XIV. Temporary Truce
About an hour later, Mayhew sat on a hard plastic chair in the small kitchen area of the dwelling container. He was clad in utility pants, a threadbare sweater and work boots that had seen better days, all of which Patel had procured from a neighbour who worked at the spacedocks. There was no underwear, so Mayhew was stuck with the uncomfortable synth-leather shorts for now.
It wasn’t perfect, but much better than Pangano’s garish robe, which Patel had appropriated for reasons best known to herself. The fabric was good, she’d announced, and would make a nice kurta or kameez, once she’d washed out the blood and the stench of male sweat. Mayhew wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, but he figured that Pangano wouldn’t have minded.
Instead, he focussed on the fo
