Mr. Chopra’s Curious Collection
By Calla Gold
The first time Sitara walked close to the locked cargo section in Cargo Bay Two, the sensory anomaly enveloped her like a tingly, too-hot bath. Hired onto the Ravati to run the cargo mechs and load the fruits of the acquisitive Mr. Chopra’s traveling souvenir hunt, she’d almost turned down the contract.
When Sitara’s boots had hit the ramp into the spaceship, her guide Padma had little to say about the ship or the mysterious Mr. Chopra. Repeated efforts to question Padma had bounced off pat replies and elicited nervous, flat smiles. Sitara’s desperation to get off-planet overcame her wish to reject the contract.
On that first cursory tour, Sitara had been shown through the typical scratched metal passageways, confined crew berths, frugal galley, and bleak gym. The bulk of the ship’s capacity consisted the two cargo holds of collectibles.
Curiosity was a trait of the Sensitives. On Sitara’s planet, Mynah, she’d been protected by her youth when the culling had begun. The Directorate of Protection tested and removed Sensitives from their homes at eighteen.
Sitara knew gut-deep that her stand-offish mother was the source of her second sight. Ever since her eighteenth birthday party—noisy, emotional, and overwhelming—her cursed talent had expanded. Once Sitara’s test had been scheduled, visions of future captivity filled her dreams. Sitara vowed to get as far away from her parents and Mynah as possible.
At first it seemed that Sitara had traded her clipped-communication home life for a similarly unfriendly spaceship. Luckily, her cargo-hold domain offered forbidden opportunities to explore. Padma’s reserve broke down as Sitara shared her daily discoveries while snooping into Mr. Chopra’s relics and rarities.
Padma became her best friend, a happiness that made the cramped quarters and her restricted existence bearable. Padma, used to following orders, falters at accompanying Sitara to investigate the locked cargo section.
“Don’t make me do this alone,” Sitara said.
“Don’t make me void my contract.”
“Don’t be a chittermouse.”
“Fine.” Padma frowned.
#
Padma peeked over Sitara’s shoulder at the nondescript box inside the locked cargo cage.
“What about cameras?” Padma said.
“I haven’t found any,” Sitara said.
Padma blew a bubbly noise with her lips. Sitara stepped closer to the box; a prickling sensation just under her skin moved around her body like under-skin worms. Sitara clenched her teeth against her body’s reaction.
Sitara’s aunt had warned her that many people feared energy they didn’t understand, so much so that they killed, passed laws, and imprisoned those who felt the unmeasurable. Feeling hard things didn’t always mean trouble, her aunt had told her.
The plight of the Sensitives had seemed like distant news when she was growing up; nothing to do with her. That was, until she could no longer ignore her own flashes of knowing. Sensitivity was never mentioned in her home. Sitara’s well-behaved siblings took their cues from their mother and shunned Sitara with quiet, non-obvious behaviors.
Her aunt had taught her meditation and drilled her focus in secret. Sitara practiced sensing who was near, and with closed eyes where they were located. Her sibs quit playing hide and seek with her because there wasn’t a cabinet or pile of blankets that could conceal the hider from her senses.
Sitara turned to Padma. “There’s something strong in that box.”
Sitara pressed “Release.” The cables wrapping the cargo box unmagnetized and clanked to the deck. She set her corder for “Inspection” and tapped the box. A lock clicked. She opened the well-oiled door. The tart smell of animal waste made her throat constrict.
“Ick.” Padma scrambled back.
Sitara clicked on her chest lamp and saw a multi-level cage and a rodent’s red-eye glow. Like colliding with a faulty-sensored cargo bot, a wall of anger thumped her. She fell to her knees.
“Sitara?”
“Did you feel that?”
Padma shook her head and looked closer. “It’s kind of ugly. Why would Mr. Chopra collect that? I expected something pretty.”
Sitara drank in a thirsty breath. She closed her eyes. Hoping one less sense-portal would soften the emotional onslaught.
“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you,” Sitara crooned.
“What?” Padma asked.
“I’m talking to her.”
“Who?”
“Her name is Ola. She’s scared and angry. Shhh.” Sitara unlocked the cage and reached her hand in.
“What the tipped orbit is wrong with you?” Padma backed away. “Put that, that thing back. We need to leave. Now.”
Ola had an enlarged head. Her tiny bone structure was in sharp focus like a cruel science display.
“She’s starving,” Sitara said.
“We shouldn’t…”
“See what’s wrong with the food dispenser and get some food.”
Padma crawled forward. “Eewww. There’s a dead one in here, too.” She yanked out the feed bowl and a blocked tube. A shower of dry food fell in a clump by the dead rat. She passed a cupped hand’s worth to Sitara. Ola dived nose-first into her first meal in too long.
Sitara sensed the happiness as yellow, glowing warmth from her upper ear piercing to her pinky toe. She lifted her head and laughed aloud.
Padma scooted closer, eyes wide. “I felt something. It was nice.”
“Close your eyes.” Sitara’s hand touched Padma’s chest.
“Oh, Goddess,” Padma murmured. “Is this what it’s like to be a Sensitive?”
Padma opened her eyes and gazed at Sitara. She touched Sitara’s face, then kissed her. When she pulled away, they grinned at each other.
“’Bout time,” Sitara said.
Sharp claws scored but didn’t break Sitara’s skin as Ola climbed to her neck.
“You’re not keeping her,” Padma said.
“Put the feed tube and bowl back.”
“But…”
“She’s sentient.”
“Ola, don’t pee on her, okay?” Padma said.
“Grab more of her food, eh?”
#
Fifteen days later Ola delivered five healthy pups. By then Padma was taking turns wearing Ola on her rounds.
#
By the time they disembarked together, smuggling Ola and three pups off-ship, the cage had been fixed. They left the two non-Sensitive rats behind for Mr. Chopra’s curious collection.
End
