<div align="center"><strong>-=the raggedy girl – Eavesdown Docks – taking a chance=-</strong></div><br/><em>A Dragonfly… speed class 4, total tonnage of 7,200 with a cargo capacity of 2,000, her fuel capacity would be</em>(with some quick calculation)<em>1,200 hours in the black – a safe 50 days and nights if they were fueled to the brim. Lots of room in there to hide, lots of crew to move things around on each other in case I knock something out of place. She’s got all 12 of her escape pods in place and not looking like they’d needed replacing, that’s a reassuring sign. A good prospect, wonder where she’s headed? Didn’t see her call sign… aha, the Gamble… hm, not exactly inspiring confidence… was her manifest even listed on the display earlier?</em><br/><br/>Biting her chapped lower lip in thought, she heard the backfire of a ground vehicle in front of the ship. Alarmed at the noise and curious about its source, she carefully snuck around the Gamble’s portside support struts, closer to the lowered cargo bay door. Hearing all kinds of noise – some sort of suction pump, the creak of machinery inside the bay above her, the bang of a door as someone exited the decrepit truck furthest out from the ramp – she crept toward the angled dock-door to peer inside, attempting to remain invisible to the tall dark-haired man strutting past her. Watching him look around, she glanced back at the truck, noting the bang of a tailgate. There was a partner… somewhat younger and disgruntled, he had the former man’s eyes and hair. Must be family. Family…<br/><br/>Cringing under the edge of the dock-door, she felt overwhelmed suddenly, her doubts and worries becoming heavier than simply about her survival and freedom.<em>Do I have family? If so, where are they? Am I running from them? Why would they have let this happen to me?</em>Her head unexpectedly spiked with the brilliant images of a small girl in long braids stirring batter in a large bowl with a wooden spoon, a portly woman with an apron nearby setting the dial on a squarish machine inset to the countertop of a sunshine filled room, everyone smiling. More disturbing than the immediacy of the startling image was the fact that she could not take in the details of their faces – they didn’t seem to have any.<br/><br/>She shuddered with pain.  Silently retching, she leaned with her head between her knees, trying to breathe. Tears sprang to her eyes and she kept them closed until the visuals went away, her headache drilling back into place with a vengeance. Containing her whimper, she blinked her vision clear and stood, a hand uplifted to steady herself along the underside of the lowered door. Vaguely noting that her bosom hung free of her broken jumpsuit, she pulled the edges of the material together, cramming her breasts back against her chest.<em>Oh, I need rest. A cleaning crew inside, deliveries of goods for long-term flying, the crew freshly out on the ground from a recent romp in the black – the Gamble wasn’t going anywhere soon. Why not creep in and land myself a space for the taking? Just a little sleep, unseen and unheard… long as this headache goes away.</em><br/><br/>The debate was solved when she peeped around the edge of the door and recognized the goods sitting in a pile on the dock-door. Boxes of groceries, bulging bags of foodstuff, a huge canister of ground chicory coffee…<em>wo bu shin wo dah yan jing, all right there within reach. Fresh fruit!</em>The younger man was ducking out for another run to his truck while the older man discussed something with a couple of people up on the catwalk, hands gesturing and smiles all around as he seemed to deflate a little, somehow disappointed.<em>Everyone’s busy, distracted… move now!</em><br/><br/>She shook her hair around her face, holding her suit closed tightly with both hands before winding around the lower edge of the bay door, willing herself to appear unimportant. She moved with purpose right up to the tall stack of goods, her arms around a crate to hug it against her chest. Using this position to hide her flagrant state of half-undress, she ignored the pain under her feet, stepping as if weighted by work boots. Circuiting the bay and headed for the interior wall, she passed a uniformed worker busy with his pumps and filters, ignoring him and hoping he’d return the favor.<br/><br/>Keeping her eyes open for opportunity, she memorized the layout, estimating the arrangement above stairs. Carting the crate toward a rear staircase, she shot a half-hidden glance to the attractive people on the catwalk. When one of them lifted an eyebrow in her direction, she nodded sharply once with a heft to the crate, showing them just where she was setting things for their convenience, out of the way under the portside staircase (5L) nearer the galley. Turning away from them to conceal her appearance, she moved as if to get another crate, placing the Happy Suck machine between the crewmembers and her body. Timing her reappearance on the other side of the machine with a moment when the younger delivery man was just turning away to close up his truck, she moved for an oversized bag of fruit, carrying it up against her body awkwardly. Playing up its weight, she skirted the cleaner, providing any observers with the assumed scenario of a spill about to happen while concealing her torn open jumpsuit. Not once did she look up again, paranoid about being watched and acting as if everything she did was normal.<br/><br/>Careful to place her backside toward the space above where the two crewmembers had been just minutes ago, she leaned heavily over the bag of fruit, making certain the tie at the top had loosened from her unwieldy grasp. She laid the fruit atop her previous crate. Right on cue, one shiny rolling fruit later and she’d tucked a different one into the waist of her jumpsuit while chasing the distraction. Making a show of tucking it back into the bag safely just in case, she meandered back across cargo bay floor, this time underneath the platform that they had stood upon, watching the taller delivery guy leave. Holding her breath with fear, she ducked into a difficult space between the bulkhead and a secured stack of palettes, probably used for the moving and storage of more delicate items. Tucking herself as small as possible, she waited, listening for the machinery to disappear, for footsteps, for discovery. Wrapping her hand around the flesh of the fruit cradled at her waist, she leaned her head against the metal wall and relaxed.<br/><br/>*****<br/><br/>“<em>Wo bu shin wo dah yan jing</em>” – I don’t believe my eyes.<br/>