The Archer's Paradox - The Travis Fletcher Chronicles by Chris Devine

survive? If you won, what was the prize? She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. Her mind played back the scene again and again, trying to piece together what had happened. An image of herself lying on the floor with Cat standing over her body with those claws dripping red blood came unbidden to her mind. She managed to reach the toilet bowl just in time and retched heavily again. Yes, she had won, and the prize, it seemed, was to have gained the trust of a potentially dangerous enemy. The crisis was over, now what? A shower, yes, a shower would be good. At least she would have a few minutes to think. Once again she had proved herself ill equipped for this life, but she had survived one major crisis, a number of small crises and her first shipboard party. She had survived each situation and learned valuable lessons, but if this much can happen in the short time she had been aboard, what lay ahead for her?
     
    She rose to her feet and investigated the bathroom, the mental turmoil had abated somewhat but recent events still troubled her. It was a simple cubicle with no plumbing or furniture. The facilities, as with all other furniture, moulded from the same material as the floor. The toilet bowl still bore witness to her recent distress, but there was no apparent means of erasing the evidence. As she contemplated this simple problem, the bowl melted into the floor. There was a pause of a few seconds and it oozed out again, completely clean and ready for use.
     
    She disrobed. Having nowhere to hang her clothes, she dumped them unceremoniously on the bathroom floor. There were no controls in the shower cubicle but she had noticed that the ship seemed to anticipate her needs, so she stood expectantly. There was no water but she felt an agreeable tingle all over her body, light danced around her and she felt herself suspended by an unseen force. After no more than thirty seconds the feeling subsided and she felt totally refreshed - and even a little aroused - her hair felt perfectly conditioned and there was not a hint of odour.
     
    She left the shower cubicle and noticed that her clothes had disappeared, but hanging from the wall was a yellow jumpsuit with matching shin length boots. The jumpsuit had a diagonal opening from the neck at the right shoulder to the left waist and was at least three sizes too big and over a metre too long, the boots were similarly oversized. This was obviously some sort of practical joke or initiation ceremony, she thought to herself. Ok, I’ll play along. She climbed in. At the bottom of the opening she found a small hard bubble in the material. Pulling this bubble up closed the opening until it reached the shoulder, then across the shoulder where it matched exactly with the beading around the neck. The suit suddenly shrank, not skin tight but enough to hold her body shape. The boots reacted in a similar fashion. She admired herself in the mirror. Ok, so yellow was not her colour, but not so bad all the same.
     
    Just then a smell caught her nostrils, familiar, tantalising, no she must be dreaming! Eggs and bacon? She ran to the living area where Cat was sitting nonchalantly at a table which had since appeared, replacing the sofa and chairs. On the table sat a full breakfast spread of eggs, bacon, tomato and fried bread. A steaming pot of tea sat in the middle, the unmistakable aroma of Earl Grey, toast, jam and a jug of fresh orange juice. The smell was divine.
     
    “Please sit,” Cat indicated a spare chair, “I hope this is correct as I did not have much time to research the ritual.” Cat was grinning broadly in palpable pleasure at The Journalist’s reaction.
    “It’s perfect. Thank you.” Suddenly realising that she had not eaten anything for over two days, she tucked in with abandon. Cat watched. “Please eat with me.”
    “No thank you. My dietary requirements are different to yours.” The Journalist nodded, remembering the first time she had met the odd trio in her