The Archangel Chronicles Part Three: Come to the Table

"Have you talked to her, Daniel? Have you told her that? Because I know it would help her to hear that."

"I don’t know if I’m interested in helping her feel better right now."

Margrace sighed and gave Daniel a long, almost-patient look. "I have to admit, I don’t understand why you’re so angry."

Daniel shrugged. "I know you don’t understand. I don’t require your understanding, Captain."

"Margrace," she corrected. "And Damaris is a good woman; she’s saved my life several times, and In many different ways. She’s also the reason that I’m here."

"So I’ve heard. Just leave it alone, all right. I’ll work it out."

"All right."

"And thank you for thanking me. It means something. I haven’t met many captains who would have done that."

"You’re welcome. Get some sleep, if you’re more used to orders. We may have another run tomorrow, if you’re interested. A short one."

"Count me in" Daniel replied. He fell back onto his bed, dismissing Margrace. He closed his eyes again, and this time, he slept.

* * *

No matter how hard she scrubbed her skin, no matter how long she allowed the shampoo to linger, no matter how much water she let cascade around her hands, Rhian Greer could still feel the sticky, sweet-smelling rot of old blood and sweat on her skin and in her hair.. She stared at the blonde strands she pulled out from her head. They squeaked as she rubbed her fingers over them, and there was nothing but a pale glint to their sheen, but still Rhian could sense the stains that were embedded in them, below the surface. She dropped it, giving up for this wash and palmed the washroom dark.

She fell prone on her borrowed bed; the blankets were still damp from when she’d done this after her previous shower, but she didn’t mind. Her host had stepped out some time ago, but Rhian barely registered the woman’s absence. She wanted the silence, wanted the time not so much to think, but for the purpose of not thinking. She was tired of the labored conversation. It was too much effort to try to pluck coherent strands of words--tidbits of information that would make sense to the listener-- from the supply that fed the cyclone inside her head. Rhian was tired of trying to make sense. One thing she knew: somehow, she had survived Botasi Station. And that she was the only one. There was nothing more to do now, other than to exist in this place her rescuers called home, and to try to get a message to her father.

Mater Anna Damaris coughed to announce her return.

"There are more clothes for you if you want to bathe again," Damaris said. "Danae told me you could keep them as long as you need them. She won’t be able to wear them for a while."

"Thank her for me."

Damaris laid the stack of clothes atop the spare dressing table, and then sat on the bed beside Rhian. "You are also welcome to stay here in my quarters for as long as you wish. Whenever you feel you’re ready, Jerem will arrange for you to have you own rooms."

Rhian sat up. "Why would I need that? I won’t be here long enough, I hope."

"We don’t know. There’s no idea yet how long it may take for us to return you to your people."