‘Thank you, Friend,’ Roveg said, even though the AI had no capability with which to care about being thanked. ‘Let’s begin.’
There were some individuals for whom landing a spaceship manually was a point of pride, but Roveg took no chances when it came to physics. He did not see the need to flex one’s frills over being able to do something that every species in the GC had taught their machines to do centuries prior.
He walked himself into the safety harness hanging in the centre of the room, holding still as the robotic straps wove themselves between his abdominal legs and around his thorax. ‘Friend,’ he said, reaching for a nearby compartment as he spoke. He opened the small cubby and retrieved a packet of grav tabs. ‘Check with the surface for landing confirmation.’
‘One moment,’ Friend said. The flight status monitors shifted accordingly as the AI worked.
Roveg tore open the packet and ate the disks of chalky medicine within, his spiracles flaring in fleeting disgust as he did so. This was a necessary precaution, as he knew from queasy landings of yore, but he could think of few worse ways to chase a lovely breakfast than with grav tabs. Whoever manufactured them really could stand to flavour them more palatably.
Friend reported back. ‘The ground host has confirmed they are ready for our landing.’
‘Excellent,’ Roveg said. He folded the empty packet in half twice, then set it back in the cubby, ready to be retrieved for the incinerator at a later time. ‘You may begin landing.’
There was the floating lurch of the artigrav turning off, the loud whirring of the engines changing position, the roar as Roveg’s ship threaded itself in a precise parabolic curve. All at once, the Korrigoch Hrut threw itself at Gora, and natural gravity grabbed it with inescapable authority. Roveg forced himself to relax into the harnesses, as he’d long ago taught himself to do. Bracing only made atmospheric entry worse, even though every instinct in him demanded otherwise. Intellectually, he was aware that he had done this countless times and had nothing to worry about. Still, the visual of an entire planet rushing toward you was a hard thing to tell your body to ignore. But Roveg did, in fact, manage to relax, letting engineering lead the way. Both of his stomachs held as the ship split Gora’s paltry air. Breakfast, thankfully, stayed down. He no longer regretted taking his medicine.
Dome after dome flashed past as he made his decent, and he craned his torso toward the viewscreen as much as the harnesses would allow. Everything was going too fast for a proper look, but he made out multiple bursts of green and blue: the signatures of plant life and water fixtures, hauled between stars and corralled for the purpose of travellers’ comfort. He warmed at the sight of the colours alone, even though their details were lost. He loved his simulated environments dearly – as only made sense for one of his profession – but it had been over two tendays since his last docking, and he was more than ready for the real thing, curated as it might be. In all honesty, Roveg much preferred gardens to untended biomes, and had spent as little time in the latter as possible. Wild places had every right to exist, and the galaxy needed them, to be sure, but he was content to leave them to their own devices behind fences and walls and the thickest of windows.
The ship began to slow, and the world along with it. The Korrigoch Hrut coasted to its destination, landing as comfortably as one could. The view outside was pretty much what one would expect in such a place: a circular shuttle tarmac outside of a modest-sized habitat dome. An airlock tunnel connected dome to landing pad, its six universal latching ports branched outward like airways. As Friend nudged the ship into docking position, Roveg glanced idly at the other shuttles he now neighboured. One looked both military and Aeluon – white as a child’s shell, smooth as wet ceramic, its brawny hull ready to take a beating. It was in excellent condition and a feast for the eyes; he’d never encountered an Aeluon vessel that appeared otherwise. The other two ships looked like the sort of prefab kits that anybody with a modest budget could pick up at a multispecies dealer, but that was where their similarity ended. One obviously belonged to the ground host, as the exterior was painted unmissably with the phrase ‘VISIT THE FIVE-HOP ONE-STOP!’ on every side. The other … well, it was a cheap ship, to be sure, and the longer he looked at it, the more it became clear there had been repairs involving components from other kits. It was mismatched and homely, but it wasn’t falling apart, and the build didn’t look dangerous. It simply looked like the efforts of someone who was doing what they could with what they had. For all his love of aesthetics, Roveg could respect that. Sometimes all you could do was make it work.
There was a clank, a whir, a quieting-down. ‘Docking is complete,’ Friend said. ‘You may safely exit the shuttle, when ready.’
‘Thank you, Friend,’ Roveg said, as the harness let him go. Stars, but he was ready to get out. He wasted no time in heading to the hatch, stepping into the airlock, standing patiently as he was scanned for contaminants, and going on through.
Awaiting him at the airlock entrance was a Laru – a large child, too young to have chosen a gender yet, comprised of angles that didn’t look comfortable and feet that didn’t match xyr body. Xyr fur looked halfway groomed, and was too long for xyr face. It hung listlessly over xyr large black eyes in a helpless manner that suggested it didn’t know why it was still growing but didn’t know what else to do.
‘Welcome to the Five-Hop One-Stop,’ the Laru child recited in the flat tone of the unenthused. Xe stood on three legs, holding a scrib in the paw of xyr fourth. Xe looked at the screen, craning xyr limb-like neck. Xe looked then at Roveg, then back to the screen, then turned the scrib around so that Roveg might read his own shuttle licence.
It took Roveg a moment to realise this was the child’s attempt to verify his identity. Apparently this was what passed for docking security here. ‘Yes, that’s me,’ he said, hoping he was correct in his interpretation of whatever was going on.
The Laru bobbed xyr long, shaggy neck in acknowledgement and holstered the scrib in the light satchel strapped across xyr back. Xe swung xyr head to the left and plodded along after, leading Roveg inside without another word.
A pair of doors slid open. The Five-Hop One-Stop lay beyond. The place was … quaint. Charming, in a bucolic way. Roveg was not the sort to condescend about such things; arrogance was a quality he strongly disliked, and took care to dig it out of himself whenever he found it. But he’d have been a liar if he’d said this establishment was his first choice. He’d hoped to stop over at the Reskit Afternoon, a well-reviewed restaurant in Gora’s southern hemisphere, but their dock had been fully booked, as had the Goran sculpture garden, and the Harmagian baths, and the city field. Much as Roveg would’ve liked a bit of a treat to ease the journey, the only thing that was truly necessary for him was fuel, and when it became clear that docking space on Gora was in high demand that day, he changed tactics and jumped on the first open reservation slot he could grab.
He looked around, assessing just where that choice had taken him.
Someone had worked hard on this place, someone who substituted love for money whenever the latter ran short. The circular space within the dome was home to a selection of fab-printed, bubble-shaped buildings of varied size, all painted in benign whites and greys – a palette clearly intended for the comfort of Aeluons, who could grow fatigued from more colourful architecture that their species would interpret as yelling at them. The walking paths branching between the buildings looked hand-laid, and were paved in a manner suitable for Harmagian carts. The filtered air was warm – warmer than a densely coated Laru would choose on xyr own, he assumed, but quite comfortable by his standards, managing to strike a considered compromise between his own Quelin preference for a soothing cloud of humidity and the Aandrisk penchant for desert dryness. It wasn’t perfect, but it would make most people happy. Roveg had the feeling that was the underlying aim with everything in this place.
A sign hung over the entry pathway, and it was crammed with so many words in so many languages
that the well-intended attempt at universal communication had rendered it nearly unreadable. The Tellerain was grammatically jarring (he respected the effort, at least), so he skimmed through the Klip instead.
WELCOME TO THE FIVE-HOP ONE-STOP!
THE LITTLE DOME WITH A LOT OF OPTIONS!
YOUR GROUND HOST: OOLI OHT OULOO
YOUR ASSISTANT GROUND HOST: OOLI OHT TUPO
Beside this was a close-up picture of the ground hosts in question, both enthusiastically mugging for the camera. Tupo had to be the child Roveg followed now, for the little one in the portrait looked exactly like xyr, only half the size, twice as fluffy, and in a good mood.
The overwhelming signage continued.
OUR RULES:
NO WEAPONS!
NO MAGNETS!
NO BAD TIMES!!!
THIS WAY:
OFFICE AND SUNDRY SHOP
- CERTIFIED TRAVEL PERMITS
- CERTIFIED IMUBOT SOFTWARE UPGRADES
- OFFICIAL GC TRANSIT AUTHORITY MAP CHIPS
- WATER FILTRATION STATION
- SOUVENIRS!
- GIFTS!
- SNACKS!
HOST RESIDENCE AND
LIFE SUPPORT/COMMS FACILITIES
NOT OPEN TO GUESTS
THAT WAY:
FUEL AND FIX-ITS
- BARRELLED ALGAE
- ALGAE STARTERS
- PHOTOVOLTAIC REPAIR
- MECH TECH BITS AND BOBS
- NO COMP TECH SUPPLIES ON SITE,
BUT WE CAN COURIER THEM IN!
THE ONE AND ONLY GORAN
NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM
DON’T MISS IT!!!
STRAIGHT AHEAD:
REST AND RELAX DURING YOUR LAYOVER AT THE FIVE-HOP’S WORLD-FAMOUS MULTISPECIES BATHHOUSE AND FLOWER GARDEN!
- FIXTURES AND FAUCETS FOR EVERY SAPIENT!
- TRY OUR HOMEMADE SCALE SCRUB, BATH FIZZ, STEAM TABS, AND SOAP!
- TRADITIONAL LARU DESSERT OFFERED FREE IN THE GARDEN EVERY DAY FROM 14:00 - 17:00
- WE PROUDLY GROW AND USE NOTHING BUT HYPO-ALLERGENIC PLANTS ENGINEERED BY UTLOOT AGRICULTURAL LABS
- NO BUGS! NO RAIN! BETTER THAN OUTDOORS!
- HARMAGIAN-STYLE SWIMMING LANE COMING SOON!
Just as Roveg was beginning to feel overwhelmed by the glut of exclamation points, their presumed wielder appeared in front of him.
Laru were, to his eyes, a hilarious-looking species. He’d never say it to one of their faces, and he knew well that biological normality was extremely relative. He was sure he looked odd to plenty of people outside of his own phenotype. But stars above, Laru were so floppy. Their limbs were like animated noodles, their stubby torsos thick and bumbling, their long tail-like necks somewhere between a nightmare and a grand cosmic joke. This Laru – Ouloo, he assumed – had styled her fur in an explosion of intense curls that reminded him of nothing so much as the stacked rows of icing he’d once seen at a Human bakery. She definitely looked to be the sort who would love a good exclamation point (or twelve).
Roveg was proved correct, though the Laru’s volume was directed not at him, but his young guide. ‘Tupo!’ the older Laru scolded. The child visibly cringed. ‘I thought I told you to restock the steam bath before Captain Tem got here.’ She pointed an angry paw at the middle path. Roveg saw enticing angled hedges down that way, and among them, an Aeluon walking contemplatively – the owner of the fine shuttle, one would assume.
The child exhaled from the depths of xyr lungs, as though this were just one more injustice from a universe that existed only to conspire against xyr. ‘You also said to be there for the 13:06.’ Xe gestured at Roveg, who now found himself in the role of evidence in a trial he hadn’t anticipated.
‘If you’d started earlier, you could have done both,’ the older Laru said. ‘Go on.’
The younger voiced no further argument, and marched past, radiating annoyance.
‘And trim your fur,’ Ouloo called after xyr. She arched her neck in exasperation, and swung her face toward Roveg. ‘I am so sorry about that. Puberty, you know?’ Ouloo leaned in confidentially. ‘Poor thing’s quite uncomfortable, what with xyr teeth coming in. But that doesn’t excuse …’ She craned her neck so that her head was facing fully over her haunches, watching Tupo plod off. ‘Well, all the rest of it.’ She tutted as her head came back around. ‘But just because xe’s forgotten xyr manners doesn’t mean I have.’ She beamed, bowing her neck low. ‘Welcome to the Five-Hop One-Stop. I’m Ouloo, and you must be Roveg.’ She hushed her voice discreetly. ‘No honorific?’
‘No,’ he said, a quiet twinge accompanying the answer. The old sting had faded, but was always there.
Ouloo bowed her head again. ‘We’re very happy to have you, Roveg,’ she said, and this, he appreciated. Quelin customarily were never addressed without an honorific; exiles, however, were allowed none. The fact that Ouloo both knew to enquire about it and to smoothly move on from the question showed courtesy and cultural savvy. Roveg forgave her a few of the exclamation points. Not all of them, but a few.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I understand from your Linking page that you carry high-skim algae fuel.’
‘We sure do,’ she said smartly. ‘You’re here for a … four-hour layover, correct? Would you like to take care of fuelling up now, or later?’
‘Later, if that’s all right. I’ve been on my ship for tendays, and could use a walk around.’
‘Oh, I understand,’ the Laru said in a knowing tone. ‘I haven’t been on a long haul in standards, but my paws twitch whenever I remember it. Where is it you’re headed?’
‘Vemereng,’ Roveg said.
Ouloo apparently knew it. ‘Oof, that’s a long way,’ she said. ‘Remind me where home is for you?’
‘Chalice.’
‘Goodness, yes. Must be an important trip to take you that far. Business or pleasure?’
‘I have an appointment there,’ he said.
Ouloo waited expectantly, but he provided nothing further. ‘Well,’ she said, the barest hint of disappointment creeping into her otherwise chipper tone. ‘If it’s a walk you want, our garden will be just the ticket. Are you hungry? We haven’t got a restaurant, I’m afraid, but we’ve got a wonderful selection of nibbles.’
Roveg wasn’t hungry, but nothing piqued his interest like regional food. ‘I never say no to nibbles,’ he said.
Ouloo laughed – which wasn’t like a laugh at all to Roveg, but he knew what the huffing sound meant – and gestured with a paw for him to follow. ‘Come on, we’ll sort you out,’ she said. ‘Do you like jenjen cake? I got some fresh from my neighbour this morning.’ She padded along, making small talk in good cheer. But as Roveg followed, he couldn’t help but notice her throwing the occasional glance toward the fuel shed across the way. Something in there was on the Laru’s mind. Whatever it was, it wasn’t his concern. He was here for fuel, a stretch, and apparently, cake. Under the circumstances, he had no appetite for anything more complicated than that.
PEI
One of the first things Aeluon children learned after they mastered the complicated matters of walking and eating and using their colours with intention was that the world around them did not use the same language people did. People, of course, communicated via the swirling chromatophore patches covering both cheeks. Their plant-and-animal neighbours, however, did not. The purplish fur of lumae did not mean they were angry. Nectarwings, with their orange spots, were not sad. Shiver fish were not friends, no matter how kind their blue scales might look. Pei had a hazy memory of struggling with this concept, of feeling like the natural world was untrustworthy, that it was lying to her in some way. Colour was colour, and colour meant things, and if it was obvious to her that laughter was green and annoyance was yellow, surely other creatures must know this, too.
From the vantage point of her middle years, she could not pinpoint the moment in which that errant conception had faded, but once she crossed that threshold, she understood that every aspect of life had la
yers. There was the colour on the surface, and the meaning underneath. Yellow, when not seen swimming through a person’s face, was often nothing more than yellow, full stop. You had to pause in the face of reflex, ask yourself if the narrative you attached to the knee-jerk was accurate. Once she’d grasped this, she could never again see life as a static thing, something with one immutable definition. The universe was not an object. It was a beam of light, and the colours that it split into changed depending on whose eyes were doing the looking. Nothing could be taken at face value. Everything had hidden facets, hidden depths that could be interpreted a thousand ways – or misinterpreted in the same manner. Reflexes kept a person safe, but they could also make you stupid.
Pei knew this fact in the same way that she knew how to breathe, and yet all the same, the Akarak made her wary.
She’d never seen one of their kind in a place like this – in a spaceport, sure, but always on the fringes, digging through scrap, scuttling through alleys, conversing only among themselves. Never in the thick of a marketplace. Never alone. Never walking around a fuel shed, browsing algae starters and fuel pumps, as the individual she was watching from a distance was doing now. Akaraks were not a common sight in GC space, but Pei had assuredly had dealings with them – not in words, but with weapons. She’d caught a pair of them snooping around her shuttle once, and had scared them off with nothing more than a pistol drawn. Another time, a crew of them had been in the process of stealing the cargo she and her own crew had been sent to collect. That incident hadn’t been so easily resolved. Pei had never spoken with an Akarak, but she had a pulse-rifle scar on her upper arm thanks to one, and had ended the lives of two more with her own hand.
That was the sort of fact whose layered meanings she had no desire to unfold further.
The Galaxy, and the Ground Within Page 3