Pennsylvania Kite Weather

The crew of the Recovery Routers gathered outside the locked door of the seventh and last available spaceship bay aboard their orbiting station.

Elam, a thirty-year-old maintenance man and makeshift member of the salvaging team, stared at the seam of the two heavy trapezoid doors set in their hexagon frame. Elevator-like cherry-red lights dimmed above one by one while the AI intercom methodically described what was causing all the whirring and clanging on the other side.

“Floor doors secure,” its crisp, synthetic butler voice relayed.

“Hey!” Seta screeched at the oncoming car that had just coasted out of the campus parking garage, and her instinct was to try flying over it. With an angry buzz of four stubby, oval-shaped wings, Seta hefted herself into a hover, just enough for the beegirl to come plunking down on her knees on the hood of the dark green sedan as it squealed to a standstill.

"You've locked the door, right?" Caroline asked as the cap unscrewed.

Marissa watched the blonde warily as she shook the small plastic container and rattled out the pills. They accumulated like bite-size candy, or oval-shaped pearls in a blue bowl, one that Marissa frequently used to cook microwavable ramen in her dorm when she didn't feel like going out.

The door crept open with absolute silence. Not even the complaint of a hinge announced Shelley’s entry. A wool-lined outsole of a boot took the first cautious step inside, then her brown cloak was clutched close as she sidled through the gap. She drew her hood back to behold the sight of the ancient library.