Rainy Day Eggs
The last delivery our ship made was to a dry planet with too much wind. I’d say it was nice to be somewhere with moisture in the air again, but this was a lot of rain. And while I can appreciate the scent of petrichor and the sound of raindrops on the roof as much as the next Earthling, our current setup was a smidge inconvenient.
Paint asked, “Are you sure we don’t want to use the cargo bay instead?” She peeked past my elbow through the personnel door. “I feel like a wet floor there is less of a slipping hazard.”
“Maybe, but the awning doesn’t fit,” I told her, pointing up at the portable thing that came with this spaceport’s landing pad. It was made for single-person entrances, a hovering pink rectangle tethered to the ground with some kind of localized tractor beam. It stuck to the ship nicely, and hadn’t let so much as a drop sneak past to drip down my shirt, but it wouldn’t have fit over the cargo bay entrance.
“I thought we were going to use one of the bigger landing pads,” Paint said, surprise on her lizardy face as she looked out at the spaceport. “I know our ship is on the small side, but this spot looks tiny!”
“It is,” I said. “That douchnozzle over there sniped our spot.” I pointed at the sporty red single-person cruiser that was currently hogging a courier space. I’d heard Wio swear from the cockpit when she had to adjust our approach because the jerk zipped in front of us. I’d seen the nice big awning crumple down to fit his jerkmobile. After we’d landed in a spot almost too small for us, I’d seen him stroll away with fancy clothes and a force field umbrella, and he hadn’t come back yet.
He was a human, too. Not that I was bitter about any of that.