IRIS

It takes time for me to relax and settle in. Everything's new and strange, and I'm learning it's a lot more intimidating and very different to be blind and trapped in a small cage than blind on a strange alien ship where there are a million passageways to wander into and get lost. I start counting steps at first, until I realize that the ship's computer can give me directions, kind of like the driving app I used to have on my phone back on Earth. Space-Siri, as I call her, always stops me before I run into a wall, so I just make sure to use her as a guide until I get familiar with certain areas.

The crew talks about how small the ship is, but to me, it seems large. Bigger than a house or two slapped together. It's mostly one level, with a med-bay, a mess hall, the bridge, leisure quarters for relaxing, two storage bays, and then there are crew quarters for each of the four aliens and a maze of hallways and lockers. There's probably even more to the ship, but I haven't run into it yet. I'm not the boldest of explorers.

The crew seems nice enough. I've met all of them. The captain, Kivian, is…not what I expected. Everyone gives him shit about his clothes and his meticulousness, so I imagine him as a bit of a dandy. Fran—his human mate—is the practical one. She's level-headed and clever, and while the pirate crew did fine without her, I think she's kind of the ship mom. She makes sure everyone is taken care of and that everything's in order on the Fool. Tarekh's the big easygoing medic that I'm told is hideously ugly, and Cat is the ferocious and forthright human woman that's his mate. She's a pint-sized, prank-loving dervish, and I love her bold personality even if I can't mimic it.

Other than Alvos, Sentorr's the one I'm closest to, oddly enough. He's polite and reserved and doesn't feel the need to make small talk around me. He's content to sit in silence and let me just be. He doesn’t have to make sure that I'm entertained at all times, like Fran does. Cat's usually attached at the hip to Tarekh, and whenever she gives a throaty little giggle, I worry that they're groping each other a few feet away from me and I can't see it. It makes it a little uncomfortable to be around them, even though I know they mean well.

Sentorr just works. He focuses on the ship and taps away at his controls on the bridge, and if I ask questions, he answers with a crisp response that has zero fluff to it. Maybe I recognize a fellow repressed person in Sentorr. I think he's like me, bottling up everything inside and giving the world a very focused picture of who he is. I'm calm and agreeable. He's efficient.

And the only people we're probably fooling are ourselves.

But still, that makes him easy to be around, unlike Alvos.

Alvos—I still call him that, still waiting to see if he corrects me—is both wonderful and difficult. I trust him implicitly at this point. He's protective and caring, doing his best to make sure that I'm comfortable and feel safe. Whenever I'm in the same room as him—which is often—he stays nearby and quietly offers me his arm in case I need a guide. He doesn't make a big deal out of it and never makes me feel like I'm a burden. Every morning, he ties the ribbon over my eyes because it makes me feel better to hide my scars from the others. And every night, he sleeps in the same bed as me with his arms curled around me. It's my favorite time of day, I think. To just settle into bed and be held tightly and know that I'm safe and cared for. We talk, too, but it's not necessary—I just like being alone with him.

Of course, he's also utterly infuriating. Alvos likes to pick fights, it seems. He's the crew's muscle, and if there's a job that needs heads knocked around or guns blazing, he's their guy. He goes with Kivian and Tarekh when they need to meet up with smugglers and usually comes back smelling faintly like blood. I'm told that it's just his nose or his knuckles, because he'd rather negotiate with his fists than with discussion. I don't mind this—but I do mind that he's sometimes trying to pick a fight with me. He goads me, trying to make me snap back at him. He snarls when I thank him. He does small things all day long to try and prick my temper, to get me to show something other than placidity.

But I learned that lesson already. Placidity is safe. Being as feisty as Cat cost me my eyes, half a pinky, and a toe. I can't do that anymore.

So I just ignore when he growls at me when I'm polite. I ignore the little verbal nudges he gives me in effort to make me lose my temper. I'm calm and unruffled, sweet and polite, even when I don't want to be.

It makes him crazy. I think he'd like it if I was wild and out of control, but I can't do that. I can't be that girl anymore.

The only part of me that's left is the obedient one.

I do my best to help out with the crew, though I can't do much. I don't know how to operate any of the ship's equipment. I can't read alien languages. I have a translation chip thanks to Tarekh's medical wizardry, but it only helps with spoken languages. There's not a lot for a blind girl to do, and it makes me feel guilty. Everyone has a job on ship, it seems. Fran takes inventory regularly and helps Kivian with various duties around the ship. Cat helps Tarekh with maintenance. Sentorr apparently lives at his nav station. Alvos is in charge of weaponry.

I can't really do much with weaponry because I can't see, and I can't leave the ship to help him “muscle” their contacts. I don't want to leave the ship, either. Not when I'm safe here. So I hang out on the bridge with Sentorr and try to stay out of people's way.

It's a busy week, it seems. Kivian and the others are meeting with smugglers at a space station and setting up a series of recurring shipments of something called “darkmatter.” It seems that the Fool's crew finds buyers, goes to dangerous locations on the outer reaches of the planetary system and bargain/steal the stuff they need, and then mark it up for a ridiculous price to sell back. I get the impression that they lie, steal and cheat if necessary, but they're a tight crew and they're good people at heart, so it actually doesn't bother me that they're breaking the law. I've listened to how Tarekh and Kivian take care of their women and there's no evil in these people's hearts.

I'm not much help to a pirate crew, though. Eventually, Sentorr gets tired of me sitting quietly on the bridge with my hands folded in my lap and doing nothing. He moves to the station I'm sitting at and starts to tap at buttons on the panel in front of me—a panel that I don't dare touch because I don't know what it does. While the others are at the cantina wheeling and dealing, he shows me how to work the comm panels without sight, how many taps of this button get me to the menu I need, and then he gives me a strangely shaped earpiece that just barely manages to go into my ear.

“Listen for the authorities,” he tells me. “These are the local comm channels that the police and militia in this system use to communicate. If you hear that they're mobilizing, let me know. If you hear anything out of the ordinary, you tell me. Don't be afraid to speak up.”

“All right,” I tell him in a timid voice, and listen to the radio frequencies and messages.

At first, it's just boring. There's a lot of chatter about setting up at routine stops and switching out of guardsmen at established hours. After a while, though, I start to enjoy it. I flip through several of the comm bands, and I find that the hours fly past. I enjoy listening in because it tells me where the police are that particular day. If they're doing routine checks on the station or if they've hit their quota for the month and are easing back. I hear the militia griping about unregistered vehicles in their territory and we know not to steer the Fool toward one particular planet because they're cracking down.

After about two days of flipping through channels, I overhear news of a freighter in a nearby shipping lane that's been abandoned, the crew jettisoning in life pods toward the closest station. I share this with Alvos and the others, and the next thing I know, we're setting a course for it. Hours later, the cargo—guns, it seems—has been offloaded into the Fool's berth and we're speeding away. Kivian and others pat my back and tell me that I've just earned the Fool money. Fran comments how helpful it is to have me listening to the radio, since it's gotten them into trouble before.

I feel good. Useful. Like I can do something other than be a victim. I hope it's enough to earn me a place here.

Because I'm not sure I have a place anywhere else.