A large moon crept coyly into view like a child peeping around a doorjamb. As they passed low over its crater-pocked surface, Jay saw low domes hugging the feet of craggy mountains. It looked as if a school of soap bubbles had broken free from a child's bath and deposited themselves on this harsh and unwelcoming surface.
Jay indicated the lunar settlement with a jerk of the chin. "Ilkazam?"
"No," said Tachyon. "Alaa."
"Who are they?" asked Mark.
"Enemies," was Zabb's laconic reply.
"Don't Takisians have any friends?"
"No," said Tach simply, and left it at that.
Jay felt a little queasy.
They passed over the edge of the curving horizon and were once again in the blackness of space. Takis was much closer now. As was a second, smaller moon -- a moonlette really -- which raced slightly behind its larger companion like a greyhound running at the flank of a charger. What seemed like hundreds of points of winking light banded the planet. Jay frowned, trying to fathom the twinkling display.
He was trying to decide if satisfying his curiosity was worth looking like a dumb shit. He'd just about decided it was when Mark took the idiot's lead. "What are those?"
Tachyon looked momentarily confused. Jay pointed, amplified. "Over there, looks like somebody lost a string of Christmas lights."
"Sunlight reflecting off platforms, satellites, weapons." The words dried up. It didn't seem as if she were trying to snub the humans, it was more as if she'd forgotten how to talk. Unblinking, she stared at the screen. Jay would have given a lot to know what was going on in that little head. Again, it was Meadows who dared to voice what Jay was only thinking.
He held out both hands closed into fists. "Pick a feeling."
Tachyon studied the backs of Mark's hands. They were ropy with blue veins, and a few age spots were starting to show. Tach reached out and delicately tapped the left one. Jay noticed that her nails were carefully maintained in that look known as the French manicure. It was strange that he hadn't noticed before now. Strange that Tachyon would take such care with this borrowed body. Then he thought about Tachyon's personality, and suddenly it made perfect sense.
"You really are one vain little son of a bitch," murmured Jay to himself.
Mark's hand was now extended palm up. Tach lightly brushed her fingers across the soft skin. "Happy." She paused, then some internal spur set the words flowing again. "When I left all those long years ago, I thought I'd be returning in a matter of weeks. Then I thought I'd never see home again. And now..." The sentence trailed off.
Mark opened the other hand. "And this one?"
Again that featherlike brush. "Fear... because now I'm afraid I'll never see home again." The smile was crooked.
"We'll get you back, Doc."
The keying on a console brought Jay's head around in time to see Zabb place a communication headset over his gilt hair, pull the thread-thin mike to his lips. In Sham'al he said, "This is Network ***&$%#@* number nine two seven five seven wanting..." (No, that couldn't be right, thought Jay. Ah, requesting!) "Standard **&%^ $#'."
There's something very frustrating about hearing a language with which you have a passing acquaintance. You want to understand, you ought to understand, ultimately you don't understand. Comprehending one word in three was driving Jay nuts. He stepped in and tapped Tachyon on the shoulder. She jumped like a scalded cat. Turned to look at him with a blank, fixed stare that seemed to communicate that she couldn't recall who he was or why he was there.
"Hello, translation please."
There was a leitmotiv of Takisian broadcasting on an open channel. Tach listened, shook her head.
"It's just standard landing protocols --"
"I want to hear it."
She shrugged. "Okay. We read you -- I can't translate the Network word. I think it's the ship's name -- you are cleared for docking at hangar bay twenty-three." Zabb warbled back. Tachyon repeated in English. "Transferring computer control to station beacon."
More singing from the station, and Tachyon gave a short gurgle of laughter, then translated, "Your accent is passable, shopkeeper, I congratulate you."
Zabb glared, and the words came in a sudden glissando. "It's better than passable, you childless, motherless ass. What a diplomat you'd make."
Jay realized that Tach had added the final remark as a sarcastic commentary on Zabb's social skills. It had the expected result -- Zabb's glare shifted to Tachyon.
"Get off my bridge," Zabb ordered, but Tachyon wasn't listening.
Her expression held all the joy of a Bernadette the first time she saw the virgin. "Listen!"
Jay listened. Meadows was listening so hard, he held his breath. Jay heard himself breathing, the subtle humming of the equipment.
"What?" he whispered. "Am I listening to?"
"Ships... singing... telling stories... Ancestors, I really am home." Joy rang in the words, but then she swayed like a stalk of blowing wheat. Jay got an arm around her, supported her until the faintness passed. She drew a thumb across her hairline -- so disconcerting, it was a Tachyon gesture -- nodded thanks, and scuttled out of the circle of his arm.
The ship altered course again, obedient to the invisible reins of data transmitting from the Takisian station. The station slid into view from the bottom of the screen. Jay knew up and down were relative terms in space. He knew the ship was moving, not the station -- (well, but wait, the station was also moving around the planet -- too confusing) -- but it still had a Jaws-like quality of an attack from below, a gaping maw opening to receive the little silver minnow. The image was reinforced by the organic quality of the station. No right angles here, no sharp edges or glitter of metal. Whatever this thing was, it had been grown, not welded, into place.
"That's not an overgrown ship, is it?" Trips asked.
"No, the ships are a separate sentient race, although rather substantially genetically altered by us. This is nanotech at its apex." She flashed that little porpoise smile. "We're cultivators, not mechanics."
"And every family has one of these mothers?" asked Jay.
"Yes, but not so large."
"Then this isn't Ilkazam?" Trips asked.
"No, this is the Bonded station. It was primarily built as a buffer for the Network, but we use it to do business House to House as well." Again the smile. "We don't like tourists on our turf."
Jay asked the logical question. "So what about us?"
"I've adopted Trips, which makes him family."
"And you're invited," put in Zabb. He stretched, stood, and crossed to them with that grace that always had Jay thinking nervously of the white tiger in the Central Park Zoo. "The only absolute prohibition is against any member race of the Network."
"Or any individual who has sworn service to the Network," Tach added, and from the looks she and her cousin were exchanging, Jay had a feeling that a lot more was being exchanged than mere words.
"You've really got a hard-on about these Network dudes," Jay said.
"We despise them only somewhat less than we hate the Swarm," drawled Zabb.
"And you're the only Takisian to have done business with both," Tach said, and sweet malice dripped off the edges of the consonants.
Zabb returned Tach's smile. "I'm quite a legendary fellow." And to Jay's surprise Tachyon gave a sudden yip of laughter like a fox's cry.
Trips was frowning. "So we might run into some Vayawand?"
Tach sobered. "Entirely possible."
"Isn't that, like, a problem?"
"Bonded means peace as well as money. This is the one place all the families can come together at any time and do business without threat of violence. An insurance consortium holds bond money from each family, and it would bankrupt a House if they violated the peace."
"We're violent, but pragmatic," Zabb added.
Braking jets fired, and the ship gave a lurch as it settled onto the floor of the docking bay. Tachyon stumbled, and Zabb threw out a hand to steady her. She jer
ked away, and he jerked back his hand before contact could be made. Jay decided it was a good thing they were saying adios to the Takisian just real soon now.
Meadows broke into his worried thoughts about the little Takisian soap opera. "Jay, we've done it. We've made it. We've reached another planet!"
"Yeah... swell."
Chapter Seventeen
At the foot of the ship's ramp Tachyon felt anxiety fall away like snow sliding off a roof. It still wasn't solid ground underfoot and open sky overhead, but at least she was off that ship. Away from him. She looked back at Zabb and inclined her head regally.
"Thank you for your services."
"The pleasure was mine."
She led the two humans toward the bay doors, then became aware of the steady rap of Zabb's boot heels on the floor behind her. She whirled. Nesfa and her people were eagerly tumbling out the lock, chattering in their own language.
"Zabb, you've done your job. You've delivered me to Takis. Now go away."
"It's a free station. I've a mind to buy a new hat. Besides, you aren't home yet."
"And just what does that mean?"
He shrugged. "Also, I have to keep an eye on my happy groundlings on an outing." He jerked a chin toward the giggling Viand.
Chewing down irritation, Tach resumed her stately waddle for the door. They were on the perimeter of the station -- little to see but maintenance vehicles, automated loaders, an occasional mechanic -- both genetic and mechanical. Tach realized she didn't want to hike all the way to the central hub, and she was sick of listening to Zabb and his mudcrawlers march after her. She reached a pedestrian strip and slid a hand across the wall. A schematic of the station appeared, delicate veins of color running beneath the skin of the wall. She traced a travel path and keyed the strip to move. The strip moved slower than a walking man. Zabb waved as he passed them. The Viand observed the gesture, looked at each other, waved.
Fifteen minutes later they were in the heart of the bustle. The central hub combined the beauty and reverence of a Gothic cathedral, the manic energy of the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, and the conspicuous consumption of a stroll down Rodeo Drive. The walls arched toward a tapering point hundreds of feet overhead. The ribbed material softly glowed, throwing an iridescent light over the throngs of people strolling across the glass-like floor, entering and exiting the exotic buildings, pausing by carved fountains to exchange greetings, supping in the cafes, examining the bounty of a hundred worlds laid out in elegant, eye-tempting display.
Two of the Viand were carrying laden plates to a table. Nesfa and several of her crew were inspecting elegant handguns in the window of a nearby gunnery. True to his word, Zabb was in a hat shop arranging a long-tailed, shining cap on his fair head. He spotted Tach, swept off the hat, and gave her a bow so low and so flourishing as to male a mockery of the courtesy.
Takisians, both Tarhiji and Zal'hma at' Irg, were everywhere, and Tach viewed them with growing alarm. Almost fifty years had sent fashion careening to the opposite extreme. There was still a lot of lace and layers, but the new look among the younger breed was the speed-skater look. Tight spandex caressed every curve and angle. Eye-confusing colors swirled, dotted, or splattered the one-piece suits, and the biotech that had grown this cloth was keyed to galvanic skin responses. Colors shifted and swirled in response to the wearer's mood and whim. Hair had also adapted to the new look. In place of long curls, peach fuzz across the nearly naked skulls, or a river of straight silk as long as it could be coaxed. Tachyon's old body was sadly out of fashion with its naturally curly love-locks. Tach's borrowed body fit right in -- or would if it hadn't been female... and pregnant.
"Nice," Jay said. "Be nicer if there were a few more babes around to model the spray-on look."
"We are getting, like, some weird looks, man," Trips whispered hoarsely.
A scent, rich and spicy, assailed Tachyon's nostrils, and she froze as the smell crossed time and triggered memory. Mark's concerns and alarms seemed unimportant, overshadowed as they were by the play of images behind her closed lids.
"You okay?" Jay asked.
"Fritter cakes," said Tach, swallowing the saliva that filled her mouth.
"Yeah, they smell great. If we had some money, we'd buy some."
Ignoring him, she continued. "I must have been ten or eleven. Jadlan and I slipped into the private kitchen and made them. The smell woke father, and we thought he would kill us. Instead he laughed and made hot ikadah. We talked until almost dawn." She bowed her head and lightly touched her stomach. "I never saw Jadlan again."
"Why is it you're never happy unless you're miserable?" growled Jay.
"Guys, we really are in the shitter," Trips said urgently.
Tach pulled her attention from the past and gawked at the seven Takisian men who had fanned out and were advancing on the trio. They halted just out of arm's reach, and their demeanor was decidedly hostile. One of the men stepped forward. Two long braids hung at each temple. Beads had been worked into the pale hair, each marking a significant moment in the life of this noble of the House Alaa. The rest of his hair formed a tangled cloud across his shoulders.
"Intaye, do you require aid?"
Tach was confused. "No."
The man peered closely at her. "Are you of House?"
For a moment the question took her aback. Of course she was of House, the greatest and most puissant house on the Crystal World. Fortunately Takisian caution overrode Takisian pride. It would not do to reveal to strangers the return of the heir to House Ilkazam. Then it finally penetrated -- these men were not concerned with her noble pedigree, or her mission. They saw a breeding female. A strange enough sight even among the shops and homes of the Tarhiji. Unheard of among the Zal'hma at' Irg. And it was obvious this little body had enough grace and beauty to make them question her station.
Tach evaluated her two paladins. Only Jay could effectively pass as a member of the majority population, that ninety-seven percent that actually engaged in industry and agriculture and supported the elegant, telepathic overclass.
Tach shrank shyly against Jay's side. "No, lord."
Their interest in her vanished like steel shutters falling behind their eyes. They transferred their attention to Mark, towering head and shoulders over the diminutive Takisians that surrounded him. "And what, by the Ideal, are you?" drawled the Alaa nobleman.
Mark flipped them a peace sign. "Terran, human, from the planet Earth. Peace, man."
Jay leaned in to Tach and whispered, "He's gonna say it. I know he's gonna say it."
"Like, take us to your leader, man."
"He said it." Jay shook his head.
The Takisians exchanged puzzled glances, and Tach felt a smile growing like a sunburst. The Most Bred, the Zal'hma at' Irg, don't like jokes they don't understand. Particularly when they suspect they're the brunt of the joke. A few black looks were bestowed on the trio, and they dispersed.
"Meadows, you are one crazy fucker." Jay shook his head again. "Wish I'd thought of it first." Mark smiled shyly.
"Let's find a phone. I want to get home."
"Phone?" queried Jay.
She fluttered her hands like a person waving off flies. Jay stayed stubbornly in place. "Link stage. Okay?"
Fingers flying across the keyboard, Tach tried another combination of numbers. The stage remained stubbornly gray; then the flowing red script appeared, instructing her either to present her credit crystal, or to give a valid account number.
"Maybe they changed my access code," said Tach. She leaned back and chewed nervously on her lower lip.
All three of them were squeezed into a link booth that consisted of a keyboard and a concave desktop.
"Maybe you don't have an account any longer," suggested Jay. "It's been over forty years."
"It was my money."
"Yeah, well, maybe they figured you didn't need it any longer."
Mark offered tentatively, "Will they accept a collect call?"
"Would y
ou?" shot back Jay.
"No," Mark admitted. The ace considered for a moment. "We could, like, cruise around until we spot someone from House Ilkazam."
Tach was already shaking her head. "Won't work. Juniors are always assigned to hub duty. These children probably wouldn't know me in my own form, much less as I am now. No, I need someone who will recognize my mental signature."
Jay glanced back through the doors of the booth. "Are there panhandlers on Takis?"
Tach ignored him and tried another combination of numbers. Suddenly an arm reached over her shoulder and deposited a black crystal on the keyboard. Silver and red lines crawled through the facets like sluggish lightning.
"Allow me to be of service, cousin," Zabb drawled. Coolly Tach lifted the crystal and dropped it into the cradle. "Let's hope no one's raided your assets."
Zabb smiled. "No one would dare. In my case the family knew I'd be back."
The screen flashed once and went black. Tach typed in the link destination. Commandant, platform Ilkazam.
An instant later the six-inch-tall figure of a Takisian appeared in the concave bowl. He wore the gold and white of the Ilkazam officer corps, and there was a certain facial resemblance to Zabb, and to Tachyon as he had been.
"Bazzakra brant Kazz sek Najah sek Mimjal! Blood and Line, this is the first good fortune I've had."
The hologram of the man smiled politely, but wary puzzlement hung about him. "Intaye, are we acquainted?"
Zabb leaned in, his hand resting lightly on Tach's shoulder. "Surely you remember me, Baz."
The reaction from Tachyon was instinctive. Teeth bared, Tach brushed Zabb's hand from her shoulder.
The reaction from Bazzakra was equally instinctive. He rejoiced at the sight of his old commander. "Zabb! We thought you dead."
"Thought Tis was dead too," smiled back her cousin. "But here he, er rather she, is. In another predicament as usual."
"You're serious? This girlchild is the Heir?"
"Yes."
Suspicion darkened the gray eyes as Tach frowned up at her cousin. "Why are you doing this? I should have thought you'd be delighted to destroy my chances."
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