Genderbent MOBY DICK reimagining set in space.
The Celestial Seas are unforgiving.
They’ve taken Ishara’s family.
Her right arm.
It’s time to turn the tides. Prove her worth. Destroy the Ballena Blanca, the cause of all her tragedies. If she doesn’t drown among the stars first.
Aegis Station, Halo System
“Call me Ishara.” I shake my head, walking down the outer corridor of the station. Too forward. “My name is Ishara.” Better, but a bit formal, especially in this part of the system. I try another variation. “Name’s Isha—”
“Your mic’s still on.” Quinn’s lyrical voice sounds in my earpiece.
I cringe and cuss, attracting the glances of a couple station techies passing by. Hunching my shoulders, I tug on the right sleeve of my gray shore jacket. I blow out a long breath and continue down the overpass connecting the recreational ring of the station to the docking bays. At least I’m on the private line. Stars know the Dorado’s crew wouldn’t have let me hear the end of this, fussing over a simple introduction.
“But do go on,” my first mate continues. Her Halo accent rises and falls like a siren’s song. Quinn claims it’s because the first celestial whalers originated from the Halo system, and that their songs of the hunt—shanties—used to fill every spaceship, every household, until every native Haloite grew up speaking in that lilting rhythm. A melodic accent I can never quite mimic, no matter how hard I try. And I’ve been trying ever since I arrived in this system seven years ago.
“What were you practicing?” she asks. “Let me guess, the speech you’ll give right before you blow up the Ballena Blanca’s biocore?”