Spots: Meeting Spots

A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth

vi. Cover.	02. In Which Spots is Tired.

01. Meeting Spots

Barracks. Claws enters the room only to find a stranger in it: a woman in her early thirties, storing a duffel in the closet two bunks down. She's 5'5" and relatively fit, but has a rounded belly and soft edges. Her skin's a bisque color with a golden farmer's tan, and her hair is in a dark braid coiled and taped around her head.

Claws is a young man in his early twenties, built hard but narrow. What hair he has is very short and sandy; his eyes are hazel, his skin a faded tan.

Claws. "Well woah, hey-lo. You must be new."

Stranger. "What gave me away?" She smiles and extends a hand. "Magda Guitart. Sergeant Holden told me I should bunk here."

Claws, shaking it. "Pleased to meetcha. I'm Walker, Travis. But call me Claws, everyone else does."

"Claws... no kidding?"

Claws. "Yeah, we all go by call-sign here. Sarge's Scythe if he ain't told you yet."

"How come? I mean, that's a little strange, isn't it?"

Claws. "Bit. You know about the Void Angels?"

Stranger. "You mean the air support, right?"

Claws. "Them's the ones. We had some of them layover here when we first deployed and picked up the habit from them. Pilots, you know."

She resumes unpacking. "Huh. I guess I need one, then, don't I."

Claws. "Sure do. If you're one of Scythe's you're part of Team Kitty. You can guess the theme."

Stranger, pausing in putting away her clothes. "Hmm. Is there a Spots yet?"

Claws. "Spots like a leopard or a cheetah? Huh, that'll work. We ain't got a Spots yet." He nods at her face. "For the freckles, eh?"

Spots, laughing. "All seven of them. You have more than I do."

Claws. "Can't see 'em as well, what with the skin bein' darker than yours. Where'd they send you from, space duty? You're pale as a china doll."

Spots. "Believe it or not, I just got plucked from my house and shipped out here." She takes out a photo and carefully places it on the wall above her assigned bunk.

Claws. "****, when was the last time you saw duty?"

Spots eyes him. "Do you always talk like that?"

Claws. "Talk like what?"

Spots, shaking her head. "Never mind. The war started after I retired from duty. I've been at a desk a few weekends a year for over a decade, but that's about the size of it. I've never been out of the solar system until now."

Claws stares at her. Then past her at the photo. "Your family?"

Spots. "Yes. Would you like to see?"

He looks: a solid man in his thirties with short blond hair is standing with his hand on the shoulder of a boy who looks to be 7 or 8 years old. The boy is holding a young girl, perhaps 3 years old. "Woah. Those yours?"

"Both of them, yes. And the man too, I'm proud to say." Spots grins. "He's a miner, we spend half the year on an asteroid." She sets her last item on the half-desk next to her bunk: a rosary. "Sergeant Holden—Scythe, I guess—says I need to go check my suit. Do you know the way to the armory?"

Claws. "Sure, I'll show you." Glances at her. "Sure you're old enough to have two kids that size?"

Spots, laughing. "I can see I'm going to like you, Claws."

vi. Cover.	02. In Which Spots is Tired.