“Did the passenger take quarters here, or did he leave?”
“The passenger is a woman, whose name is unlogged, but I’ve been able to discover is Odessa Grante from the planet Earth. Did you wish me to keep an eye on her?”
Harley didn’t like the sound of that. A sudden protective urge, like the one he had experienced in the concourse when the bullets had been flying and Odessa had been in his arms, overcame him. “I’ll take care of that myself.”
He resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair. It was a sign of nervousness, and he couldn’t afford his actions being misinterpreted in case Ralph was a double agent primarily reporting to Pardua. Ralph appeared harmless enough, yet on Romaydia, the term ‘harmless’ had a variety of meanings.
“By the way, sir,” Ralph continued, “the Murrach thought you should know that the man who was piloting the Drifter was Roland Baylon. The Murrach asked me to notify you that he stole a valuable cargo of Gr’iis. We are in the process of searching for the ship to bring Baylon back with his cargo.”
Irritation set in. “Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier?” Gr’iis was the deadliest narcotic in the galaxy, able to destroy brain cells in a matter of minutes after initial use. If the widespread use of Gr’iis could decimate the galaxy’s young people, who would be left? Only those who used less harmful substances, like the one the Murrach used to control his people. Was Pardua behind the trafficking of Gr’iis too? At this point, the idea made Harley’s stomach churn. Pardua had to be knocked off his seat of power, but with his guards perpetually surrounding him and watching his every move, most men never had a chance to get near him. If they carried weapons, they were dealt with on the spot.
“The Murrach was only informed a few minutes ago, sir,” the man said, his eyes darting back and forth from the screen to something on his left.
So that’s why Pardua was searching for Roland Baylon’s passenger. Odessa was now probably on the Murrach’s ‘most wanted’ list. He had to get to her before the Murrach did, or else his hopes of reaching Baylon first to exact retribution would fail. He sensed that whether Odessa Grante knew it or not, she was the key to this operation. There was no telling what cruel method the Murrach would use to extract the information he wanted.
The implications were staggering. Harley hit the screen’s ‘off’ button. The Murrach would hide her away and either break her body or her spirit if he didn’t get the answers he wanted. On the other hand, Pardua might also use Odessa as a hostage to force Baylon to return.
Harley changed his black leather jacket for a navy blue windjammer. Pardua wasn’t kind to the women he captured and that fact bothered Harley more than he cared to admit, especially when that woman was Odessa.
Chapter Six
Odessa had no idea where she was headed as she threw the door open and hurtled down the corridor. How dare Harley think he could take liberties with her? How had she ended up in his room and in his bed?
She slowed her pace once she’d concluded he hadn’t chased after her, and made an attempt to blend in with the crowd milling about in the public area. Where would she go? Where was a safe place on Romaydia? She had been trapped in a concourse with no hope of getting out when she had decided to take the initiative and run. Dodging bullets had been preferable to staying in the passageway and having the air siphoned out of her lungs. She recalled seeing a man, who was barely visible, aiming a gun straight at her midriff. She’d heard the gun go off and knew without a doubt that the bullet had been headed straight at her heart. Everything had happened so suddenly.
The bullet had definitely hit her. Excruciating pain had seared through her, numbing her mind. Did she dare lift her sweater to take a peek at where the bullet had hit? Shouldn’t she be hurting? Or worse, dead? Or was her soul caught in the station’s atmosphere, forced to continue on as a ghost? Was her soul committed to wandering the universe’s byways until the end of time? Odessa didn’t think that was a possibility, but the last twenty-four hours had been the strangest she’d ever experienced. She pinched herself and yelped. She was real enough, given how the skin on her arm flushed red.
Odessa ordered herself to stop thinking melodramatically. She placed her hand on her stomach and pressed. Her hand touched flesh and didn’t pass through the skin. Why hadn’t the bullet killed her?
She vowed to find Roland and string him up for leaving her stranded. She paused and wondered who would be able to direct her to the Air Controller’s office. Should she ask a human or an alien? She decided she felt more at ease asking a human and scouted for an approachable target.
Her glance fell on a man who had dirty blond hair and appeared to be laughing. But he was wearing one of those helmets that had caught her attention earlier. Should she stop him? He was about to pass by, his eyes trained on the floor. Odessa planted herself in front of him, forcing him to come to an abrupt halt. “Can you tell me where the Air Controller’s office is?” she yelled, thinking he probably couldn’t hear much inside the helmet’s thick padding.
He lifted his head and gave her a glazed look, perhaps gathering his wits momentarily, and pointed behind him in a wavering gesture. Lowering his head, he continued on as if he had never been interrupted.
“Um, thanks,” Odessa said to his retreating back. She hurried off in the direction the lacklustre man had pointed, hoping he hadn’t misled her. The effort to haul himself from whatever had been going on in his helmet had appeared gargantuan.
The air stank of rotten eggs and dead dog. The station certainly didn’t smell like a flower garden.
Odessa ambled by several aliens grouped together, who spoke animatedly with small clicks. She would bet she’d really have to hustle to learn their language. Maybe it was like Earth Chinese, and next to impossible to learn without investing half a lifetime in the process.
She read a pointer sign with interest. In at least four languages, the low-key colours pointed her to the Air Controller’s offices. It was the sole signpost she had seen so far on the station. She headed in that direction.
Four or five minutes passed before she saw another sign in different languages stated that a particular closed door lead to the Air Controller. Relieved, she pushed the door open, which was as nondescript as the rest of the station. A flurry of activity, muddled voices in different languages and the smell of electronics assailed her.
“Well, lookee here. What do we have here?” a gruff male voice asked. A being with eyes too wide-set, and ears too large, appraised her from head to toe. It was as if an elf had come to life in front of Odessa’s gaze.
“Why don’t you keep your eyes in your head where they belong?” Odessa responded, outraged at his possessive mannerism.
The being leered. “Come on now, sweetheart. That’s no way to talk to a big man like me, is it?”
Odessa marched up to the waist-high counter and levelled a searing gaze at him. “Cut out the ‘sweetheart’ stuff. I want some information.” Trying to soften the harsh words, she added, “Then I’ll get out of your hair.”
Other beings, all male, looked up from their work and examined her with more than passing interest. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose. Could Violette have been right when she’d said this office was no place for a woman?
Throughout the vast room, countless screens had yellow, blue, red and white paths that looked like those on an electronic circuit board. Were they interlinked parts of the station?
“Is that right? Hey, boys. The lady is going to get out of our hair. Whatcha think of that?”
“I don’t need any of your attitude. Just give me the information I need and I’m outta here.” Her skin prickled with goosebumps. Bad odours lingered in the room. Every pair of eyes seemed to be undressing her and each mouth was set in a hungry snarl.
“Now I got attitude,” Wide Eyes jeered. He leaned closer. She could smell his breath. The stuff he had been drinking was likely more potent than earth moonshine. No wonder he was behaving as if almost none of his brain
cells worked. “Look, little lady. Why don’t you get that pretty body of yours back to your owner and flaunt it for him? Or you can do that for us. We won’t mind.”
Odessa was so outraged, she didn’t know what to think or say. Was he propositioning her? Violette’s words rang in her ears again. Had the woman been right that men only wanted one thing on Romaydia?
From the corner of her eye, she saw Harley amble in behind her, lean against the wall, and fold his arms across his massive chest. The rat had obviously followed her. He certainly had nerve. Hadn’t he got the message that she didn’t want anything to do with him?
“Lookee here, the Bagdareen cat cut out her tongue, boys,” Wide Eyes taunted.
Odessa ignored Harley. She didn’t know how she’d deal with him, but she would. “I need to know where a ship called the Drifter went, and what means I can use to talk to the bastard pilot.”
Another being, this one with a long, flat face, peered at her. “We all know how you can talk to him.” He fixed his eyes on her chest and licked his lips, as if he were anticipating an expensive meal.
Odessa glared back at him. “Keep your eyes to yourself. Tell me!”
Wide Eyes demanded, “Describe the ship.”
“Now, why would I need to do that?” Were they mocking her? She had never felt so helpless before. Harley hadn’t moved since he’d entered. Neither did he offer assistance, but then, why would he when he had only one thing on his mind? More than likely, he was awaiting the outcome of her single-handed battle with these jerks.
“It’s procedure. That’s all.”
Now she knew they were making fun of her. “Shove your procedure up your ass.” Was there no one else who could tell her where the Drifter had gone?
“What identification number does it have?” Wide Eyes asked, crossing his arms on the counter and ogling her.
“What is it with you men?” Odessa seethed. “Why can’t you just give me the information, and I’ll be on my way?”
“Did this fellow have permission to take off?” said Wide Eyes.
“How would I know?” She glowered at him. She sensed he wouldn’t tell her, if he even knew where Roland had headed.
“You know, if he didn’t have permission to leave, he could be in a whole lot of trouble,” Wide Eyes carried on.
“He’s already in enough trouble once I catch up with him.” Even if the bastard offered her a million dollars, she would never go near him again.
With the exception of Harley, the guys burst into laughter. Wide Eyes guffawed and slapped the counter repeatedly. “Little lady, but you couldn’t whip a man if you tried. You don’t have the strength.”
Beaten hardly before she’d begun, Odessa could easily have used his head as a punching bag. The laughter quieted, replaced by rampant hostility. What had made her think the authorities of Romaydia would help her? The rules were different here. Perhaps Violette had been right. There were few ways to leave the station and she would just have to surrender to her inevitable fate.
Harley pushed away from the wall and sauntered up to her. “Why don’t you let these gentlemen get back to their work?” He placed a heavy emphasis on the word ‘gentlemen’, giving Odessa the impression he was subtly giving them a taste of their own medicine.
“I want to know where Roland went,” she insisted, turning to meet his frank gaze. “He owes me a trip home. And I owe him a rope around his neck.” She was so close to tears. Her throat burned as she held them back.
Wide Eyes butted in. “That’s rich. Your boyfriend must have lured you here with promises he had no intention of keeping while he used that pretty body of yours for his gratification.”
Odessa had never used the word before but she muttered it now. “Asshole.” She included both Wide Eyes and Roland in the remark.
Once again, raucous laughter encompassed the room.
Harley took her arm. “Let’s go, Odessa. There’s no one of interest here.” This time he spoke in a low voice and once again, Odessa sensed he spoke about the room’s occupants in unflattering terms.
The pity in his eyes made her feel all the more fragile. He reached out and touched her. “Leave me alone,” she said in a tortured voice. She slapped at Harley’s hand, which still rested on her arm, before she raced out of the office. She would find Roland and she would make him pay for what he had done to her. She wouldn’t let the hope that she would get off Romaydia die.
The foul atmosphere in the corridor was more bearable than the simmering hostility in the Air Controller’s offices. The information about Roland no longer seemed so important. All Odessa wanted was a safe haven, away from Harley, away from the lingering stares of those dirty rats.
She wasn’t paying attention to where she was walking, and she collided with a fascinating character and came to an abrupt halt. The creature—for surely he wasn’t human—had obsidian eyes, but surprisingly he didn’t appear unfriendly. A one-inch circle of gold swirled about on his high forehead, reminding her of a cricket exploring the environment with its antennae. The gold provided a distracting and intense contrast to his eyes, which were far smaller than the moving design. Was the gold design a third eye? Odessa shuddered at the thought of having more than two.
“You wish speak to me?” he asked in a booming, heavily accented voice.
Odessa gulped, deciding the less she said to Goldie, the better. She shook her head. Three months earlier, she would never have dreamed such diversity existed. There was nothing like it on Earth.
He nodded, as if he understood her unwillingness to speak. “Ashtaris know everything. You need help.”
“Everything?”
His cheeks were flushed bright red, and he had no eyebrows. His pudgy, short form was clothed in a flowing teal robe which looked much like a Roman toga. “Yes, the same way I know you find my appearance—ah, what is word?—fascinating.”
“To say the least.” Was he a mind reader? The Ashtari was certainly getting about one hundred and ten per cent of her thoughts accurate.
“I understand, let me see, the gist of what you are thinking, but language difference make difficult to fully understand.”
She suddenly wondered if she had to follow some sort of etiquette to speak to this alien. She studied the people in the public area and noticed several unfamiliar beings speaking to humans. No one was doing anything she wouldn’t be doing.
“This is your first time off your home planet. It is, let us say, unnerving.” He smiled. His forehead circle came to a rest, gently pulsing, staring directly at her.
“That’s true.” She reluctantly opened up to him. “Before I left Earth, I had never been more than fifty miles from home.”
She allowed him closer and looked down at him, since he was at least six inches shorter than she was. He was unmistakably an alien with a friendly nature, even though his head looked a bit too small for his body.
“That is how Ashtaris are born. Nothing Ashtaris can do to change this.”
“There you go again. I think, you respond. Are you reading my mind?”
“Yes,” he replied simply.
Odessa lifted her hand and, very gently, touched the gold on his forehead. It beat insistently beneath her palm. “Is it alive?”
“Not as human understand ‘alive’. Meshkia is not sentient.”
“Meshkia?”
“Ashtari language for English equivalent of ‘translator’.”
Odessa found herself giggling. “And all this time I thought it was your third eye.”
“In manner of speaking, yes, third eye. Meshkia see words like eyes see objects.” The Ashtari’s forehead wrinkled with age lines as he frowned. Then he gave her a warm, encouraging smile.
She nodded. “Do you know how I can contact my home planet?” She watched the gold shift with dizzying speed. He crooked his elbow and slapped the inside with the palm of his other hand. Afraid she had inadvertently offended him, she stepped back.
“Is all right,” he boomed. “You young here, do
not understand the Ashtaris.”
His hoarse laughter told her she hadn’t stepped on his toes. “What do you mean?”
“It is refreshing to meet female who does not have only one thing on her mind. Very refreshing.”
Odessa could hazard a guess what the alien meant. Quite possibly the same thing Violette had mentioned. Women sought out men for sex in order to feed themselves. “On Earth, women belong where men belong, whether they are flying a Winger or ploughing a field to sow seeds.”
The Ashtari’s eyes widened. “I not understand Winger.”
“A flying vehicle to get you from one place to another.”
“Ah, yes. Now I comprehend.”
Despite his heavy accent and his laboured speech, Odessa found herself liking the Ashtari.
“I see where you come from. Beautiful land filled with gentle rolling hills, with cascading waterfalls and emerald green fields from six choka to six choka.”
Odessa frowned at what she assumed was his unit of measurement. “Six choka to six choka?”
The circle raced around his forehead. “Yes. It is equivalent of one of your miles, give or take a foot or two.”
“What an inaccurate measurement.”
“Not at all. It is accurate, but your mile cannot translate to anything in the translator. Too long a measurement for an Ashtari.”
She could see why. The man was short, and so were his arms and legs. Her attention was drawn to his head where his toupee, if aliens called it that, had started to slide to one side like a pet seeking an opportunity to free itself. She repressed a giggle. She couldn’t be rude to the one being that had shown some interest in her and was being kind. However, male vanity was vanity, no matter where in the galaxy one travelled. Baldness apparently wasn’t appreciated in the Ashtarian culture either.
Whispers in the Dawn Page 5