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Even the spacious Othersider ships were getting crowded.
Sahra watched from her safe space, protected from the germs of the abandoned humans below her window by uncounted airlocks and hallways. She made sure she stood at the right hand of Lord High Admiral Saviour King Django Ali. And she made sure he was wearing a more comfortable replica of his golden thorn crown.
At least she’d learned Mama’s trick of talking while not moving her mouth.
“You’re happy to see ‘em,” she reminded Ali. “Relax. This is all good.”
“Good?” muttered Ali, who had learned the same trick. “How can this be good? We have more people than our planet can hold.”
“Good thing we got a coupla spares us an’ the othersiders can terra-form, ain’t it?”
“Terraforming’s hard damn work, child.” He had to be ticked, even though he was smiling for the refugees, to use Sahra’s age as a term of address. It said, Stop talking - child. Your opinion should never matter.
The only thing worse was girl.
She couldn’t ever grow out of girl. She could easily grow out of child and probably already had… but girl had staying power.
Like anatomy had anything to do with how good or bad someone thought their way out of problems.
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