Going Interstellar (collection)

The idea was so exciting that she forgot to school her features. She felt her face light up, and Link chuckled. “You’re welcome, too, Mr. Dykens,” he added. “Let me offer you a cup of tea in our common room.”

Tie Dye said sourly, “No time. Not for Isabet, either. She has work to do.”

Link said mildly, “She’s been working all day. Just as you have.”

Isabet stared at her feet, confused. No one had defended her in a very long time. Such consideration tempted her to let her heart soften, to allow a tiny crack in her customary shell. She knew better than that, of course. And there was Tie Dye’s scorn to remind her.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tie Dye growled. “Gotta check the containment ring every six hours, like it or not.”

Isabet said, half under her breath, “It’s not my shift, Tie—uh, Mr. Dykens.”

Tie Dye said, “Oh, it’s Mr. Dykens now?”

Link said, “You can spare her for half an hour, surely.”

Tie Dye said, “Nope. Gotta get back to the ship. Nice of you, though.”

Isabet suddenly wanted to see the inside of Starhold more than anything in the universe. She wanted to turn away from Tie Dye’s sullen presence, and accept Link’s polite invitation. She longed to step into the vacuum elevator, that clever device they called the slip, and propel herself from one level to the next. She wanted to breathe in the scents of the hydroponics level with its trailing vines, inverted flats of vegetables, even fruit bushes tucked beneath the sills of the space windows. She wanted to see the cubbies, and the showers, and the common room on the galley level. She said, louder this time, “Mr. Dykens, I’m off duty till tomorrow.”

“Well, then,” the affable Link began, but Tie Dye grabbed Isabet’s arm.

“We’re going,” he said. His fingers pinched her flesh, and her cheeks flamed. She could have pulled away, but she didn’t. She couldn’t bear for the Starhold man to see her shame, to know how insignificant she really was.

Dropping her eyes, swallowing the bitter medicine of her pride, she walked back through the loading bay toward the lock, and the North America’s hold. She felt Link’s questioning gaze on her back, and her face burned hotter.

Tie Dye dropped her arm as they stepped over the rim of the seal. She glanced back once. Link had disappeared, gone back into Starhold without her. She stopped, and put her back to the drab gray surface of North America’s lock. She jutted her chin at Tie Dye above her folded arms. “When are you gonna let up on me?” she demanded.

Tie Dye, who had moved ahead of her, whirled. His face suffused, and his voice rose. “I haven’t done a thing to you.”

“Bullshit! You get in my way at every opportunity, you insult me, you make extra work—and now you can’t let me have even a half hour of freedom.”

He took a step toward her, balling his fists at his sides. Isabet was suddenly aware of how big he was, how thick his arms and thighs were, how mean the expression in his small eyes. She stiffened her back, but she took a swift glance around, looking for a way to escape.

“You had your chance,” he sneered. He came closer, and she could smell the tang of perspiration, feel the heat of his temper. “I was gonna be nice to you, Itty Bit! I was gonna be real nice, but you weren’t having any of it.”

“I don’t do that,” she said. She spoke as stoutly as she could, but she couldn’t control the tremor in her voice. He advanced until he was within arm’s length of her. She said, “I tried to tell you, Tie Dye. I don’t do it with anybody.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Everybody calls you that!”

“Not you, Itty Bit. Itty Bitch.” He reached for her, his meaty hand seizing the back of her neck, yanking her away from the curving wall of the lock. There was something about the hardness of his hand and the heat from his body that told her he meant it this time. He would force her. But she had sworn she would never be forced again. She had vowed to herself she would die first.

She writhed in his grip, trying to free herself. His other hand came up, reaching for her waist to pull her against him. There was no time even to think about what she was doing. He couldn’t hold her head, though he tried to grab at her cropped hair. She dropped, slid down his body, his legs. He cursed as he kicked at her, and caught her in the side. She rolled away from him, once, twice, the gray floor hard against her shoulders and knees. He lumbered after her, staying between her and the door leading from the hold into the safety of the ship. She leaped to her feet, spinning in a circle, searching for another escape.

She spotted the instrument panel that monitored the sealing ring, and dashed for it. Tie Dye came after her, his heavy feet making the whole lock vibrate. Her ribs hurt where he had kicked her, and her scalp stung where he had pulled her hair. There was no time to think about that now, no time to wonder if a rape would finally get Command’s attention. Like a monkey, she leaped up the laddered handholds toward the panel.