Back in cell number d3:
Kora and Alex lay in their respective bunks, beat up and bruised, starved and thirsty.
Alex was the first to speak: "I thought that went well."
Kora groaned. "I didn't want to fight today. I wanted coffee. If we had to fight, we should have first gotten coffee."
"Still, it went pretty well."
"Except that I'm starving."
"You have to stop thinking with your stomach, Diaz."
"Tell that to my headache."
"That's because you got punched in the head."
Kora touched the side of her head where she'd received a pretty bad blow. Her mind was working just fine. Her memory was intact. She didn't think she'd sustained a concussion. But her head ached. The spot was sensitive to the touch.
She wasn't even sure who'd hit her in the head.
The shower room had turned into one big chaotic fight. Which was what Kora had wanted, to help protect Alex from the wrath of Theresa.
"We're still friends, right?" Alex asked.
"Does it matter?"
"Not much. But I like you."
"I remember."
"Remember what?"
"Why they call it Angel's Prison," said Kora. She stopped touching her head. Put her hands by her sides. And blew out air, trying to let the aches and pains rest themselves, trying not to feel them.
"The person who founded it. Last name was Angel."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Not that interesting."
"That's disappointing."
"What happened to minding your own business?" Kora said between groans.
"What?" said Alex.
"Yesterday you said, sitting up here; you said you mind your own business."
"I like the top bunk better than the bottom bunk," said Alex. "And, yes, I do try to mind my own business. You're different from any prisoner I met. I'm unsure why you're here."
"Smuggling."
"No, I'm unsure why someone like you is here. People like you are destined for great things, not prison. You know what I mean?"
Kora was confused.
"You're a Diaz, after all," said Alex.
"I don't have the first fucking clue what you're saying."
"The Diaz's were explorers and conquerors, right?"
"Not sure." Kora's father had been an explorer. "I suppose."
"I can tell. You're going to do great things."
"I'm a smuggler. That's all. When I get out of here, I'll continue to be a smuggler. I'm just gonna not get caught."
It was all Kora thought about. Day in and day out. Yesterday and today, even with the threat of Theresa looming, Kora couldn't stop thinking about her future plans. Theresa was just making the time pass faster, adding a little more excitement—that's how Kora chose to see it.
Kora couldn't wait to get out of here and get back to her business. She was lining it up in her mind. She'd break her ship out of impound. It was a beautiful ship—she pictured it now, tall sails and polished wood, slicing through the thick blue skies. Get her crew together. She was always scouting new crew members from women in this prison. She didn't much trust women, but she knew there were good ones.
"How'd you get caught?" Alex asked.
"Bad luck."
"I thought you didn't believe in luck," said Alex.
"I don't. But I never told you I don't."
"You don't believe in destiny. When I mentioned it, you didn't respond. You don't want to believe that someone like you is important, do you?"
"We're talking too much," said Kora.
"I don't mind," said Alex. "What else are we going to do? We have time to kill."
Kora smiled, for whatever reason—at her plight, their plight.
This conversation.
Kora decided to change tones. "That was a pretty great cannonball. You made a splash."
"Not my best work. But not bad."
"If we're lucky, she has a concussion."
"We'll see tomorrow," said Alex.
Yes, we will, thought Kora.
A minute of stillness passed, but for the rattling of the hefty fan.
"My ship is beautiful," said Kora, deciding to offer more information about herself—something she rarely did. "It's in impound. I'm going to break it out once I'm out of here. It doesn't deserve to be locked up, just sitting there, being of no use, collecting dust. It's the most beautiful ship that's ever flown the horizons. It's not the biggest. Or the fastest, although I've been upgrading it a little at a time. When you're in the sky, everything down below looks small and insignificant, and adventure announces itself at the end of every never-ending horizon…"
As Kora continued, she was no longer talking to Alex. Only to herself. She was all that mattered anyway. Only Kora mattered to Kora.
She spoke in soft tones, recalling her past adventures, dreaming of future adventures. Filled with hope from the thought of being up in the sky again, at full sail.
Flying through the clouds. Through storms, through treacherous nights, through the heat and the cold, through danger and peace. Cutting through, cutting through, moving and going and living and free.
"That kind of freedom is something to be desired and embraced. Something to feel in every fleeting moment. The wind pressed against your clothes, blowing through your hair, taking with it every idle thought, awakening every long-forgotten dream."
It was hot in their cell, in the whole of the prison. Kora's body was dripping in sweat. Her forehead was dotted with sweat beads. Angel's Prison wasn't air-conditioned. Some days it was boiling hot, the metal that made up the infrastructure of the prison would superheat. During the winter, the metal would practically freeze.
Alex, for whatever reason, quietly listened to Kora talk.
Soon, though, Kora stopped talking.
The bruises and abrasions and heat put them fast to sleep.