by Sharon Lee
A pleasant female voice filled the ether, carried by a strong, directional signal.
“This is Ship Disian. Geral Jethri, may we match velocity with you and bring you aboard? Please, call me Disian.
“Also,” came the pleasant voice, with no sense of irony, “it would be good if you would turn off targeting mode and safe your weapons. We can rendezvous in ten minutes.”
Geral flinched, shook his head at himself, and safed the weapons. The oxygen read-out on his faceplate said thirty-six-point-seven hours and he was free to watch it count down, if he really wanted to. Maybe the station would pull him in, right before the last. Maybe they’d decide they needed his blood too bad to let him go.
Or, maybe they wouldn’t.
A deep breath then, and he used his jets, turning to admire the view, and the ship, approaching.
The oxygen countdown had begun to bore him and he realized that, despite it all, he was getting hungry.
“Yes, Ship Disian,” he said eventually. “Thank you. Please come for me. This distressed spacer accepts your offer of aid.”
