7
The survivors streamed into the intake room, one by one, looking around the ship with wonder. Many of them were Latino, with dark skin like Michiko.
The room filled with the sound of English and Spanish, a comforting sound to her. Though it wasn't quite the Portguese she was used to hearing, it reminded her of home.
She grabbed her tablet and her coffee and stood at the front of a row of tables.
“Over here,” she said, motioning.
A teenage boy approached her. He wore a striped black and white shirt and jean shorts. He had a red backpack in his hand.
“What are we supposed to do?” he asked.
“We’ll be conducting a short interview, and then we’ll be doing a tour,” Michiko said.
“I'm really hungry,” the kid said. “I haven't eaten in a few hours.”
Michiko reached into a bin under the t
