P'cirs watched the little cleaning robot as it made a slow revolution around the laundromat. The dust and grime of the floor quickly disappeared beneath its nimble frame. The bright fluorescent lights overhead made the floor seem to gleam anywhere where the little cleaner roamed. On top of the unit a little green light merrily blinked away as it’s round completed and it popped through the cleaning duct, back to its central station.

At the far side of the laundromat there was a chime, and an elderly griffon in a dour ensemble waddled over to collect their clothes. P'cirs only half paid attention to the griffon, most of her attention was taken up by a crossword puzzle. Through the overhead speakers, what would have once been called a popular boy band played, the slight crackle in the system did not bring any sort of warmth to the performance.

“A seven-letter word for light bringing…” she mused, one claw under her chin. The other tapped a stylus against the countertop.

So far, the most interesting thing she’d encountered on the station were the funny little cleaning bots and her crossword puzzles. She was only on Sub-station: Mentar for another few days anyway, It wasn’t like she really needed to search out interesting things.

There were, of course, things to do. But for a junior secretary there weren’t that many things that would necessarily help in any way to advance her own career. There came a soft chime, much closer to her spot at the counter and her data pad chimed softly in response. With a groan she set down the stylus and went to go retrieve the clothing from the washer.

It took no time at all for her to gather the wet clothing and deposit it in one of the industrial dryers. With that task complete she started the machine and watched it spin merrily for a moment, the vibrations of the dryer rolled through the floor and tickled her paws. She stood there for a moment, before she decided that was quite enough tickling for one day.

P’cirs took her seat back at the counter and once again took up the stylus to begin the puzzle when a thought struck her. She had a mighty thirst, a thirst… and sighed softly as she remembered some half-forgotten Flour and Flowers jingle. It took only a moment to scan the laundromat for a… there, tucked into the corner.

She marked the time and then got up to go gather a tasty if sugary beverage from that ubiquitous sight that was found in every station, every outpost. It was as if they simply appeared as soon as any sort of civilization took root, those soft glowing boxes which contained everything from food and drink to... something she’d rather forget she’d ever seen.

P'cirs stood, staring into the options presented. This machine was quite a bit older, didn’t even have a holographic display, just a set of eight large buttons like the eyes of some enormous glowing spider. The options themselves were ancient but still they promised salvation for the low, low, price of only three bits.

She could’ve stood there for hours, mulling over her choice if not for a soft cough somewhere from behind her. She turned to the sound, the elderly griffon stood just behind her and gave a small wave.

“Apologies dah’ling, do you mind if I gather a snack?” the griffon asked, and held up a couple golden bits.

“Oh! My mistake, of course.” P'cirs moved to the side and let the griffon move past. She watched the elderly griffon as she inserted the bits, the little bits of metal clinked as they slid into the beast.

With an agonizing slowness the elderly griffon stared at the machine for a moment before selecting a grape flavored beverage. From deep within the machine came a sound like some ancient engine and a can slammed into the retrieval slot.

P'cirs could almost hear the old griffons bones creak as she retrieved the can.

The elderly griffon tilted the can sideways and popped a hole in the can. In the same movement with her other claw she caught her talon under the tab of the drink and cracked it open.

“Uh… Ma’am.” P’cirs began.

The elderly griffon simply threw her head back, drained the can and then with a squawk she crushed it against her beak. “Ahhhh… delicious” and wiped her beak with the back of her claw as she tossed the can and turned slightly to P'cirs. “Oh, dah’ling. Did you need one too?”

She stared in shock for a moment before finding some recomposure. “Sure?... I uh… I gotta get to the machine, for it.”

“Nonsense! Let me pay for you, you allowed me to cut you in line after all.” With all the speed of a planetary cargo hauler she turned back to the machine. “What would you like, dah’ling?”

“Strawberry?”

With absolute glacial slowness the griffon patted her jacket, a dull gray affair with a stitch of gold along the collar. “Hmm…”

“I have some bi…”

“Absolutely not! call it my treat. Let me just…” The elderly griffon patted herself down and pulled a pair of golden bits from a pants pocket. “Ah-ha!” with surprising speed she practically slammed them into the machine and punched the button. It took only moments for the drink to hit the retrieval. The elderly griffon scooped up the can and offered it to P’cirs.

She accepted it. “Thank you, ma’am.” and gave the elderly griffon a weak smile.

“Please, 'ma’am' was my mother.” The elder griffon gave a soft grin. “You seem like an interesting young lass. What do you do for work?” her eyes sparkled softly under the bright lights.

“I uh…”

“Enough with the ‘Uh’s’, dah’ling. It makes you seem insecure. If you have no answer simply smile and say nothing.” The elder griffon retrieved a small hard black case from inside her jacket pocket and pulled a small white rectangle of paper from it. “My card. I’d like to meet again, say… tomorrow evening? I’ll send you the address.” she held the card out to P’cirs.

P’cirs, at a loss for words simply took the card and stared dumbly at it. The card itself was blank, she flipped it over but it was blank too. “Ma’am this card is…” the rest of her question died in her throat as she looked up to find the griffon was no longer standing in front of her. In fact, as she turned and looked around the laundromat she didn’t see her anywhere.

“Well… that was odd…” she said to no one in particular as she cracked open the can. The aroma of strawberry filling her nose and playfully rolling across her parched tongue as she took a sip.

There was a pop and a sigh as P’cirs contorted into another position, her claws and paws flat against the floor, spine arched. Sweat building in all the uncomfortable places beneath her feathers. There was a soft chime, lost for a moment beneath the gentle music she had playing from a tiny speaker.

The chime came again, more insistent this time. Her eyes snapped open and with a grumble she reached over and grabbed the data pad. Flicking open the notification her eyes widened, true to the elder griffon's word, there was an invitation for dinner. The invitation wasn’t as much as a surprise as where the elder griffon had suggested they meet.

She had one half hour to prepare.

Half an hour later, smelling faintly of a recent shower and her strawberry shampoo and feathers still slightly damp in some places. She stood before what could generously be called the fanciest restaurant on the station or at the very least, the most expensive. With a claw she smoothed down the feathers on her head and checked herself in a nearby window.

She wasn’t quite sure who the elderly griffon was, but in her line of work it was best to always make the best impression. She had the distinct sense that this griffon was sizing her up and she’d be damned if she made any mistakes with her presentation. It took only a moment to adjust her dress then she spun on a paw and strode confidently to the restaurant.

“So, you’re a junior assistant?” The elder griffon said, taking a piece of the synthetic meat from where it was slowly grilling in the center of the table with a pair of chopsticks.

The smell of the cooking food absolutely blanketed the small, sealed room and P’cirs stomach growled softly. “That’s right.”

“I don’t suppose you’d tell me who for?” The griffon popped the morsel in her mouth and closed her eyes for a moment. “Ah… delicious.” she opened her eyes and looked across the table.

“I… cannot.” She looked at the slowly cooking food and picked up her own chopsticks.

“That’s alright, It doesn’t matter much anyway.” The elder griffon began scoffing down a bowl of multicolored rice, the colors of which stood out against the black bowl she held in a talon.

P’cirs clicked the chopsticks together experimentally, she had never had much practice with the utensils.

“If you’re going to be using those, you need to develop a proper technique. Look, like this.” The elder griffon walked through a few of the finer points of holding the chopsticks and within a few minutes P’cirs began to feel more confident.

Confident enough to take a piece of the sizzling synth-meat that would cost her the equivalent of three hours of her salary per bite. She blew on it gently then popped it into her mouth, the taste… that taste, was simply incredible. Slightly chewy but a tenderness and juiciness that would make even the most hardened griffon sigh with pleasure.

“Ms. P’cirs. I’d like to offer you a position.”

It took a moment for the words to register, the delicious smells and flavors had enraptured her so that for a moment she forgot that she was sitting with someone else. “W… What?” she murmured out as she covered her beak with a claw.

“A job. I need a new assistant; I’ve already vetted you. Don’t look so surprised, I always do my research.” The elder griffon grinned a predatory sort of grin that makes the blood flow quicker.

“I…”

“Don’t worry Dah’ling. I don’t need your answer now. Take some time, enjoy this meal with me and then give me your decision within twenty-four hours.” The elder griffon tapped the table with a knuckle. “But now, we eat.”

Thirty-Six hours later, seated aboard the corporate yacht “Starclipper”, Executive assistant P’cirs couldn’t even imagine what she’d been agonizing over for those hours after the meal. She depressed the seat recliner and laid her feathered head upon that so soft headrest.

Something however was still bothering her, and she just couldn’t put her talon on it. She checked her new watch, the little hands indicating just how early it was in the morning. She had some time to kill before they departed and so she grabbed her data pad and opened up that unfinished crossword.

A soft, beautiful light began to fill the cabin as the station slowly spun, the automatic dimmers built into the windows adjusting for the light. P’cirs tapped the stylus against the pad in a slow rhythm, claw against her chin when suddenly she grinned.

It took only a moment for her to punch in that seven-letter word, and with a chime the puzzle completed.

Author's Note

What is this?! A new EQS story?!

Sort of. I originally wrote this in December of 2020. I have waffled, for a long time over to make this part of the main timeline or one of a number of "Side Stories" I have written but never posted outside of "Beans Writing Group".

I have finally decided that it is of the upmost imperative that I complete the work I originally set out to do.

I have a good many of these "Side Stories" which although some in their own right have a larger part in the world. Some truly are just world building.

I will be posting these and new stories until I either run out, or the thing is done.

The word, is: Sunlight