Reflection in the Darkness
He snuck into the kitchen, crouched low to the ground. Gen and Rina had cut the lights off, so he had to navigate the darkness by memory. The tiled floor hurt his knees, even with the padding in his suit.
He drew his handcoil, ready for anything.
The kitchen had looked suspect to him earlier—just a little too pristine. He hated hindsight. Always made him feel stupid.
A flame-shaped air freshener plugged in above the stove puffed, letting out a quick burst of a lavender scent.
Clean criminals. It pissed him off.
He opened one of the cupboards. It was empty.
Then he noticed the bowl of fruit next to the first aid kit.
It was fake.
He ran a hand over a lacquered apple and cursed. Why hadn’t he noticed?
His mother always told him he was too trusting. She would have been shaking her head at him right now.
When he told her he was called into active duty, she didn’t tell him to be careful, like most mothers did. She didn’t even say a prayer for him. She knew he’d be careful and that God would look out for him.
What she worried about was Grayson’s good nature.
He shipped off on his birthday. He’d listened as his mom stood in the kitchen over a German chocolate cake that she always made for him every year. In her pink frock and hair still in rollers, she’d shaken a spoon at him.
“Boy, I don’t know anybody in the galaxy that can’t trust you with their life.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing, Ma?”
“Not everybody needs saving. That’s your problem. What’s wrong with letting somebody fall down and hurt themselves every now and again?”
She hated the idea of him in the Galactic Guard. She’d balked when he signed up for the reserves.
“Too dangerous.”
“It’s only one weekend a month, Ma.”
“Still too dangerous!”
But boy was she proud when he came home for the first time in a uniform. The decision never sat with her, but she learned to respect it.
He thought of his mom. Whatever time it was back home, she probably wasn’t going to sleep. A few hours ago, when he’d phoned her from the deck of the cutter to say he was embarking on his last mission, and that he’d be home soon, she’d scolded him and said she wished he hadn’t told her that.
“Rotten luck,” she said. “Gawd awful rotten luck.”
“It’s cool, Ma. Just a couple of ship inspections, maybe a rescue or two, and I’ll be back to teaching backstrokes and one hundred meters before you know it. And living at home and eatin’ dinner with you and Pop every night. Just for a little while, until I find a place, and the Guard benefits kick in.”
He told her he loved her, and had just hung up when Beau spotted Gen and Rina’s ship.
He pulled his thoughts back to the present and opened another cupboard. It was filled with bottles of water. Big, ten-liter containers, like the kind used in office water coolers.
Another cabinet. More water. And cylindrical containers with starship fuel.
The entire kitchen was stocked with water and fuel.
He’d expected to at least find weapons. Or drugs.
He crawled into the salon, where the television was unplugged and the couches unused, still with the tags on them.
He kicked himself again.
It was all there, right in front of him. And he hadn’t seen it.
***
