JB:Spacestation Queen mk.2

In a dank vapour-filled room filled with their enemies, the Space Queen and Pirate King sat casually ruminating over their meagre meal. Faces grimaced at them when they weren’t looking, envious eyes watching their every move with quiet apprehension. Slyly, they would fondle their hidden weapons to validate themselves, to reassure damaged egos that they could take on the infamous duo if they really wanted to. The Space Queen eyed them defiantly from the table at which she sat, daring anyone to start a confrontation, showing them her complete lack of concern. With ease she petted the large War Hound, Bellial, that sat at her feet, a creature willing to the tear flesh and bone from anyone who disturbed his mistress. Leaning across, the Pirate King spoke to her…
          “What’s the matter, Munchkin? You not hungry?”

Drawn away from her fantasy world, Jelly pouted. She hated these company-owned space stations. Sure, they had numerous labyrinthine corridors and passageways, and a huge technicians’ level in which she could have her adventures while her father worked. But they were sterile, over-crowded and impersonal. There were very few children about, and even then they were restricted to the school levels of a day and the residential areas of a night. Jelly and her father sat in a featureless cafeteria, the same as the ones situated on every other level, grey and dull and joyless. There was no colour in them, just sheet metal walls and row after row of battered white table-benches. Was it any wonder the people here were surly and un responsive?
          “I thought the fried Pork noodle soup your favourite?” Her father questioned, seemingly sensing the drop in her mood.
Pouting still, Jelly poked at the contents of her recyclable polystyrene bowl with obvious disdain. The soup base was grey and oily, the noodles sitting in it like bottom-feeders in a pond. And fried pork? That was a joke. Yes, to add insult to injury, there was never any actual meat present in places that were this far away from planet-side. It was all mycoprotein derivative meat substitute, a pre-shaped paper machè-textured substance. The little girl missed the heady smell of the food that was cooked in the pit-stops of the Interstellar race. They always had the best food. There was always row after row of camping stoves with woks on them, filled with real pork and real chicken and with real vegetables and real spices. The scent of different meals mingling would rise up into the evening air as the temperature cooled. Jelly and her father were always guaranteed a free meal from the race team they worked for. The Morning-Star team was now like a family to them. Sometimes Millian and Rayder, the race pilots, would fire up the after-burner and roast some marshmallows in it especially for the little girl. Missing the race team more than ever, she poked again at her oily soup mess.
          “Is it not good?” Her father pushed.
          “It looks yucky.” She grizzled at her father.
          “You won’t know if it’s yucky unless you try it.” He smiled, “It may taste better than it looks.”
To placate the Pirate King she took a mouthful of it and was surprised to find that it actually didn’t taste as bad as it looked. It wasn’t fantastic, but it was palatable enough to ease her hunger. On the floor next to her feet Belly panted with eager anticipation and she slipped him a piece of mycoprotein. He guzzled it with greedy abandon.
          “I miss Millian and Rayder.” She sighed despondently, “How long is it until the race season starts?”
          “A day sooner than when you asked me yesterday.” Her father laughed, ruffling her hair.
          “Still not soon enough.” She grumbled under her breath.