by Mark Wandrey
“Cash.”
The K’kng frowned but dug into a pouch and held out a handful of chits. She took one. Jim had to listen carefully before he heard how much.
“Only a thousand!” an elSha said, amazed.
“A thousand?” Jim said, more of a gasp. The MinSha cocked her head, and he realized she’d probably heard him. He blended back into the crowd as the K’kng headed on its business, and a badger-like Cochkala stepped up next.
He moved around every once in a while, but he didn’t leave. He spent the entire afternoon watching the artist as she worked. His planned meeting time would be tough to make, yet he stayed and watched. By the fifth customer, he finally realized something—the customers weren’t designing their tattoos, or picking their designs. They just sat down, and the MinSha went to work. The fifth customer got up to leave—a giant, purple Oogar who had gotten a tattoo of a snake which circled and writhed around its muzzle—and all five had been very happy with their tattoos.
Jim settled into a little shop just a few meters away from the MinSha. The autochef accepted his input code for an analogue of Coke, so he drank and watched. The afternoon went on with customer after customer getting artwork done. She was incredibly fast—faster than Jim had seen the robots work—and none of the designs looked like the ones on her own chiton. They all paid in cash, and all were thrilled with the result. The afternoon grew late, and he found himself watching a humanoid Lumar who was admiring the tattoo he’d just gotten of marching insects snaking around his torso and circling each of his four arms.
“Are you ready for your turn?”
Jim jumped and spun to see the MinSha standing next to him. He hadn’t even seen the Lumar leave. “Um…” he said into the unblinking, multifaceted stare of the alien; the alien looked even more like a praying mantis up close. Its eyes weren’t as bright red as other MinSha he’d seen. She had a slightly mildewy smell mixed with cinnamon.
“Come,” she beckoned with two arms, pointing at the chair with the other two. Against his will, his feet followed. The MinSha touched the controls on the chair, and he felt himself being gently backed into it. It was a perfect fit. She was close, very close, and the cinnamon scent filled his nostrils. She turned her head toward the equipment bins. “Human?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I have only met a few Humans. I do not frequent your arm of the galaxy.” She continued to open small boxes and remove vials.
Jim fidgeted uncomfortably and considered fleeing. Then he heard his father’s voice.
“Jimbo, don’t be afraid.”
“But, Daddy, the water is deep.”
“You can swim, I taught you.”
Jim had been six. They were in the Caribbean aboard a friend’s yacht. The azure water was beautiful and seemingly bottomless. “That was the swimming pool at home.”
“It’s no different,” Thaddeus said. Jim swallowed. “Son, always remember, fear of the thing is more dangerous than the thing itself.”
Jim nodded and looked at the MinSha. “So, I don’t tell you what I want?” he asked finally.
“I already know what you want,” she said. “Please remove your upper torso coverings.” He looked out at the promenade and realized how late it had become. Many of the shops he could see were closed, and no other beings were waiting. The shop he’d been drinking Coke at all afternoon must have been waiting for him to leave because it was closed, too. In fact, most of the beings still out seemed to just be walking by. With a nervous sigh, he removed his jacket, then the shoulder holster with his sidearm, then the shirt underneath it. “You can place your weapon and clothes on the table,” she said, gesturing.
After he’d done as he was instructed and reclined in the chair, she began running her hands over his skin. Despite the MinSha’s almost needle like fingers and other projections on her chiton, it didn’t hurt. In fact, it was surprisingly gentle.
“Your dermis is an amazing canvas for my art,” she said, the translator conveying a tone of wonder. “I have been looking for one such as yourself.”
“You have?” he asked.
“Oh, assuredly.” She reached to the nanite machine and attached a line to each of her four hands—she now held four identical little instruments, not unlike fountain pens. “So many races have armored dermis, or lots of fur. They are difficult to work with. This,” she said and lovingly caressed his huge belly. “This is glorious.”
“Will it hurt?” he asked.
“A little,” she admitted. He looked up, so he wouldn’t have to watch. “If we talk, it will help.” The instruments buzzed, and her hands began moving. He felt a slight stinging crawling along his shoulder, almost like a strap placed there too tightly.
He hazarded a look. She was indeed using the devices like sewing needles, plunging it into his skin over and over so fast the tips were a blur. Jim knew every stroke delivered a nanite cluster which could be programmed to display a pixel in an image. It wasn’t going in deep, but he still saw an almost invisible sheen or pinkish red following her movements. He swallowed and looked at the promenade’s dome above.
“You have traveled a lot?” he asked.
“Very much,” she agreed. He felt more stinging now, in other places. It wasn’t exactly painful so much as intensely uncomfortable.
“Tell me where. What have you seen?”
“I’ve seen cities so vast you cannot process their size, suspended deep in the clouds of gas giants. I’ve seen ghost fleets, ships 20,000 years old, orbiting a black hole, slowly waiting their time to join with entropy. I’ve watched a star going supernova from only a light hour’s distance, while a world with a billion beings died in the hellfire, only to escape through the system’s stargate moments before it was obliterated as well.”
“Amazing,” Jim said, looking at her incredibly-complicated mouthparts as her native squeaking/clicking speech came out. Up close, her chiton looked a little pale, and maybe even flaky in places. She nodded. Why did most beings with heads share that simple movement?
“But of the wonders I’ve seen, that last vision was the final wonder I witnessed.” Her hands were working around his chest now, two on one side, the other two on his abdomen. “I have traveled to most corners of the galaxy in my trade, never staying anyplace for long. I’ve even seen some of the worlds in the 4th Arm.”
“No one goes there,” he said.
“It is banned. Many reasons are given. Extensive radiation from waves of supernova. Poor hyperspacial physics. Monsters.”
“Here there be dragons,” Jim said with a laugh. For just a moment, her hands stopped moving. It was a very short pause, but it was there.
“Very interesting turn of phrase,” she said, then resumed.
They talked for a few more minutes, and then she suddenly stopped. Jim was afraid something was wrong until she spoke.
“It is finished.”
“Already?” he asked, surprised.
She replaced the implant devices and removed several sheets from a dispenser. She wiped all his chest and belly with the towel. As she moved a stinging sensation followed. Most of his upper body felt a little numb; in places it was like he’d been slapped, and the nerves were still stinging.
“Yes,” she said, “I have but to install the power unit.” She took another implement from the table and turned back to him. “Raise your right arm, please.” He did so and felt a tiny prick. “A local anesthesia,” she explained.
“You said you saw a supernova?” She nodded. “It’s hard to imagine seeing anything greater.”
“I’ve seen nothing greater,” she said, “because the supernova was the last thing I ever saw.” He looked at her in surprise. The slightly milky appearance of her chiton, the way her eye facets didn’t seem as red or to reflect light like other MinSha; it all made sense.
“You are blind,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, for long ages now.”
“How do you do these incredible tattoos, then?”
&n
bsp; “My memory was untouched by the radiation.”
A second later, he felt a tugging and smelled cooking flesh. “I have cauterized the incision. It will be a little painful. The work I’ve done is particularly large and took a big control unit. It is still small by your reckoning, and it will feel like a tiny stone under your skin. In no time, you will forget it is there. Just touch it to activate your tattoo.” His hand went to it. “Please wait for it to heal. A day should suffice.” He was a little disappointed but didn’t say anything. “You will be pleased. You can redress.”
He stood and put his clothes back on. “How long will the power unit last?”
“About twenty years,” she said, “if you run it constantly.”
He nodded. The promenade was nearly deserted now, and he was many hours late for his appointment. As he dressed, the only evidence of the procedure was his missing chest hair and tiny red spots all over his torso. He touched one. It didn’t hurt. After he was dressed, he removed a handful of 1,000 credit chits and held them out for her to take.
“It was a lot of work.”
She took a single chit as if she could see just fine. “The price is the same, regardless of the gift.”
“Thank you, I can’t wait to see it. You have an amazing calling for a member of a merc race.”
“As I was unable to serve as a mercenary, fewer careers were available to me.”
“Your race makes exceptional mercs,” he noted. “Why couldn’t you serve?”
“Only females are usually taken.” Jim’s head came around in surprise.
“You are male?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“To be honest, no. A lot of people have thought MinSha males might look different. Earth’s insect species usually have sexual dimorphism.”
“I am aware of the phenomenon,” he said, the translator adding a little laugh. “In our race, the only difference between sexes are temperament. Males are usually not aggressive.”
“Are all males green too, instead of blue?”
“No,” he admitted.
“What is your name?”
“Cheka,” the MinSha replied, gently moving his customer from the booth and closing the door. “I bid you good life and a strong fortune for what is ahead.” Cheka turned his head as if he were regarding Jim one more time. He had the feeling the alien wanted to say something more. However, after a second, he left without another word.
Jim went to the bar and met his very annoyed contact. Credits were exchanged, and data obtained. Afterward, he returned to the little hotel room he’d rented just off the hub. His companion was waiting for him.
“Hello, Jim,
“Hi, Splunk, finally decided to come back?” She nodded and helped herself to another roasted lizard. An entire plastic container full of them sat on the table, and Jim wondered where she’d gotten them. Probably best not to know.
“We leave soon,
“Yes, tomorrow. I got the data I needed.” He sighed and sat down.
Jim plugged the chip into his slate and reviewed what his credits had bought. They were a few hundred Tri-V studies of wrecked Raknar. It was assembled from tourist photos, done by a guy who specialized in “deep data extraction.” Jim considered it hacking, but whatever. All in all, it wasn’t worth what he paid for it. With a sigh, he uploaded it into his pinplants.
He might not have gotten any deep Raknar data, but he’d gone and found himself an honest-to-God prophet in the holy church of ink. “What kind of spiritual shit was that,” he wondered aloud. Splunk munched on her dinner without comment. He began to think about Cheka. Pinplants. He could have just had pinplants and saw with those using sensors. His body was so covered in tats, who knew what else was there? Suddenly it didn’t seem as magical or mystical anymore.
He went about doing random things, but the slight pain from the incision point and the numbness of his skin finally tried his patience to the point he couldn’t take it any longer. Jim pulled off his coat, shirt, and holster before snatching up his ditty bag. He fished around inside until he found what he was looking for—an emergency nanite medical treatment. He set it for mild-surface wound and sprayed the spot under his arm where Cheka had implanted the power unit. A second of burning agony and it was healed. Jim tossed the unit back into the bag, crossed to the bureau and mirror by the toilet, and pressed the spot.
For a moment, nothing happened, and he thought he’d been screwed. Then, from around the bulk of his chest, something came walking. It only took a second to recognize a perfectly rendered, 40-meter tall Raknar. He sucked in his breath with a hiss.
“Raknar, kaboom,
“Holy shit,” he said. “Impossible.”
The next morning, he raced down to the promenade with Splunk riding on one shoulder and his backpack over the other. He only had two hours to make the next stargate opening, but he had to go back. He searched until he found where Cheka’s little stall had been, but he found it empty and with no equipment. A rare woods dealer was just opening up next door. The owner, a little anteater-like Avaka, saw Jim standing outside the abandoned stall and spoke up.
“I own this group of stalls,” it said, “I can rent you the space for fifty credits a day!”
“I’m not looking to rent,” Jim said. The owner shrugged and turned its bright red eyes back to arranging its merchandise. “Can you tell me where the last renter went?” The Avaka regarded him a moment. “Cheka, the metamorphic tattoo artist,” Jim added.
“I could,” the alien said, and pretended to ignore him. Jim took out a 100-credit chip and sat it on the table.
“The MinSha, yes,” the owner said, scooping up the chit and making it disappear. “She paid per day.”
“He,” Jim corrected. The Avaka looked at him. “Cheka is a male.”
“Whatever. The MinSha wasn’t here this morning, and all her…his stuff was gone. I can only assume he left last night.” It looked at Jim expectantly, maybe hoping more credits were to be had, but Jim had gotten what he wanted. He walked back the way he came, glancing one last time at the empty stall.
“Let’s go, Splunk,” he said, heading for the docking bay. They had to meet up with the Cavaliers. There was a lot of data to go through, and he’d have a week in hyperspace to do it. But the strange encounter kept intruding in his mind, as well as the even stranger souvenir he had embedded under his skin.
* * * * *
Chapter Nine
Pale Rider dropped out of hyperspace and emerged back into normal space. The local star was a hideously bright blue-white primary which, despite resembling Sol, was a constant maelstrom of solar storms and insane solar winds. The glass in the bridge automatically tinted against the blazing inferno.
A radiation alarm buzzed, and Jim rolled the ship so her fuselage shielded the bridge. It was easier than using the shields because several warships were nearby, and he didn’t want to set them off. He’d immediately identified the businesslike lines of his own ship, Bucephalus. A long, blunted cigar with gravity decks and clusters of fuel tanks aft. An Akaga-class cruiser, made by the strange Izlians.
The ship standing off near Bucephalus was a type he immediately recognized from his visit to the Kikai system. A Peacemaker ship, roughly the size of an escort frigate—they were the favorite ships of Peacemaker Enforcers. Slightly larger than Pale Rider, well-armed, but with good legs. Capable of operating for extended periods without resupply or carrying a strike force into trouble.
“Unidentified ship at emergence point, this is Peacemaker corvette Tango Exin, you are entering a Peacemaker exclu
sion zone. The Soo-Aku system is forbidden. Identify yourself immediately.”
“This is Colonel Jim Cartwright, commander of Cartwright’s Cavaliers aboard ESS Pale Rider.”
“Commander Cartwright, you are almost exactly on time.”
Small miracle. “Thank you. Who am I addressing?”
“I am Peacemaker Enforcer Poltova.” Jim’s comms screen came alive, and he looked into the purple ursine face staring at him. Oogar. “I was about to transfer over to your merc cruiser to speak with your XO. As I understand it, he is rather eager to speak with you.”
I’m sure he is. “I will meet you on Bucephalus. Pale Rider out.”
“Oogar Peacemaker,
Jim laughed as well. “Yeah, right? They don’t seem the kind of race to be Peacemakers.” He looked at the warship sitting near the Peacemaker corvette and sighed. He used his pinplants to change the frequency. “Bucephalus, this is Cartwright’s Actual.”
“Cartwright’s Actual, this is Bucephalus Actual. Welcome back.” Captain Su’s rich Chinese accent sounded amused. “We have Pale Rider on our screens. Transmitting you an approach vector.” Splunk nodded as she received the transmission.
“See you soon, Bucephalus.” Jim was about to cut the transmission when he heard a yell on the other end.
“Is that our no good, ungrateful, son of a bitch of a commanding officer?”
Jim turned off the radio with a cringe. Yeah, Hargrave was pissed.
* * *
It felt like years since he’d set foot on Bucephalus. Had it really only been four months? Four months and over 100,000 lightyears in total travel. Pale Rider was tired and in need of maintenance. He used the automatic docking routine to mate her to the merc cruiser. While many of the aliens built small classes, Humans tended to build big. Despite Pale Rider having a previous life as a light cruiser, Bucephalus’s Akaga-class was over 100 meters long, nearly dwarfing his yacht.