The steward regarded her for a moment, then padded over to the hog’s crate. He stopped several feet away, eyed it suspiciously and pulled a v-film out of his coat pocket.
“Yes.” He looked up from the film. “This animal is listed as belonging to a Bodine. And it is going to Sigmund’s Parch. But your presence here… this is not according to regulation.” The pupils in the Gliesian’s globe-eyes narrowed, as if deciding what to do about her.
“And the hog, our sandhog,” she went on mindlessly, “he does seem good, so that’s fine, he’s just fine, everything’s fine with him.” She felt Liam trying to open the door again. She leaned back hard onto the latch to keep it shut, and he stopped.
Take the hint, Liam. Just get away.
“Hmph,” the steward huffed, grapefruit eyes fixed on her. He glanced from her to the crate, the pupils now widening slightly. “Um… so, you have looked in to view this animal? And all is well with it?”
“Yes. He’s fine.”
“You were able to approach closely, in such a way that I… would possibly not be required to verify this?” Zenn understood now. He was afraid of it. Her theory was confirmed when, a second later, a booming roar from the crate caused the steward to leap high into the air, landing several yards away, his body lowered into a protective crouch.
“Ha-ha…” He laughed a high, musical laugh. “This was unexpected.” He crept closer to her again, not taking his eyes off the crate. “And how could you do this? Evaluate the animal, to know that it was well?”
“I was able to because I’m an exoveterinarian.” It was almost not a lie, Zenn told herself. She was a novice exovet, at least. OK, not a full novice, but over halfway through her novice year. The steward stared at her blankly. “That means I’m a doctor for alien animals. Like sandhogs. I have medicines.” She indicated the pack on her back. “They can make the sandhog sleepy so you can get close and examine it. Then they won’t attack you. Usually.”
The Gliesian shifted anxiously, looking at the crate. The hog snarled menacingly.
Zenn went on, “So, that’s why I came down to take a look. Alone. By. Myself,” she said loudly. Hopefully, loud enough for Liam to hear. “And I’d say there’s no need for you to bother yourself with checking on the hog. He’s doing fine.”
To Zenn’s immense and instant relief, the little steward now gave her a big grin filled with teeth like tiny black icepicks.
“You are qualified, then. To evaluate the animal. To say it requires no further attention.”
“Yes,” she said. There’d been no further jiggling of the latch. She hoped Liam had finally given up. “He’s just a little agitated by the ferry ride from the surface, but that’s normal. We’re very pleased with his conditions here. And that’s to your credit. We’re very satisfied with the service. Mister Bodine and I.”
“Your satisfaction, you could possibly make mention of this, perhaps? To the Captain?”
“Oh. Of course, I’d be glad to.”
The steward smiled even more broadly at this, rocking back and forth on his heels.
“Very kind of you. Very kind.” The Gliesian gave the crate one last glance. “I can now help you? To your cabin? Do you have luggage?”
“Oh, no,” Zenn said quickly. “I… The luggage… has been sent up my cabin. Our cabin. But thank you.”
“And I thank you,” he said, beaming at her. They stood looking at each other for a few moments. “And what is your deck, then?”
“Deck… eight?” Zenn ventured.
“Ah, this is fortunate. I serve on decks five through nine. Please do not hesitate to call on me for anything you may require. I am Deck Steward Yed. In point of fact, I am called in Gliesian as Yed the One Who Consumes Fat Meal-Larvae With Lip-Noises of Pleasure. But for our valued guests, I am Yed.”
“Right. Yed. Got it,” Zenn said. “So, I’ll just go on up. To my cabin.” She turned toward the door.
“Guest Bodine,” the steward said. Zenn stopped. “Deck eight is this way, please.” She smiled sheepishly and squeezed past him. He pointed to a door in the opposite wall, and she headed for it. “Yes. That way, thank you.”
Zenn gave the grinning steward a final wave, took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped through.
The corridor Zenn emerged into was narrow, with barely enough room to contain the river of passengers streaming in both directions. They were mostly human, but with a scattering of Asents – Alien Sentients – mixed in, both humans and Asents conversing as they ebbed and flowed around her. The carpeting on the floor was dingy and worn, and the walls could do with a fresh coat of paint. The nearest ceiling light flickered on and off, and the stale air smelled of artificial freshener.
With no idea how to reach the corridor Liam had entered on the opposite side of the hold, Zenn chose a direction at random and let herself be swept up into a group of about two dozen passengers. There were both adults and children, and she hoped she’d just blend in. From their excited chatter, she decided they were probably Earther colonists from the mining outposts on the moons of Jupiter, Saturn or the larger asteroids.
Shuffling along with the colonists, she tried to order her thoughts. Her first priority: getting herself out of sight. Next, try to locate Liam, then get word to Otha down on Mars, so he, Sister Hild and Hamish wouldn’t worry. Otha would surely be mad, but at least he’d be relieved to hear from her. Especially when she explained she had been kidnapped from her room. On the other hand, he’d want to know why she didn’t get in touch or come back to the cloister as soon as she escaped. And, like when she first told him about her mental “links” with the animals, there was the distinct possibility he wouldn’t believe her about any of it. But she didn’t really have a choice. If she’d let the ferry blast off without her, she’d have lost her only chance to find her father. She’d also have to carefully time her communication with her uncle so that he couldn’t have her sent back.
Amid passengers ahead of her, she now saw a small, squat form swathed in a garish array of colored robes, assorted jeweled necklaces and heavy rings on every stubby finger. The Skirni who had abducted her! What had Liam called him? Brokt? Pog?
Her heart rate galloped at the sight of the alien, and she dropped behind the passengers nearest her, then stepped into a recess off the corridor and watched. The three-foot-high creature’s black-and-white mottled bulldog face and under-slung jaw were thrust forward as he shouldered his way through the crowd, his short, hairless tail dragging behind him as he hobbled along.
She maneuvered her way through the corridor to what she thought was a safe distance behind him, wrapping the silk scarf up around her head as she went. She tucked her long hair out of sight inside it, then brought the end up across her lower face. Not a foolproof disguise by any means, but it would have to suffice.
The Skirni veered off into another passage and Zenn followed. A short way on, he stopped and spoke to one of the cabin doors that lined both walls. Zenn was too far away to overhear, but the door responded and opened. After he entered and the door shut, she got just close enough to read the cabin number and turned to leave.
Intent on following the Skirni, she hadn’t noticed the activity behind her. Another uniformed Gliesian steward had come into the far end of the corridor. He was stopping passengers and asking them something… to show their tickets. She retreated in the other direction, but found herself at a dead-end. Trapped. She would have to pass the steward to get away. He was stopping everyone. Soon she would be the only one left.
The steward was close enough now to be heard.
“Boarding passes, please. Thank you.”
There were fewer than half a dozen passengers between her and him. Zenn spoke to the cabin door nearest her. No response – it was locked. As were the next two. Three passengers remained in the corridor. She didn’t think the steward had noticed her yet. But he surely would in the next few seconds.
She spotted an archway between her and the steward. It appeared to lead into som
e sort of public room. Quickly, she walked down the passage and ducked inside.
It was a lounge of some sort, with a bar along one wall. Passengers sat on stools, drinking at the bar and at half a dozen tables. Zenn pushed her way to the back, where another archway opened into a smaller, more private space.
The room was half-obscured by a fog of low-hanging smoke that smelled of cherry and tobacco. She was able to make out the near end of a table. Seated at it was a long, upright reptilian form: an Alcyon. He held a fanned array of playing cards in one clawed hand.
“Looking for someone?” The Alcyon spoke in a deep, wheezy voice, his long jaws and lack of flexible lips causing him some difficulty with his enunciation. “The Lieutenant? Or Master Vancouver?”
“Yes! Master Vancouver,” Zenn said, picking a name, any name, anything to get her as far as possible from the steward.
The Alcyon glanced at her, flicked his long forked tongue into the air three times in her direction and turned back to his cards. He sported a bright red-and-blue tinted crest of skin that rose like a small sail on his scaled head. This marked him as a mature alpha male of the human-sized crocodilian species from Hyria Nine in the Alcyon star system. From the size of the crest, Zenn guessed he was most likely a clan leader of some sort and, judging from the golden chain mail vest he wore, a wealthy one.
“Ah, you can perhaps distract Master Jules for me,” the reptile said, lifting a long, claw-tipped digit to indicate the outline of a barely visible figure at the far end of the table. The Alcyon took a long drag on a flexible tube connected to a large hookah resting on the floor next to his chair, then puffed out double plumes of smoke through his nostrils and added, “He is too quick in the eye to allow my cheating.” The reptilian’s short, sharp laugh was a low-pitched coughing sound, accompanied by another cloud of smoke.
A voice sounded from the other end of the table, now partially visible through a gap in the haze.
“Yes! Do distract Master Van-coo-vehr for us, will you?” At the sight of the speaker, Zenn recoiled involuntarily – another Skirni. “Perhaps you could wave at him some old fish-heads. Har.” His voice sounded as though he was gargling oil as he spoke. He was short, like all Skirni, and more rotund than usual. He wore a heavy green velvet robe, and a thick half-circle of carved ivory dangled from the septum of his snub nose. Several of the teeth jutting up from his lower jaw appeared to be made of some copper-tinted metal. “Fish heads! That would draw his attention, would it not, Lieutenant?”
The one he called Lieutenant, a human, now became visible through the smoke. The human didn’t smile at the Skirni’s joke and looked up just long enough to give Zenn a quick once-over. Zenn guessed he was late-thirties, his clean-shaven face tanned and handsome in a square-jawed sort of way, with close-cropped light brown hair. His crisp crimson uniform jacket bore golden epaulets on each shoulder, with a black leather strap cutting a smart diagonal across the chest. The immediate impression should have been the very model of a dashing, archetypal young hero, but there was something… unusual… about his appearance. Zenn found herself staring, and only pulled her gaze away when the curtain of drifting smoke lifted enough to reveal the farthest end of the table. Seated there was possibly the last creature she expected to see on a starship orbiting Mars.
FOUR
A whimsically smiling face looked up from playing cards held in a big, four-fingered mech-hand. Two jet-black eyes set against downy gray skin caught sight of her, and two sounds emerged as the creature spoke: one sound, the fainter of the two, like a rusty gate hinge mixed with stuttering laughter; the other, louder sound was a synthesized Transvox voice.
“Is the female biped noun mammal seeking personal pronoun my own identity?” he said.
“I’m… sorry?” was all Zenn could manage.
The Alcyon interpreted. “I think Jules meant to say, ‘Were you looking for me?’”
Before Zenn could respond, the Transvox voice went on, “Personal pronoun me am here verb transporting two circular sugar-candies on paper-sticks into colloquialism the washing machines.”
“And that,” the Alcyon said, “was to say, ‘I am about to take these two suckers to the cleaners.’” The Alcyon reached over the table to tap on the cybernetic arm extending from the upper-body area of the one called Jules. “Adjust your Transvox again, friend. You speak nonsense.”
One of Jules Vancouver’s mech-hands fiddled with a control pad on his other mech-arm, and he spoke quietly, as if talking to himself. Again, the fainter liquid chirps and squeaks were overlaid by the Transvox voice, but then the squeaking sound grew softer as the unit’s frequency dampers kicked in, allowing the artificial voice to be heard more clearly. “Testing, testing… Under the wide and starry sky, dig the grave and let me lie… It was the best of times, it was the worst…”
Satisfied the device was working properly, he looked up at her and the Transvox voice said, “I apologize for my translating device. It requires fresh soft-codes. And I’m eager to know who you are and your purpose. But look…” One mechanical hand gestured at the pile of colored discs on the table in front of him. “I’m winning. Please, sit.” He gestured to a chair by the wall, then bent his smiling, beaked face back to his cards as if he’d known her for ages and she’d just stopped by for a friendly chat.
Zenn couldn’t help herself.
“You’re a dolphin,” she blurted. The others all looked at her. “I mean…” Her mind scrabbled this way and that, searching for something sensible. “I mean, Father didn’t say you’d be a dolphin. When he told me. About you.”
“Your father? I will assume he and I are acquainted?” the dolphin said as one mech-hand counted through his piles of discs.
“Oh, yes, you’re definitely acquainted,” she lied as innocently as she could manage. “From Earth. From his time on Earth. Where you’re… from.”
Several silent seconds passed. Jules the dolphin looked up and blinked at her expectantly.
“But,” Zenn said, “I don’t want to intrude. On your game.” She smiled idiotically. “Why don’t you just go ahead and finish? I’ll wait.”
Jules took another look at his cards, pushed the mound of colored discs forward and peered at her again. “You have a quantity of freckles across the skin of your nose and facial area. They are distinctive.”
“I suppose they are,” she said, smiling in spite of herself beneath the scarf, which she now checked nervously to ensure it was still in place. She was beginning to get the hang of listening to him speak. She had to ignore the twitter of his natural vocalizations and force herself to listen only to the Transvox speech coming from the two small speakers attached to his walksuit’s harness.
Zenn had studied basic dolphin physiology as part of Sister Hild’s class on Earther marine ecology back at the cloister. She knew a little about dolphin culture, about their somewhat troubled history of contact with human society on Earth. She also knew that walksuits like the one he wore were hugely expensive and only available on a limited basis. The suit consisted of two legs and two arms, both powered by hydraulic micro-actuators at the joints, with a central web-like arrangement that cradled the sleek, gray body of what Zenn judged to be a young, six- or seven-foot-long bottlenose dolphin.
“I am calling your bets with my cards,” Jules declared to the others. “Peruse them and commence weeping.” He released the holographic cards he held and they hovered up into the air, where they floated in place for a second before rearranging themselves into a flying wedge. With a short burst of mechanical-sounding trumpet music, three of the cards transformed themselves into small silver scepters that flew in quick circles around the other two cards, which converted themselves into a pair of spiked balls affixed to short wooden handles.
“Scepters over maces,” the dolphin said with evident satisfaction.
The Skirni snorted in disgust. “Blast and pestilence.” He glared at the dolphin and threw his cards at the table, where they landed with a soft, buzzer-like bleat of def
eat.
The Alcyon released his grip on his cards, and they spread out in the air over the table. “Scimitars over tongs,” the reptile hissed. “I am afraid the weeping will be yours. Salty tears for your salty sea-home. Ha.”
More mechanical music sounded as the Alcyon’s cards turned into four small curved swords and a tiny set of blacksmith tongs. The swords twirled through the air toward Jules’s still-hovering weapons, neatly sliced both the scepters and maces in half and, to a short fanfare of victory music, rose a foot higher before they and the fragments of Jules’s items became cards again and dropped to stack themselves neatly on the tabletop.
The Alcyon laughed another short, harsh laugh and swept the discs to his side of the table. Jules shook his head, his permanent dolphin smile unable to mask his disappointment.
“Crap,” he muttered, giving the traitorous cards a stare.
The Skirni pushed his chair away from the table. “That’s it. I’m done.”
“But Master Thrott,” Jules said, “I have lost a significant amount of my chips here. You are stopping now, without allowing me to regain my lost funds?”
“Yes,” Thrott grumbled. “It is called quitting while I’m ahead.” He hopped down out of his chair, pointed at what remained of his chips on the table and said, “You. Pick these up; we’re going.”
With a start, Zenn thought he was addressing her. Then she saw a figure crouching against the wall behind her. The creature had been so still and the smoke so dense, she hadn’t noticed. The Fomalhaut was a female, much taller than Zenn but only about half her weight, the slender humanoid form dressed incongruously in a shabby black tuxedo several sizes too small, her yellow crescent-moon eyes focused permanently on the floor. The delicate features of the Fomalhaut race always made Zenn think of an elvish child’s doll stretched lengthwise in a funhouse mirror.
“Don’t muck about! Pick those up, I said.” The Skirni raised a hand in threat, and the Fomalhaut scurried to the table, gathered up the discs and bowed her head in submission before moving to stand a few paces behind the Skirni. Slavery had been outlawed on all the planets of the Local Systems Accord centuries ago. But with no home world of their own, the wandering Skirni mainly lived aboard a scattering of starships in the Outer Reaches, beyond the oversight of most LSA laws; the law governing slaves aboard starliners remained unsettled. Subsisting on the grudging acceptance of the other races, they scraped out a living selling questionable medicinal potions, arranging marginally honest transactions, telling fortunes to the gullible and generally doing the jobs no one else would do. Their Fomalhaut slaves were given the jobs even the Skirni balked at.
ARC: Under Nameless Stars Page 3