… is there anything else you need from me, Mistress?"

Now, I don't know if she's fucking with me about the Mistress thing or not, but I know she's going to be a tough one to trust very much. I'll have to see how things go. She could have been honest about the not being used to talking freely, and that wouldn't surprise me… but I know this.

She might be fucking with me, she might not… but she's definitely fucking me.

I am just the worst.

But she's right over there, awake and reading an ebook, and she's naked and she's in my bed and…

My life is very suddenly weird.

But I'm going to put on a tank top and panties, go talk to Marty, and then I'm coming back and I'm going to sleep in that bed with her because… because she's latched onto me, and I'm lonely and she makes me feel better and Elliot is dead and I hardly know what the fuck I'm doing.

I'm going to go with it.

If Elliot taught me anything, he taught me that if you fight against the currant of the universe, you'll live your life marching against the flow and nothing will ever go right. If you steer yourself in that currant, to get to where you want… even if it's slower, you'll still get there.

I'm not sure I said that right, and but I understand it just fine. 

… how the fuck does she manage to smell so good when she's only been using the generic soap and shampoo we have on this ship?

For that matter, why does she love my dad's cologne so much?

… Maddie Winter here, asking the hard hitting questions.

Anyway, recorder, microphone thing, I gotta go. She's giving me bedroom eyes and I really, really need to talk to Marty so I'm going to get out of here before she winds up face down between my legs again.

I'm so lost.

Day Seven - Drunk, Tanked

Day Seven -

Okay so I'm really drunk.

I also couldn't find the… fucking… recorder thing. The microphone. I know the ship has on board mics in every room but fuck that, I like my private until I die journals being private and you gotta speak up for the in room microphones.

I canst stop giggling, and I feel bad about that. I went down to see Elliot. His frozen insectoid face was there waiting for me, just visible through the frost covered glass. I told him I had a nightmare.

It was pretty bad.

I shot that fucking bug in the space station when I rescued Lily from slavery. That fuckin bug who collapsed my lung and shot my arm with a laser.

What a prick.

But in this nightmare I was right there, and it wasn't the bug I shot. When I popped up it was Elliot, and he fuckin skittered up to me and stood over me as I died and told me that it was my fault. It was my fault he died. I killed a bunch of men and I was just a psychopath.

I can't stop crying.

Elliot, you always told me that this is a cold ugly universe and if someone shoots at me I have the right to shoot back. They were gonna hurt me, Elliot.

Lily woke up and she was sleepy. She tried to tell me I couldn't be sad because it was her fault. I was already pretty drunk at that point. I sat at the bar with her pouring me drinks, Elliot. She listened to me cry about what a monster I am. She listened to me talk about you raising me after mom… died.

Hard to type. Glass of whiskey in my hand. Cig in my mouth. Youd be disappointed Elliot.

I told her about how great of a dad you were. I told her how you taught me to fight and stuff. She said you sounded wonderful.

Elliot, I always came to you when I was lost.

Now I've killed a mess of people and I don't know if I can keep doing this. Is this what I have to do to get you home? Is this what being an independent pilot is?

I hate expensive bars. I ain't never goin to a expensive bar again Elliot. I'll do what I gotta do, I'll go placed I don't wanna go, but I ain't gonna play at being a rich person again.

Lily's like…

Ten feet away.

She's in my bed. I have vague memories of having sex, but I just don't know for sure. I know I'm going to go pass out with here soon because she smells nice and she's warm and that's all I can think about. I just want to hold someone and feel like I did good.

I had a choice, Elliot.

They wouldn't have killed her if I'd left her there. Maybe hurt her but not killed her. I… I didn't have to kill all those men. Maybe some survived, but looking at my gun's camera, I'm pretty sure at least five are dead.

You always said 'Little woman, you gotta know. You're gonna have to make a choice every time you pull the trigger.'

It was so easy to make that choice. So damned easy. I just pulled the trigger and killed them.

I'm afraid, Elliot. Afraid I'm going to wind up just like my dad.

Now that I say that, I realize I ain't even sure what he was like.

I'm sorry, Elliot.

I'm so sorry if I'm disappointing you. I'm just trying to do whatever I can.

Just trying to do what's right.

Write more tomorrow when I'm sober. Or record more. Hell if I know. Lily's gonna need training and I ain't sure what to train her in. Is she a killer like me? I ain't sure.