PERSPECTIVE: KAMIKO

Space was as empty as ever. 

I looked out past the cockpit of The Auberon to check if there was anything in the way. As if there’d be anything in the way. When I signed up for this gig the posters made it look like space was actually full. Planets and stars and new life on every corner. 

Frankly I'd prefer this to that pretty image, reconsidering it. Never been much of a people person since I was a kid. 

…This can wait. 

I push up from my pilot’s seat, brush past the dusty other two flanking it, and make it to the living quarters to eat. I’m not exactly hungry, but eating keeps someone occupied. Passes time. 

Some leftover radish soup would do. If you think I have it fresh, you’re seriously overestimating the quality of this ship. It’s all dehydrated, basically little more than a powder you dissolve in water. If you’re lucky it’ll come with a rock-hard freeze-dried veggie or two. 

So there I am now. I'm staring into this slowly dissolving absinthe-green powder and zoning the hell out when I catch something. 

To an inexperienced pilot, or one less like me, the shunts and bangs of a working spaceship, at least one as beat up as mine, blend together in this miasma of background noise. 

But to me the click of a revolver stood out like a sore thumb. 

Instinctively I duck, just managing to avoid my head being blown off by the bullet, a quick roll later and I'm staring down my attacker. Another stowaway. 

This one was a wastelander for sure. Vermin in appearance, a long snout flanked by twisted and uneven whiskers sat atop a beige cloak that flung sand as he moved. The rat chewed on the tobacco-like substance in his maw and spat it out. Directly into my food. 

“Hope ya don’t take this personally now, doll.” He adjusted the pair of goggles sitting atop his small eyes as he dumped a beaten-up bullet from the chamber of his pistol. 

“My family’s been stuck on that sandy rock for generations… And good travel ain’t easy to come by.”

I didn’t say anything for now, my brain kicking into gear as fight-or-flight told me what to do. 

I felt my legs bend and arms raise, my ears swaying side to side with what could only be described as a kind of rhythm. Ever since I was little I'd been teaching myself to control my response to danger. I blinded my instincts with technique. 

The rodent-stowaway pulled his cloak aside and produced a knife, a long curved thing, injured and gashed by years of service in the harsh desert. 

The fight was over in a flash. Lacking any discipline like me, he swung like a madman, allowing me to shift the weight of his arm and blade to crash into a crate of frozen meals instead of my ribcage. From there I used his own weight against him, holding onto one of the numerous strands of cloth around his neck to yank him to the floor. 

That’s when the world paused. 

Usually I’d just… Cuff the guy and throw him in the guest room as a cell and wait until the next refuelling joint or whatever.

But sometimes I get the feeling. This urge to do more than just call it a day. 

I barely realized as I slowly grabbed the cloth in both hands and secured it around the rodent’s neck, tugging on both ends like tying a knot. Stopping the oxygen reaching his lungs. 

I don’t know why, but I felt no struggle. I saw a struggle happen, a horrible one. But I didn’t feel shit. It was like I was your average person, and this rat was a mosquito under my thumb, trying to limp away with the last of its fading strength. 

Until it has no strength left. 

As I washed his blood from my hands, I decided that a nutrient cube would have to do for dinner, and blocked that encounter out of my head as I looked at the stars and ate. 

The worst part had to be disposing of the body. Just letting it drift into space. frozen like a morose sculpture of what I just did.

I looked upon the swirling galaxy once more.

Space was still as lonely as ever. And now it was a little lonelier because of me. 

Not that anybody would know that, anyhow.

Here's my first fully original writing here, Starring Kamiko!