to ask her question. “Are we in danger on this ship?”
“We’re in danger everywhere,” Terror answered honestly. “By now, Savage will have a fugitive alert out for both of us. I had a chance to speak with the captain, and he says we’re safe down here on this deck as long as we stay out of sight.”
She arched her eyebrows at that. He raised his hands. “I know, Maisie, but we don’t have anyone else helping us right now. He’s a friend of a friend. They’re both good people. Both allied with the Red Feather. We have to trust that he’s not going to betray us.”
She typed her reply and held his gaze as the tablet read her words. “I don’t trust anyone but you.”
Even after everything he had put her through in the last twenty-four hours, she believed in him. He was used to the men he worked with trusting him with their lives. It was different to hear it from Maisie. It felt more intimate and special. Before he could act on the emotions she had awakened, she lifted her hand and seemed more urgent as she made the sign for the bathroom.
“Right. Sorry. This way.”
When he stowed away onto the ship, Terror had spoken briefly with the captain. The older man had a backpack filled with supplies from Naya including a tablet with the ship’s layout, crew list and cargo manifest. The captain had assured him there would be no trouble from any of the crew. None of the crew was berthed on this floor. The heating system had been on the fritz for weeks, and the ship’s mechanic was having trouble getting parts after a supply ship had been hijacked by Splinters. No one wanted to sleep down here, especially on the long-haul space runs.
It wouldn’t be the most comfortable trip, but Terror was sure Maisie could handle it. She had survived weeks in different prisons, the last one in an outdoor pen. A few days in a colder than usual bunkroom would be nothing to her. If it was, well, he could think of a few ways to keep her warm—if she was interested, of course.
He caught her reflection in the dirty mirror over the sink. She wrinkled her nose at the not very clean bathroom but didn’t complain. He decided then and there he would come back later and clean up the space. She might have to bear the uncomfortable climate, but he wouldn’t force her to use a filthy bathroom.
She ducked into a stall, and he chose one a few stalls down to give her a little privacy. She beat him out to the pair of sinks mounted on the wall. She pointed to the sink and then showed him the correct sign for it. She did the same for the water, the soap and the actual process of washing her hands. He’d always had a knack for learning new things and committed these new hand movements to memory.
A vending machine attached to the nearby wall dispensed various toiletries. She selected a berry-flavored tooth cleaning tablet, but the package didn’t slide down the chute. With the practiced ease of a woman who had grown up on rickety ships and abandoned military camps, she gave the side of the machine a good whack to free the package. She tossed it to him and then selected another for herself. She grabbed a package of cleansing wipes as well and used a few of them to tidy up her face and neck while swishing the foaming dental tablet around her mouth.
When she was done, she handed him the package so he could tidy up as well. As he took them, he asked, “Thank you?”
She touched her fingers to her mouth and moved it away, almost as if blowing a kiss but not quite. He repeated it, and she replied with an underhanded scooping motion toward herself.
“You’re welcome?” he guessed, and she nodded.
As he took advantage of the chance to clean his sticky skin, he wondered how long it would take to learn the signs he needed to have a real conversation with her. The sort of conversation that didn’t require paper and pen, a tablet or tapped codes. He wanted to be able to sit next to her and enjoy her company without long pauses or confusion.
When they returned to their bunk room, he grabbed the last bag of IV fluid from the supplies. She made a face, but he insisted, pointing to the orders scribbled