Wash Together!
The interior of the pirate ship Mad Dog reeked to high heaven. Cheap synthetic cigarette smoke, the acrid char of old hydraulic fluid, and the fresh, fishy tang of blood from the battle mingled to sting the lungs. But even in that nauseating air, treasure gleams bright. Whirr-. The jaunty spin of the electric impact wrench filled the silent engine room. Thick bolts clattered to the deck like rain.
“These guys looked like street trash on the outside, but damn if they weren't proper gentlemen underneath.” Peering through his helmet visor at the ship's beating heart, Kal's lips curled into a grin. Right there was an older-model auxiliary power core, impeccably maintained. A ship's main components like this fetched top dollar on the black market.
“Heave-ho.” He slapped the magnetic lifter onto the core and yanked the lever. The multi-ton beast floated up effortlessly, tugged by magnetism. Zero-G work was a breeze like this—mass stayed the same, but weight? Zero. Ignore inertia, though, and that metal slab would flatten him like a bug.
But this was just the start of the haul. The cargo bay brimmed with rare mineral containers looted from merchant haulers, unopened crates of luxury synthetic fabrics, and boxes of premium booze that screamed high-end.
“Generous bastards. Your noble sacrifice is gonna bankroll Eve's grocery bill real nice.” The dead don't talk back, and the living get hungry. The cold void of space could handle the prayers for their souls.
He readjusted his grip on the spanner, eyeing the main computer hardware as his next prize—when.
“Hyah!” A grunt from below his sightline. He glanced down. A tiny lifeform stared back.
“Eve, I told you to stay put over there. It's dangerous.”
“No way! Together! Kal looks heavy!”
Ignoring his protests, Eve dragged a toolbox half her size across the deck. That stubborn glint in her eyes drew a sigh from him.
Plan A had been to leave her on the Night Raven. This place was a slaughterhouse. Pirate corpses he'd snapped and pulped littered the corridors, blood still tacky. No way he wanted a kid seeing that horror show.
But Eve had flipped out.
[No way! I'm not leaving!]
She'd latched onto his leg, dragging along but refusing to let go. In the end, he'd sighed and worked with his pint-sized shadow in tow.
“Fine, then scoop up those dropped bolts. Sharp as hell—gloves on.”
“Yup! Gotcha!”
Eve zipped around the deck like a bullet, gleefully gathering bolts. Simple chores were a blast as long as she was with him.
They wrapped up fast. Everything worth grabbing was grabbed. The Mad Dog, stripped to bones and guts, was now an empty shell.
“Bye now.” Kal punched in nav coords, setting auto-pilot for the Iron Graveyard's deepest whirlpool of wreckage. Ten minutes after they bugged out to the Night Raven, it'd slip silently into the colossal tomb. Evidence scrubbed, funeral in cosmic dust.
The nastiest chore waited: Night Raven's corridors, choked with bodies.
“Eve, head to the airlock first. I'll stash the loot and follow.”
Eve shook her head. “I'll help.”
“This ain't helping. And kids shouldn't see this crap.”
“S'fine. Not scared.”
Eve was matter-of-fact, more worried about his bandaged hands hauling corpses than the gore itself. Stubborn as a mule, he caved and got to work with her watching.
Male torsos sundered from legs, necks pulped, ankles oddly intact and spinning—as the airlock hissed open, pressure sucked dust and debris into a vortex. Space vacuum. Eternal dark, unbroken sleep.
“……”
Eve watched the whole thing in silence. Those red eyes showed no revulsion, no fear. No clue what brewed in her head. He hadn't pried about the lab hell she'd endured, so maybe this detached calm was her normal—bittersweet thought.
All cleared.
“Phew… time to scrub our house.” Fatigue crashed in post-big cleanup, but no downtime. The ship was trashed. Chunks gone, but crimson splatters and flesh gobs clung to walls and deck from the pirate takedown. Leave 'em? Hygiene nightmare, plus the stench'd linger.
Storage raid: industrial cleaner and gear. Lighten the mood? Exaggerated throat-clear.
“Ahem! Crewman Eve!”
She jolted from the corner. “Sir! Captain sir!”
Her sloppy salute was kinda cute.
“Enemy breach trashed the ship. Grab this sprayer, hit the blood spots. Nasty chems—mask up. Clear?”
“Spray! Spray! Aye aye!”
Eve snatched it with grim determination.
“Good. I'll haul spoils to cargo and mop. Stations, execute.”
Her face iced over. “Nope!”
“...Huh?”
Cling. Playtime shattered as she cicada-hugged his waist.
“Eve, c'mon. Work's gotta happen.”
“No! Together! Hate not seeing Kal!”
She wouldn't budge, nuzzling his back and whining. Peel attempt? Futile—her grip was steel-munching monster strength. Trembling all over. Not bratty. Lingering terror from his bloody return, bandaged hands. Heart tugged; no shoving her off.
“Haa… fine. Fine.”
Gummed along it was. Shield generator haul? Trailing hem-grab. Blood-mop? Koala-back spectator.
“Missed a spot there.”
“Nag then hop down and scrub.”
“Guarding your six.”
Cheeky little... Bearable, though. Mildly annoying, heavy, embarrassing.
True hell hit post-clean.
“No, Eve! Hell no!”
“Why not! Shower together!”
“Absolutely not, you little gremlin!”
Stale battle sweat, blood flecks, cleaning dust and chem funk. Filthy. Shower mandatory. Eve? Wouldn't detach at the shower door.
“Together! Scary sans Kal!”
“Not scary! Door's right there!”
“No! Shower drowns Kal-voice! Door open!”
“You're nuts?! Floor flood! Privacy, ever heard of it?!”
Yells flew, tug-of-war ensued. Teary pants-grab versus desperate defense. Marathon haggle yielded compromise: frosted reinforced glass between—he showers, she “guards” outside.
Outcome? Beyond the opaque pane, manju silhouette smooshed lips-and-forehead-flat, staring.
Whoosh-. Hot water sluiced away fatigue. Mental grind? Just kicking off.
“Kal? Still there?”
“Yup, Eve. That's thirteen.”
“'Kay.”
Quiet. Shampoo lather blinded him. Ten seconds.
“Kal? There?”
“Haa… yes. Not dissolving. Drain won't suck me.”
“'Kay.”
Rinse mid-sigh. Deadlier than foxhole enemy-sense. No whistling even.
Blitz combat rinse, towel-dry, emerge—Eve squatted door-side, peering up.
“Alive, huh.”
“Duh. Water kill me?”
His turn tolerable. Hers? Reverse nightmare unforeseen.
Whoosh-.
“Kal! There right?!”
“Yep. Staying. No bolt.”
Her turn—dust-caked from chores, blood/chem reek'd gotta go or no sleep. Insisted guard duty. Door-sentry, endless water drone beyond glass.
'What am I doing? Bodyguarding an Industries bio-weapon shower.' Pirates redux sounded relaxing.
“Kal! Done!”
“No skimping! Five minutes tops…”
Words cut—creak!Grab! Door flew, steam billowed, dripping sprite tackled his back.
“Squeaky clean! Fresh! Hehe!”
“Gah! Insane! Wipe first! Clothes! Why buck-naked?!”
“Towel lazy! Clothes lazier! Cold—hug!”
Bare pup-shake drenched his pants in icy drops.
“Argh, off! Cold incoming! Towel, now!”
“Kal toasty!”
“I'm soggy!”
Eyes clamped, snagged wall mega-towel blind. Snatched, burrito-rolled her.
“Mmph! Mmmph!”
Wriggly towel-bundle. “How many disasters crammed in five minutes... Pirate skull-smash easier.” Sigh, tucked warm heft underarm, cockpit-bound. Felt the squirms.
Cockpit seat.
“Hm-hmm~♪”
Lap-straddled between knees, humming away. He toweled damp locks. Dryer warm-blast later, eyes bliss-squinted cat-rub against his hands. Fluffed up, faint soap whiff. Bloodless, powder-free peace.
Stars streaked windows; cabin droned dryer and hum. Battle gore felt dream-far serene.
Separation anxiety, huh.
Brushing silky strands, he pondered. Battlefields breed every mental scar. Not mere spoiling. He was her world, her safety net. Dread of its shatter did this. Take it now, but forever glued? Nah. Emergencies'd doom 'em both.
Need a fix. Proxy safety... or teach her to stand solo.
Chin on her crown, he gazed into the black. Pirate clash? Done. Raising Eve proper—as kid, as person? Game on.