Ammona, Part 4 [Short Story]

“State your name. Last name first, please.” A computer voice said. It carried the note of a tenor, and spoke in a British accent.

“King, Ammona.” The young woman watched the screen calculate for a moment to find her in the registry of accepted students. Its background was an image of the Sierra Nevada mountains in western America. The mountains looked so beautiful they might not be real. Ammona wondered briefly if the image had been enhanced or created by someone in any way, as the computer brought up her room assignments for the trip to Pluto Colony.

“Welcome, Miss King. Please make your way to Bunk Room 942.” The screen blipped, and a beautifully rendered map of the space ship appeared. An animated arrow started at a dot that said You Are Here and moved around several corridors towards Bunk Room 942. “Please do not leave Bunk Room 942 until after departure. Your Bunk Room monitor will inform you when you are free to roam about the ship. Enjoy your stay, and please call for any assistance on your Bunk Room monitor.” The cheerful British voice had politely told her to go find her bunk room.

Ammona grabbed her bag, which she had placed on the grated steel floor, and turned around the assignment console, to the right. She smiled to herself in excitement.

Miss King followed a few right and left turns down a series of hallways that looked identical to her. She’d been on a few starships before, but not many. It was expensive to fly unless someone else was paying for you. Ammona slowed her rapid walk, and observed her environment. There were not a lot of other students wandering around the halls. They were, no doubt, faithfully stowed away in their various quarters.

The hallways were covered in steel grates, everywhere. There was no space wasted on the ship. Beneath Ammona there was floor storage. On either side, storage bins covered with the steel grated gates that held the cargo safely intact. There was symmetry to the pattern of storage bins, in many different shapes and sizes. Ammona saw a bicycle storage bin, and another bin that had a motorcycle. Another held three beautiful magnorcycles, shiny and clean. Ammona’s breath caught when she saw one with a royal blue seat, and matching handles.

You’ll have to find out who owns that. She told herself, and tried to reach through the grate to touch the shiny chrome and leather seat. The gate’s bars were too close together. She gave up after a moment, and moved on. More reason to find the owner. Ammona liked giving herself goals, so she wouldn’t be bored.

The rest of the storage bins were full of indiscernible crates, plastic bins, and dark packages wrapped in canvas. The hallways became just as indiscernible, and Ammona looked at some of the numbers by the doorways to indicate where she could find Bunk Room 942.

914. She read the numbers to herself. 926, 928, 930, 932. This is the even side. She followed the even numbers around a left corner and saw the worst person stepping into a doorway. Please, god, let this not be 942. She thought, as she approached the doorway Eric Barrett had entered. Seriously, the last thing I need. Someone tempting me to sock them in the mouth. She stood outside the door for a moment, and saw the comm panel on the outside.

Ammona pressed an access key into the awaiting touch screen on the wall.

“Welcome, Miss King.” Said the British computer man, and Ammona watched the door slide to one side. The bunk room was tiny. She stepped in.

The room was a 12-foot by 12-foot by 12-foot box with a bunkbed on either side. Ammona tried not to let panic engulf her, show on her face, or even change whatever she felt like saying next. She didn’t have time to think about any of that.

“Hey!” Said a friendly voice, and she looked down into the face of an androgynous person with a heart shaped face, clear brown eyes and a shaved head. They sat on the bottom bunk on the right, and their sheets were a purple-blue that appealed to Ammona. They wore a casual green t-shirt that said Lucky Stars and had an interesting illustration of the constellation Sagittarius, the Archer. Their jeans and high top black boots struck Ammona as neopunk, and she liked it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hian.” Hian extended their hand. “Welcome to BR 942.”

“Nice to meet you, Hian.” Ammona said, trying to smile away her shock at the tiny room she was going to be in for the next several weeks. “I’m King.” Hian laughed, as if it were a joke. When they laughed, their eyes twinkled. It made Ammona smile.

“That’s pretty cool.” Said Hian.

“It’s you!” Said Barrett, who had undoubtedly taken the other lower bunk. He’d had his back turned before, but turned to see Ammona after she announced her name. “How funny that we’ll be in the same bunk!”

“Yes,” Ammona swallowed her irritation. “How funny.” Hian looked at her, and Ammona ignored their gaze. “I’ll take this bunk.” She threw her bag up onto the bed above Hian’s and climbed up the attached ladder.

“Well, it’s going to be nice to get to know some people before classes start.” Said Barrett. “You know, get a crew going. We’ll be best friends before this is over.”

Somehow I doubt that. Ammona thought. Barrett continued to mess up his sheets with his hands.

“Bunk friends aren’t necessarily best friends.” Said Hian.

“Just doesn’t feel like home unless I get the sheets all messy.” He said. “I wonder when our last roommate will get here.”

“Who knows?” Hian shrugged.

We are not roommates. This made her think of her favorite roommate and her real best friend. Ammona took out her PTD* and checked her messages. Still nothing from Drea. She thought. I wonder what’s she doing now. 

The room was quiet for a little while. Ammona was grateful, though from time to time when Barrett shuffled around or moved on his bunk, she felt awkward. Social guilt plagued her, but she would truly rather read a book on her PTD than listen to Barrett gab on. Ammona looked around and saw that there were two lockers on either side of the room, at the foot of the bunk beds. She hadn’t noticed them before because they were on her right and left when she walked in. Cool, at least we have that. She thought. I wonder when we’re taking off.


Previously, with Ammona:

Ammona, Part 1

Ammona, Part 2

Ammona, Part 3


Glossary of Acronyms

* Personal Tech Device

Ridiculous, curious, most likely delirious.

I love a great story, whether it comes in the form of words or visual stimuli. I believe everyone has a story to tell, and I love to share mine.

Please feel free to read along, comment, share your own stories, or send me a message via the contact page. Thanks for your time reading my words.

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