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It was lunchtime, and Amanda was already looking forward to going home. She hadn’t fallen asleep until the early morning, and so had very nearly slept through her alarm, resulting in a mad dash to the workshop. The race to work had resulted in a skipped breakfast, which always left her lethargic.
She absently lifted the lids on the soup containers, before bringing a pre-wrapped chicken sandwich and a bottle of water to the check out. She scanned the cavernous room for a free table, but it was noon on the dot, and the canteen was loud and packed. Most of the buildings on Tranquility Base were connected, and everyone knew that the south canteen had the best food. She was beginning to consider going back to the workshop to eat, when the table in the far right corner caught her eye. The woman she had met in the hospital earlier in the week was sitting there alone, with a free chair beside her.
Amanda had been torn the day she had met the woman. She had taken a shortcut from her apartment to the hardware store, using a corridor in the hospital wing, and had stopped for a snack. She had seen the woman struggling and had come to her aid, but afterwards she had been unsure if she should have followed the woman to make sure that she was alright, or if she had made the right choice by letting her have space. She bit her lip, conflicted. The woman had seemed a little annoyed at herself for needing assistance, but sitting at that table, she looked as lonely and tired as Amanda felt. Waving away her doubt, she squared her shoulders and weaved her way through the crowded room. The woman was picking absently at her food, but snapped to attention when Amanda stopped in front of her.
“Mind if I sit here?” Amanda asked.
“Sure,” the woman shrugged, a flicker of recognition passing across her eyes.
Amanda gave a small nod of gratitude as she set down her tray, but the woman had looked back down at her sandwich. She’d torn the crusts off, and arranged them in a semi-circle. As far as Amanda could tell, none of it had actually been eaten. Amanda looked around, taking in the crutches leaning against the wall.
“Chicken salad?” Amanda said, hoping she didn’t come across as too awkward. “I have the same.”
The other woman’s face was still downturned, but Amanda didn’t miss the raised eyebrow.
This is why I don’t make friends. Amanda once again thought of the little, quiet room in the back of the workshop, that time with a bit more longing.
“Ripley, right?” The other woman spoke again. Her voice was low and rough; oddly nice. “Amanda?”
Amanda was happily surprised; she took such a quiet pleasure in being validated, in being seen. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.
“Yes,” she nodded, relieved. “I didn’t catch your name the other day.”
The woman pressed her lips together. “I didn’t give it. Zula Hendricks.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Amanda unwrapped her lunch, feeling some of the tension melt away.
Amanda risked a glance at Zula as she bit into her sandwich. Even under the sleeves of her shirt, Amanda could see the bulge of muscle. She was strong, but seemingly not from grunt work in the way that Amanda was. Amanda noted the squareness of her shoulders; broad and high even when injured. She was much shorter than Amanda, but definitely more powerful. Zula looked trained.
After a moment, Zula finally lifted her own sandwich to her lips. They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Zula tilted her head towards the windows that lined the far side of the room.
“Why are the windows barred?” Zula asked.
Amanda followed her gaze, looking out at the darkness of Luna, at the stars that glittered in the ever-present darkness of the sky. It was true, the view was obscured, as it was in many of the windows in the Lunar settlements. They were easy to dismiss, when they were simply a part of the world she’d grown up in. Her mother never talked much about that time; Amanda always thought Ellen had been afraid of upsetting her.
“There was a plague that spread across Luna about 45 years ago. XMB Virus. All the babies born during the first outbreaks were quarantined for years. They had quarantine zones across the colony.”
Zula rubbed a hand over her face. “Jesus.”
“Yeah. My mother was one of them. She didn’t get out until she was eighteen.”
“Shit. But she was alright?”
Amanda paused. She had never told anyone that her mother was dead. The words felt like a betrayal. They were a lie, despite what the Weyland-Yutani investigations claimed. Saying, however, that her mother was lost was just as difficult. No one ever really believed her, and her explanations were always met with sickly-sweet pity. Zula, she felt, would be different, but it was not a conversation she wanted to have with a stranger, in a canteen.
“She was a potential carrier; she never got sick,” Amanda’s eyes flickered away. When she looked back, Zula’s eyes were narrowed, but she didn’t pry.
Once again, Amanda couldn’t help but look at the crutches on the wall, and then at the broad strength of Zula’s shoulders.“Are you a soldier?”
“Yeah, A Marine. How’d you know?”
Amanda nodded to the sign by the exit. TRANQUILITY BASE was emblazoned in red. “We don’t get a lot of soldiers here. Just the ones who—“
Zula cut her off, eyes blazing. “Just the ones who fuck up and get hospitalized?”
“I was going to say, ‘who are visiting family’,” Amanda stated primly, startled by the outburst and a little annoyed at being cut off.
“You saw me fall in the hospital, and you keep looking at my crutches. Is there something you want to ask?” Zula dared, evidently still on edge.
Amanda flushed at being caught out. She was curious, of course, but she simply shook her head.
“It’s not my business,” she said honestly, thinking about the half-truths she had already shared. “And everyone has a story.”
Zula quirked an eyebrow. “Including you?”
Amanda thought of the photograph taped to her fridge. It was one of her favourite pictures taken of her mother. Ellen had her head tilted away from the camera, and her cheeks were flushed, as if she didn’t want her likeness to be captured. But her face was split with a smile and her eyes were crinkled as if the photographer had made her laugh. E. Ripley with J. Lambert, 2120 was scrawled upon the back in unfamiliar handwriting.
“Yes,” she admitted. “But mine isn’t very interesting.”
Just sad.
Zula seemed to relax, and finished of the last of her sandwich. “What do you do?”
“I’m an engineer. Right now I mostly do mechanical work for the Company. Have you found anything to do on Luna?”
“Not really. The med ward isn’t exactly a fascinating place to be.”
“No,” Amanda tilted her head thoughtfully. She recognized the shadows under Zula’s eyes, and the downward turn of her lips. She knew the look of those eyes, of that mouth. She saw them in the mirror every morning. “Would you like to come to my workshop for a while, after lunch? There won’t be much for you to do there, but at least there’d be company. For the both of us.”
Zula frowned and stared hard at Amanda, searching her face, no doubt, for pity or reluctance. Finally, her lips twitched upwards in what could nearly be mistaken for a smile. “Alright. I think I’d like that.”
Amanda smiled, too; a rare and lovely thing. Though she felt it was too early to lay claim, she wondered if she was well on her way to making a friend.