A Body So Beautiful You Could Slap It

The elevator came to a gentle, controlled halt at the second-lowest level.

From the corner of his eye, Fasti watched Acha’s posture shift - anticipation. Not nervousness. Excitement. Positive anticipation. Her tail flicked behind her like a question mark.

It suddenly occurred to him that the original pilot suit might not have accommodated her tail. But if that were the case, a simple modification would have sufficed instead of an entirely new outfit.

He shook his head.

Too many questions.

The lift doors clicked as the locks disengaged, hissed while the air cycled, then slid silently open. Acha’s ears perked immediately as she took in the space beyond, but Fasti didn’t give her long to stare. He stepped out and motioned for her to follow.

“Have you ever been in a hangar before?”

The underground structure was medium-sized by hangar standards. Large enough to house a relic passenger jet from the previous age, it was illuminated by powerful ceiling lights embedded high overhead. Along the walls sat everything a modern hangar required: automated servicing systems for paying customers capable of refuelling, loading, and maintaining almost any vessel that could fit inside. For the many cheapskates who preferred doing things themselves, racks of manual tools and service equipment waited nearby.

The centre of the hangar was dominated by a massive landing pad. The entire platform was mobile, capable of sliding into what was essentially a launch corridor leading to the surface.

But none of that was the real centerpiece.

That belonged to Senatla.

Small for a medium-class ship - yet far too large for a small hangar - she looked slightly misplaced in the vast room. Still, nothing diminished her presence.

Your eyes were always drawn first to the engines.

Two unnecessarily large cylindrical engine pods sat semi-recessed into the rear fuselage, level with the main body. Their wide intakes looked almost hungry, while the exhausts behind them gaped dark and silent. Beneath each rested the rear landing gear, currently extended but designed to sit perfectly flush when retracted.

From there, the gaze naturally travelled forward along the fuselage. Despite its somewhat boxy structure, the ship appeared sleek, almost refined. Her nose tapered into a rounded point that looked like a bird’s beak, supported below by the sturdy nose gear.

Hidden while powered down were her delta wings, folded neatly into her belly. During atmospheric flight, streamlined arms would swing outward, pulling taut a specialized material theoretically stronger than several internal engine components themselves.

She was painted a creamy white, accented with yellow trim along her sharper edges.

Her model was rare - discontinued after only a few hundred units had ever been produced. Fasti had been lucky to acquire one.

Or unlucky, depending on perspective.

Replacement parts were scarce. Of the hundred or so examples still active, more than half remained airborne only because sponsors refused to let the model disappear into obscurity.

Senatla was no exception. Several of her components existed purely thanks to sponsorship agreements.

Even so, Fasti preferred maintaining her himself. He had earned the ship through years of hard work, and he intended to keep her flying through his own effort whenever possible.

Lately, however, that had become harder.

And that was where the apprenticeship came in.

“Have you ever been in a hangar before?”

She blinked, realizing he was talking to her, then shook her head.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Really? I’m surprised.”

She frowned.

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“You seem like the type who wants to see everything.”

She shrugged back.

“It’s not like I can just walk in.”

He chuckled.

“You sound like you tried.”

She pouted.

“I forgot they were bio-locked.”

He grinned as they continued toward the resting spacecraft.

“Well, anyway. Here’s Senatla.”

Her eyes lit up again.

“She’s a looker.”

He nodded, his grin pulling a little wider than he intended.

“She really is.”

He slowed, letting her move ahead. As expected, the first thing she did was reach out, trying to place a gentle palm against the metal plating of the left engine pod. She had to rise onto her tiptoes to reach the panel she’d chosen.

He wondered how many movies she’d watched.

Personally, he usually just slapped the hull as a greeting.

As if reading his thoughts, she spun around, already scowling.

“I thought I was a bit taller than that, okay?”

He nodded, failing to hide his amusement.

“I’ve done the same thing. Don’t worry.”

She clearly didn’t believe him, but it didn’t matter. He finally caught up beside her.

“I’m assuming you’ve flown before.”

She nodded.

“Commercially, yes. But who hasn’t?”

He shrugged.

“Dunno. Had to be sure.”

She frowned, but he moved on before she could decide whether he was teasing her.

“Anyway. How much do you understand about the job?”

She blinked.

“It’s just freelance couriering, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Pretty much.”

He walked along the ship’s flank, her belly sitting roughly at shoulder height until he found the latch he was looking for. A metallic clunk sounded, followed by the whine of a motor as seams appeared along Senatla’s side. The entrance unfolded smoothly, steps lowering until they rested gently against the floor.

He gestured for Acha to follow, but she remained behind, studying the ship’s name painted in yellow lettering along the fuselage beneath the engine intake. She squinted, speaking slowly.

“It’s spelt differently to how I thought it would be.”

He blinked.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged.

“You say Senatla, ‘seh, naht, lah’. But if I didn’t know better, I’d read it ‘sen, at, lah’.”

He smiled.

“True. I’ve never really thought about it.”

Then he beckoned again.

“But come on. The job might be freelance, but time is money.”

She nodded and followed him up the steps and into the heart of the starship - too excited to fully realize that, for the first time, she was stepping into what would be her home until she graduated.