It’s said that life Aboard-Ships is monotonous, and I only wish that it were so.
When Martisset yr Astok and Karisalay whose clan-name I don’t know refused to sit at table with myself and the Immortal — a diplomatic incident in the making — the Immortal departed as well.
I remained, because the grubber-captain, the female, has told us pointedly that “it’s not that kind of ship,” and her crew are not servants. Had we also retired, there would have been no supper.
Her brother, the night-shift, reminds me of a grubber I knew at the Academy, a handsome fellow …
… on whom I will not think, because it ended in embarrassment.
The night-captain has a fine singing voice; I hear drums, and a chorus of voices, with his raised among them. A fine figure of a man, mid-thirties, with a multiplicity of braids bound back in a bundle, ultramarine glow of the communication rig glowing like a line drawing of an ancient helmet on the planes of his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw.
A charming smile that flashes bright teeth —
But it is not that kind of ship, and I know better than to ask.
Character interview with the interstellar diplomat Iric Desnaray yr Astok, from NaNo 2013, Inside the Jump. Weekend Writing Warriors offers eight-sentence excerpts from a variety of writers; see the other excerpts here.