PANDORA

Chapter 2

The chips paid out.

Suddenly I had a month's rent plus extra burning a hole in my pocket, thanks in part to Captain Chui. I paused at the stairs up to the restaurant, patting the pockets of my cargo pants. Yes, there was the small butterfly knife I always kept with me. I carefully slipped it from a lower pocket to a higher one. Yeah, I knew I didn't stand a chance in hell of fending off this woman if she got violent, but maybe the knife would be enough to stop her from doing so. I wasn't going to survive everything I'd been through only to be done in a restaurant. Like fuck.

I climbed the stairs, my arms folded across my torso, my fingers playing with a hole in the elbow of my hoodie. Damn. I'd have to get it replaced soon.

An assortment of smells assaulted my nose as I stepped into the hallway of the restaurant level. My stomach growled furiously, reminding me that once again I hadn't eaten all day. I tried going over the numbers in my head, wondering if I could afford dinner here. It's only the start of the month, Xan. You've got more than enough. But there was always the chance of Cake or Marbles coming down with something, needing vet care, and I wouldn't risk not having that extra money. And of course, with this much, I'd have enough for some time in the sims, and maybe a new book or two.

I reached room seven and paused outside the curtain covering the doorway. My fingers worked faster at the hole in my hoodie. Go on, Xan. The place is full of people. You can get away if you need to.

Hoping that was true, I pushed aside the curtain and stepped inside. Captain Chui sat on the cushioned, circular bench surrounding the table, her posture erect and her face as expressionless as ever. Covered platters and plates overspread most of the tabletop, along with a pitcher of water and a pair of glasses. One glass was already full, condensation gathering over its surface.

"I had a feeling you'd come," the captain said, her voice perfectly nonchalant. "I wasn't sure what you'd want to eat, so I asked the kitchen to send up a selection."

Again, I hesitated. "I can't pay for this."

"I am paying for it. Sit down and eat. You're so skinny, it hurts to look at you."

Under other circumstances, I might take that as an insult. But I couldn't really deny the truth of it. I was bad at making sure I ate enough even when food was readily available, and the last few months had been pretty lean in that respect.

I inched over to the table, taking a seat as far from her as I could get. If she so much as hints that she's going to make me pay for the food, I make a run for it. Assuming I noticed the hint which, with facial expressions as subtle as hers, was admittedly unlikely. I couldn't get any kind of read on her and that terrified me. I had no instincts for reading non-verbal language, had to do it all manually, and I'd never been good with the stuff that was subtle or closed off.

"That was an interesting talent you displayed down there," Captain Chui said, as she began removing the covers from the dishes.

"Kāchik?"

Silence followed that single word, but I hardly noticed as I perused the contents of the dishes. Some of it was stuff I couldn't eat, but there was plenty I liked. I claimed several slices of roast beef, red and tender and dripping garlic-scented juices, and a few chicken legs, covered in crispy fried breading. There was a very simple salad of lettuce, tomato, and vinaigrette, which I claimed a bowl of, and a basket full of still steaming dinner rolls, so fresh and soft that the one I grabbed caved a little beneath my fingers.

"I can't tell whether you were being smart with me."

I looked up. "Being smart with-" Oh shit. Step carefully, Xan. "I wasn't trying to be smart with you."

"I thought that might be the case," Captain Chui said. "Go on, eat. I won't talk unless I see that going down your gullet."

My stomach growled again. I didn't even bother protesting. I dug into the roast beef, reminding myself to eat slowly; my stomach wasn't used to food this rich. It took effort, and that despite the slightly off texture that came with somewhat cheap vat-grown meat. The taste was good and I was so hungry.

"So, you're Xandri Corelel."

I could lie, but I wasn't very good at it, not verbally, and I doubted it would make her go away. "It's creepy that you know my name. You realize that, right?" Maybe rudeness would do the trick.

"I have some of the best hackers in the universe aboard my ship. I know far creepier things than just a name or two," she replied. Something flickered across her face, maybe something like a smile.

I wasn't smiling. My mouth tasted suddenly of ash, rather than garlic and beef. "And just how much do you know?"

I set down my knife and fork, let my hands slide to my lap. There was a strip of tattered, stained ribbon in one of my pockets, and I wanted it badly, wanted to run my fingers over the smooth surface over and over again. Instead, I reached for the knife. Slowly I drew it out of my pocket. Xan, what are you doing? This woman is a veteran. She's been in wars. She could break you in two. But I had to defend myself.

"Probably more than you'd like me to know, though doubtfully not even the half of it," she said. "I've worked with my ship's AI to put together the pieces, though it's only more recently that I realized you were Alex-"

I sprang from my seat, knife in hand. "I won't go back there. I won't. I don't care how much money they offered you, I won't cooperate. I'd rather die than go back there."

She gazed at me, and for the first time I made out something in her expression, a sorrow that darkened her eyes. "I'm not here to bring you back. Sit down and eat, and I'll explain why I'm here."

I don't know why, exactly, I sank back down into my seat and set the knife on the table. There was just something about her, something I couldn't put words to easily. She remained so calm, so unruffled, as unmoved as a mountain in the heart of a hurricane. My instincts told me to trust her, and though I was often wary of my instincts, this time I listened.

"I get the impression that you know something of what the Carpathia does, so I won't bore you with the details."

"Bore? You get to travel all over the universe and see new planets and new species and-sorry." I grabbed a roll and stuffed it into my mouth to silence myself.

"Yes, we do," Captain Chui said, that gentle hint of smile touching her eyes again. "It's not without its dangers, and of course there are elements of the government that would prefer we minded our own business, but we've done a lot of good. Part of the reason for that is because I have eyes on the ground on every planet I can, keeping an eye open for special people.

"Special people like you, Xandri."

I snorted. "You know what they call people like me, right?"

"Autistic?"

Whoa. I sat back hard, jerking as if she'd slapped me. Even though I knew it all too well, I wasn't used to hearing the A-word very much. People who knew, people like my-my parents, they tended to tippy-toe around it, as if saying it was unbearable.

I'd never met another autistic person, though I suspected at least some existed. But like many of what people had once termed neurodivergences, autism had been wiped out of the human species millennia ago. I shouldn't have it; no one should. But a few decades ago, it became a fad on human worlds to have their babies au naturel-no Petrie dishes, no genetic manipulation, nada. As prominent politicians-especially my father-my parents thought it would be an appealing, vote-winning move to do the same.

Then they started discovering us. Not just autistic kids, not just kids with neurodivergences either; physical disabilities like blindness and illnesses like cystic fibrosis made a return, too. Suddenly it became illegal within Alliance worlds to have children without genetic manipulation, to the extent that even the poorest got the service for free. And people like me? Once again, we weren't allowed to be born.

I gathered up all the years of confusion and resentment and hurt, and spat, "They call us Pandoras, Captain. Do you know what that means?"

"It refers to the Ancient Earth myth of Pandora's box," the captain said calmly.

"Jar," I blurted without thinking.

"I beg your pardon?"

I flushed. One hand sneaked into my pocket to rub the strand of ribbon there; the other clutched the remains of my dinner roll. "It was a jar, not a box. The Greeks used amphorae for storage. Jars."

"I see." And maybe I was imagining it, but she sounded more amused than annoyed. "Well, regardless, I do know the legend. The box-jar-was said to contain all the evils of the world, and it was given to Pandora as a wedding gift, though she was not to open it under any circumstances."

"But she did."

"She did," Captain Chui agreed.

"Don't you get it? That's us. People like me, we're all the evils of the world. They opened the jar for just a little while, and we got out. And don't try to give me the line that hope was still left in the jar, either."

"I won't. Xandri," Captain Chui said calmly, "that's just a story. And applying it to people who have done no harm, simply because they're different, is quite frankly bullshit. I have no time or patience for such nonsense."

Huh. I blinked. I wasn't used to such bluntness, at least not from my fellow humans. Not that I tended to discuss my Pandora status-it was much safer, as I'd learned in the early days, to keep it hidden as best as possible-but there'd been plenty of other chances to experience humanity's unique brand of "politeness." Apparently it was more rude to simply say what you wanted than to hint about it until the other person figured it out.

"So, fine. You don't believe I'm one of the lurking horrors that threatens humanity." The words tasted bitter on my tongue. "Why are you here?"

She smiled gently and for a moment, despite the scar, she didn't look like any kind of soldier. "Simple. I'm here to recruit you."