En Route

The feeling of the cold metal of the cell's floor against his cheek made him stir from unconsciousness. Blood trickled from his mouth onto the smooth gray steel plates. A fluorescent lamp flickered in the ceiling as he tried to sit up. He winced from the pain in his ribs.

"Why did you shoot him?"

He managed to sit up, and wiped the blood from his mouth with his gloved hand. His eyes squinted, not quite used to the cold white light of the lamp, slowly found the source of the voice. A woman. He spoke.

"I only did what I was paid to do. My job."

"He is a child, eight years old...fuck, you disgust me."

The man smiled a bloody smile and spat out a piece of his broken teeth onto the floor in a crimson puddle. He slowly rose, with great effort, supporting himself against the wall of the cell.

"I don't expect you, of all people, to understand what I do."

The woman's fist connected with his temple with a smack. His vision turned to white stars of pain and he fell back onto the floor. He coughed violently, the water of his life painting the floor.

"There's nothing to understand Curt. After what you did we should toss you out of the airlock."

Curt smiled at the woman.

"I regret nothing, you know. That 'child' tried to kill her. Eye for an eye, right?"

This time Curt was kicked in the gut by the woman, the heel of her ankle-high boot digging into his abdomen. He screamed out in pain and found he could no longer even attempt to rise from his fetal position. The woman reached into her coat and produced a pack of cigarettes. Merranese Reds. The good stuff. She expertly and habitually jerked the pack, and picked the extended cigarette from it with her teeth. She lit her expensive tobacco and inhaled deeply, relishing the taste. She kneeled down next to Curt and exhaled a cloud of smoke into his bloody face.

"Doc says he will probably not live until we arrive. The airlock is ready for you if push comes to shove, Curt. On my ship we follow a principle that I believe you are familiar with. I call it 'an eye for an eye'."

Curt looked at the woman for a long time through his blood stained hair. The woman rose and kept smoking her cigarette while moving towards the door. She looked back at him, leaning against the wall casually. He slowly managed to sit.

"Fuck you, Deneira."

He could still hear her laughter even after she had closed and locked the cell door behind her.