Smugglers

This Short story is still a work in progress

Smugglers


It looked like an old-western cowboy was floating towards me. Clothes are unnecessary over a skintight, but Kali Vila was a fucking character. Old denim coveralls, an ankle length leather duster and all her tools in holsters. The only thing breaking the illusion was the big bubble helmet where her fucking cowboy hat would be in atmos.

Our mics could transmit up to a hundred kilos and she'd fucking wait to be right next to you to talk. People learned to multitask, if you were talking, you'd be doing three other things; but Kali, she'd look right at'cha, right into your eyes. If you had your head in project, she'd lean right in to look at you during a conversation.

The only exception was when you gave her something broken. She'd give it her total concentration, only talking in the time it took her to move her head from place to place, and then she'd only tell you about what you gave her was, how it's used, and how she was going to fix it.