by Kit Walker
"She insisted," Kadar replies, then says something Asha can't quite make out.
"What?"
"I said, the noise usually overwhelms any listening devices in the room!"
"Oh!"
Asha spares a glance at Vaz; the look on his face is a picture of absolute misery.
They seat themselves at the bar, and it isn't long before the bartender comes by: a lean, powerful dhovar woman even taller than Vaz. She has an impressive amount of decorative scarification and looks like she could singlehandedly destroy half the people in this bar.
Asha is the first to admit that she has a type.
"What can I get you?" says the bartender, somehow sounding bored despite the fact that she has to shout to be heard.
Kadar proceeds to order something long, complicated, and probably expensive. When the bartender looks at Asha, she stumbles over several 'um's before turning to Vaz. "What can I drink here that won't kill me?"
Vaz looks around the bar and wrinkles his nose. "In here? Water. And even that's a risk."
The bartender laughs. "Water it is."
Asha lets herself stare only after the bartender has dropped off their drinks and moved on to tend to another customer.
Vaz catches her looking. "Oh, no. Really?"
"I never knew I was into aliens until this very moment," Asha says, awed.
•
Kadar's friend arrives within the hour.
The crowd parts to admit a gigantic jar on wheels, full of water, with a small, tentacled creature — a cepida — floating inside. A speaker attached to the cepida's life support apparatus activates, and a pleasant, aristocratic voice says, "Kadar. Good to see you."
"Trixis." Kadar gestures to Asha. "This is Asha Reed. Asha, this is Maxima Iova Trixis."
Trixis leads them to a booth in the corner, where it's quiet enough to actually talk. Once Kadar, Asha, and Vaz are seated, she parks herself at the end of the table.
"You keep interesting company these days," Trixis says to Kadar.
Kadar rolls his eyes. "I don't have a gun pointed at my head. It's fine. I just owe Asha a favor."
"Allow me some paranoia, Kadar."
Puzzled, Asha says, "You really think the Sentinels would come after you over a few files?"
"The Sentinels have more secrets than they would like to admit," Trixis replies. "Their motives for keeping them may be altruistic, but their methods can be ... overzealous."
"And it's not just the Sentinels," Kadar adds. "There are some very scary people who would benefit from exclusive access to what Trixis and her collective are working on."
"If it's that dangerous," Asha says, "why do it?"
"Because I believe the public has a right to know what their protectors are doing in their name," Trixis says. "And they have a right to know why." One of Trixis' tentacles emerges from the top of her tank, grabs her drink, and dumps its contents into the water. "Now. What, specifically, do you need from me?"
"I'm looking for information about a quarantine the Sentinels set up around three hundred years ago," Asha says.
"May I ask why?"
"I think my home planet might be in there."
Trixis blinks, slowly. "I see." She pauses for a moment, then continues, "I will need to check the archive to be sure, but I do recall coming across some files relevant to the quarantine."
Asha sits up, leaning forward. "You do?"
"I can't guarantee any useful information," Trixis warns.
"At this point, I'll take anything."
"Very well," Trixis rotates in her tank to face Kadar. "Come by my office tomorrow morning. I'll have whatever information I can find ready for you to examine."
"Sorry, where's this office?" Vaz asks.
"Kadar knows where it is," Trixis replies curtly. "And one more thing. Kiti Devica is looking for you, Kadar."
Asha's sitting next to Kadar and can feel him tense up, but his voice is as casual as ever when he says, "If she asks, you haven't seen me in months."
"Very well. I'll see you tomorrow."
Trixis' tank turns in place and trundles across the pub, out the door.
"Okay." Asha slaps her hands on the table. It feels as if there's been a vise clamped around her heart for weeks, and she only noticed once it eased up a little. It's exhilarating. "Next round's on me."
"She might not have anything," Vaz reminds her.
"This is the most progress I've made in over a month," Asha says. "That warrants some celebration. Excuse me."
Asha heads back to the bar and waves the bartender over.
"You're back," the bartender says, with a friendly smile. "More water?"
"Nope," Asha says brightly.
"What do you want, then?"
"I don't know. Surprise me. What's your name?"
"Ruza," says the bartender.
"Hi, Ruza. I'm Asha." She points back at the booth. "That guy over there is Vaz. He's my ship's doctor. I'm telling you this so you can go get him if I drink something that gives me a seizure. Or whatever."
Ruza laughs, even louder than last time. "Okay. This should be interesting."
•
Laela loves the Wayfarer. It's her home, her livelihood, her freedom. She's pretty sure she loves it more than she's capable of loving anything else, including friends, significant others, or her own (highly theoretical) children.
There are times when that love is tested.
Wayfarer is an old Sentinel ship, and thus designed for a crew much taller than Laela, most of whom could climb up and down ladders with relative ease.
One of the air quality monitors in the kitchen has been acting up, and it's not the one conveniently located at floor level.
"A little to the left." Laela wobbles on Ysal's shoulder as xe takes an obliging step to the side. Ysal wraps one long arm around Laela's legs to hold her in place. "Thanks," Laela says, and turns her attention back to the monitor.
Its sensors are caked with the various types of gunk that billow into the air whenever something on the stove catches fire, which is often, because Vaz keeps insisting he knows how to cook. Laela may have to give up and replace the whole thing. And ban the good doctor from the kitchen.
Laela's comm starts beeping. She mutters a few unkind words under her breath and answers the call with an aggressively chipper, "Hello?"
"Captain Laela of the Wayfarer?" says the voice on the other end of the line.
"Yeah."
"I work for Vakala Manufacturing. Your ship is currently handling a palladium delivery for us, correct?"
"Yeah." Laela wipes her free hand on her flight suit, leaving a streak of black. "Is there a problem?"
"I'm afraid we won't be able to pick up our shipment until tomorrow morning."
"The last guy who called said you'd be coming by tonight. Am I going to get another call tomorrow telling me you can't pick it up until the day after?" Laela reaches up to rub her eyes, looks at her hand, and aborts the motion. "I do eventually have to leave this planet."
"I can assure you that this will be the last delay."
"Right," Laela says, unconvinced. "See you tomorrow."
"Thank you for your understanding."
Laela ends the call without replying and drops the comm back into her pocket. "I guess we've got the night off after all."
Ysal looks up at her. "Would you like to join the others down on the surface?"
"Do we have to?"
"No. I simply thought you might appreciate some recreational time."
"I would," Laela hastily amends. "Just ... no bars. Or cities. Or people."
Ysal considers this for a moment. "Take-out and Shadow Games?" xe offers.
"Take-out and Shadow Games," Laela agrees.
•
Vaz's head pounds in time with the music. He groans, folds his arms on the table, and mashes his face into them, in the hopes it will block out some of the offending stimulus.
He jolts upright when Asha returns to the booth and drops into th
e seat next to him.
"Hey," she says, bright and alert.
"You've been drinking everything that bartender's put in front of you for almost an hour," Kadar says, amazed. "How are you not wasted?"
"Either her species has a high tolerance for alcohol, or she's some kind of mutant," Vaz explains.
"I spent most of my career surrounded by functioning alcoholics," Asha says. "Also, Ruza's shift is ending and we're going to grab some food. Do you guys want to come?"
"I'll pass," Kadar says.
Vaz sighs. He'd been hoping to head back to the ship soon and get some sleep, or at least some quiet. "No, thanks." He tilts his head in Kadar's direction. "Somebody needs to keep an eye on this one."
Kadar makes a face at him. "I don't need a babysitter."
"You're the only one who knows where Trixis' office is," Vaz fires back. "You absolutely need a babysitter."
Asha's eyebrows go up. "Maybe I shouldn't leave you two alone."
Vaz grits his teeth. "It's fine," he says. "We'll comm you if we need you."
"Okay," Asha says slowly. "If you're sure."
"Don't worry about it," Kadar says cheerfully. "Go have fun."
Asha nods and actually bounces a little as she heads back to the bar.
"I've never seen her like this," Vaz says.
"Yeah." Kadar leans back in his seat, arms resting along the back of the bench. "Who knew she could be so fun?"
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Just don't. Stop talking."
Kadar studies Vaz for a moment. "You don't like me very much, do you?"
Vaz glares down at the tabletop and rubs his forehead. The headache is getting worse. "I only have to spend a few more hours with you. I'd rather spend them in silence."
"Suit yourself." Kadar looks out across the pub, probably scanning the crowd. His eyes widen, and he goes very still. "Oh, hell."
"What?" Vaz turns to look. A small hirovan woman has just entered the pub, but other than that, Vaz can't spot anything particularly noteworthy.
When he turns back, Kadar is out of his seat and on his way out the back door.
•
The door opens into a narrow, claustrophobic alley, and Kadar's already near the opposite end of it. He's moving at a decent clip, treading the line between a fast walk and an outright run, but Vaz's legs are longer. He catches up just as Kadar turns the corner onto the street.
"Nice try," Vaz snaps.
"Calm down." Kadar slows a little, buzzing with a nervous energy that he didn't have before he left the pub.
"You calm down, Vaz says. "Asha needs you. You don't get to disappear on us yet."
"I wasn't 'disappearing,' okay? I was just trying to avoid somebody." Kadar turns to face Vaz, as if to say something more, but his expression changes when he looks over Vaz's shoulder. "Keep walking."
"What?" Vaz tries to turn, but Kadar latches onto his arm and drags him along as he speeds up.
"There are two guys following us," Kadar mutters. "They work for the Veiled Hand. I don't know what I did to get their attention, and I don't want to find out. Keep walking."
There's a transit station up ahead, where a train is just starting to pull in. Kadar steers Vaz up the steps and onto the platform, but as they approach the doors, one of the men following them shouts, "Vaz!"
It's not a happy shout. Vaz stumbles and, reflexively, looks back.
An unusually large hirovan and a young, gangly marcor stand on the steps of the transit station, just out of range of the security cameras. Both wear purple scarves and expressions of impersonal hatred.
Kadar's mouth drops open. "They're after you?"
"It's a long story," Vaz says.
Kadar tugs Vaz onto the train. The doors close behind them, and the train pulls out of the station.
•
There are only two establishments in the port district willing to deliver to the orbital docking platform. One of them is a cepida restaurant, and cepida culture has an attitude towards cannibalism that could most charitably be described as 'relaxed,' so Laela orders from the marcor deli instead.
(After nineteen years on a labor colony and thirteen in space, Laela's willing to eat more or less anything, but she draws the line at food she could've had a conversation with.)
Laela meets the delivery girl on the ramp, passes over her credit chit, and peeks in one of the bags.
"... Nine sets of utensils?"
The delivery girl looks at her, then at the multiple bags piled on the ramp. "Is that not enough?"
Laela huffs. "This is a perfectly reasonable amount of food for two people."
The delivery girl opens her mouth, closes it, approves the transaction, passes the credit chit back to Laela, and says, "Have a nice evening."
Laela comms Ysal once she's back inside the ship. "Food's here."
"Could you meet me in Asha's room, please?"
Laela juggles the bags in her arms so she can hit the call button for the elevator. "Is something wrong?"
"Do not be alarmed. I simply require some assistance."
Laela enters the elevator, rides up to deck two, and makes her way down the hall to Asha's room. She knocks on the door with her elbow; the door opens just enough for Ysal to peer through the gap.
"How much help do you need to feed a rodent?" Laela asks.
"Under usual circumstances, none," Ysal replies. "However ..."
Xe moves away from the door so Laela can see Rat's cage.
It's empty.
•
"What the hell did you do?"
Vaz's headache hasn't gotten any better. The train smells like too many bodies crammed too close together for too long, and the only other passenger at the moment — an exceptionally drunk marcor — has his personal music player set to maximum volume with no earphones.
"You know," Vaz says, "when someone tells you 'it's a long story,' that usually means they don't want to talk about it."
"Oh, come on," Kadar whines. "If the Veiled Hand is after you, it must be a great story. What did you do? Steal money? Kill someone? Ruin a marriage?"
"No!" Vaz says, appalled. "It was just a misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding involving somebody's marriage?"
"Why are you so fixated on that?"
"You're an attractive guy, and you've got that whole 'tortured idealist' thing going on," Kadar says, as if it's an uninteresting matter of public record.
"I didn't — no," Vaz says. "I set up a clinic on Dagrun a few years ago. The Hand brought some of their people in for treatment, started donating supplies, and I guess they assumed that, in return, I'd refuse treatment to their enemies. Last month, they ... found out that wasn't the case. I guess they're still angry about it."
"Hell yeah, they're still angry," Kadar says. "They've probably broadcast your face to every Hand chapter in the Protectorate." He sighs. "Figures. Even when the biggest, scariest syndicate in the galaxy is after you, it's for a boring reason."
"What's your plan, here?" Vaz says, abruptly changing the subject. "Where are we going?"
"I figured we'd just ride the trains all night," Kadar replies. "The Hand won't be able to find us if we keep moving."
"Seriously? That's it?"
Kadar shrugs.
Vaz slumps in his seat, rubbing his temples. "Can we switch trains soon, then? I think that guy's music is starting to liquefy my brain."
Kadar looks at Vaz, then at the drunk guy at the back of the car. He stands and, with an alarming amount of confidence, strides over to the guy's seat.
"What?" Vaz says. "Wait, no, no, no—"
Kadar leans in with a big, friendly, slightly terrifying grin and taps the guy on the shoulder. "Heeeey," he says, once the stranger's bleary eyes rotate in his direction. "Turn the music down. You're causing a disturbance."
The guy looks alarmed for a moment, before he notices Kadar's lack of uniform and relaxes. "Fuck off."
Vaz lunges out of his seat and rushe
s to the back of the car.
Kadar's grin, meanwhile, widens to display more teeth. "You want to try that again, buddy?"
"Fuck off," the drunk guy repeats, even louder.
The smile disappears from Kadar's face. He leans forward and slams the 'off' button on the music player. Blessed silence descends over the train car.
The guy surges to his feet, fists clenched.
Vaz darts in. "Please excuse my friend," he says, pulling Kadar back and stepping between them.
Which means that the punch intended for Kadar instead collides with Vaz's left eye.
•
"Well, that was probably a mistake."
Ruza holds the door for Asha on their way out of what bears an uncanny resemblance to a 1950s-style diner. There was even a waitress who called them both 'dear.' Asha's beginning to suspect this particular type of restaurant exists throughout all of time and space, formed from the primordial ether to provide cheap, greasy food to all sentient life.
"We should've brought Vaz," Asha continues. "I have no idea if I was supposed to eat any of that."
"If that hirovan eel vodka didn't kill you, I'm pretty sure nothing here would," Ruza says. "And, for the record, I'm glad you didn't bring your doctor."
"Oh? Why's that?"
Ruza gently grabs Asha's elbow, leans down, and kisses her.
It takes a few seconds for Asha's brain to catch up, at which point she breaks away from the kiss and says, "Holy shit, this is a date!"
Ruza mutters an oath under her breath and starts walking again.
"No, no, it's okay!" Asha runs to catch up. "I can't actually tell when someone's flirting with me. I figured I'd just have to crush on you in silence for the rest of the night."
A smile pulls at the corner of Ruza's mouth. "So you're okay with this?"
"Yes. Absolutely." Asha tips her head back, breathing deeply. "Thanks for dinner. And the drinks. I haven't had a chance to relax in ... over a month or six hundred years, depending on how you look at it."
"I'm guessing there's a story behind that," Ruza says.
"Oh, god, don't get me started. I'll end up complaining about my weird life all night."
"I like listening to people talk," Ruza says. "It's why I don't hate being a bartender. Although nobody wants to share their troubles with me." She purses her lips, thinking. "Either the customers feel guilty about burdening a total stranger with their problems, or they think my fangs are scary. Definitely one of those two things."