Medusa in the Graveyard

by Emily Devenport

  Argus turned back to Teddy, and I shifted my perspective back to his.

  “Have I facilitated a conversation?” said Teddy.

  “You have, my young friend. I hope you will facilitate more. I believe you are about to be summoned to a meeting. I’m going to have one of my own. So I will bid you aloha—until we meet again.”

  He’s kind, I thought. He’s treating Teddy like a young prodigy. How would that kindness translate when he was working as an ambassador? Was it a common characteristic of that vocation?

  “Will we meet again?” said Teddy.

  “The odds are excellent,” said Argus.

  Teddy extended his forepaw for shaking. Argus obliged him. It reminded me of that scene in Fantasia, where Mickey Mouse shakes hands with the conductor, Leopold Stokowski.

  Serpentine shadows snaked over us. I looked up and saw Medusa coming down the ramp. I said.

  I wanted to say a lot more than that, but Medusa barely nodded to me. she promised. She passed me without another word and moved into the access lane, at the speed of a walking human. I glanced at Argus to see if he was startled by the sight of such a creature coming down the lane toward him, but he remained calm. In fact, he looked expectant.

  Medusa stopped. “How do you do?” she said aloud, but she must have conducted the rest of her greeting through a private link. Argus smiled and nodded, and they turned together and continued down the access lane, away from us.

  I felt as though the grown-ups were walking away without me.

  Teddy looked after them, then turned back to us.

  I said.

  As Teddy rolled back toward us at top speed, he startled a few people (and a few robot tugs).

  “That man is named Argus Fabricus,” I told the Merliners. “He says he’s an ambassador for the Union.”

  Cocteau gazed at the receding figure of the ambassador. “I’m sure he is, but I doubt that’s all he is.”

  I guessed she was referring to the ambassador’s suit, which had reminded me so much of Timmy’s. Possibly also his communication brain implant, the first I had encountered among people who weren’t Olympians.

  sent Ashur.

  “I would be pretty surprised if the Union didn’t try to contact you,” said Wilson, and as I met his eyes, I realized something I hadn’t spotted before, because Rocket and Cocteau were the ones who spent the most time with Wilson. The young engineer was shy. He blushed when I looked directly at him, but he continued to speak his mind. “The Union always tries to contact people who have been cut off from the rest of the settled colonies. They did that with my homeworld, Fenris. That man—Argus Fabricus—he’s from Fenris, too, I can tell. He dreams of the ice bears, just like me.”

  Rocket cocked his head. “Why do you dream of the ice bears?”

  “Before the Union came back to us, we ate the ice bears,” said Wilson. “And they ate us.”

  That would be a good reason. “You do look like him,” I said. “I was so preoccupied with his suit, I didn’t see that until you pointed it out.”

  “His suit is rare,” said Wilson. “If he’s an ambassador, he visits some dangerous places.”

  Argus and Medusa had disappeared into the distant gloom. If he was a representative of the Union, she had excellent reasons to talk with him. I regretted that she hadn’t seen fit to share them with me.

  There were plenty of things I hadn’t shared with her. Things I hadn’t examined too closely. My faults had driven this wedge between us. I pondered that in a shallow sort of way, still expecting that, momentarily, I could put those unhappy considerations aside long enough to be fêted at a luau and treated like a respected emissary.

  Dragonette stirred on Narm’s finger. “I think a delegation is approaching.”

  Captain Thomas and Representative Lee stepped onto the ramp, Mirzakhani just behind them. Lee said, “We just got a call. They’re sending someone to fetch us. Looks like we really are going to a party.” The neutral expression he wore so customarily had softened into more cheerful lines. The captain and the doctor looked downright happy.

  It’s luau time, I thought.

  I was so wrong.

  “Hey…” Narm peered into the access lane. “Are those security officers?”

  A group of large uniformed men marched in step down the center of the lane. They were armed, and tattoos covered every inch of their skin not covered by their uniforms, including their grim faces.

  They were headed straight for us.

  13

  Should I Be Dancing, Too?

  Bomarigala, I thought as the security officers closed on us. He and Sheba must already be here. And they must have more influence than we realized. We’re going to be arrested, maybe charged with sedition, murder, sabotage.…

  These officers were focused like lasers. Every one of them wore a scowl. We stood there helplessly, awaiting our fate.

  They stopped at the foot of our ramp. “Oichi Angelis?” demanded the shortest and most heavily muscled guy.

  I probably shouldn’t have confirmed that, but I didn’t like the way they had hemmed us in. “Yes.”

  “You stand accused of sedition, treason, murder, and grand larceny,” he said.

  At least they left out the sabotage. “Who is my accuser?”

  “You can sort that out after you’ve talked to a lawyer,” he replied.

  Medusa was well out of sight. She’s not the first person I tried to call, anyway. Someone had offered to meet me here, and I thought she might be able to help.

  My message did not travel to its intended target. In fact, it didn’t leave my skull, because it was muffled in a way I hadn’t experienced since Sultana Smith and Tetsuko Finnegan instituted a shipwide null zone on Olympia—just before they tried to kill me.

  Ashur had turned pale. I guessed he had also encountered the null zone. “Find Fire,” I told him. “Let her know what’s happened.”

  “What if she can’t fix this?”

  “Then find out who can. Please do what I asked.” I briefly turned my gaze on Captain Thomas and Representative Lee, whose poker faces were pretty much mirrored by everyone else in their crew, except for Cocteau. Her enthusiasm for adventure appeared to be unshakable.

  I focused on the Minis. “You’re my ambassadors. Look after Ashur. I’m going to accompany these officers and straighten this out.”

  No one replied, so I don’t know how much confidence they had in my diplomatic and/or legal skills.

  I didn’t look back when the officers led me away.

  * * *

  We marched for quite a distance, past ships with crews who sometimes recognized and called out to my guards. They returned the friendly greetings with a camaraderie I suspected I would never inspire (in anyone who wasn’t a Mini). Eventually we left the main lane and crowded into a mover that seemed designed to carry freight as well as people. I wanted to ask them where we were going, what was going to happen to me, how they could arrest me based on nothing more than an accusation from an expatriate who was no longer the head of her clan on Olympia.

  They weren’t prosecutors, and they certainly weren’t diplomats, so I kept silent. Along the way, I tried to figure out where we were.

  I failed at that. Without a schematic to consult, each tunnel we traversed looked pretty much like any other, and the only indication that the multiple movers we entered had taken us farther in on the spin arm was an increasing sensation of lightness.

  I found some small comfort in going farther in. That meant they weren’t going to blow me out an air lock, Sheba’s favorite form of execution on Titania.

  What other punishments might be inflicted on me, I couldn’t say, but that was the point. Thus far, marching and silence seemed to be the protocols. I can keep quiet indefinitely, but I can
’t say the same thing for my ability to sustain anxiety. The longer they kept me, the calmer I felt.

  My curiosity filled the gap. Why was the detention center so far from the ship docks? That didn’t seem practical. If you’ve got an undesirable who comes from outside, do you really want them to go very far in? The longer you traveled with a prisoner, the more chances they had to escape. Not that I felt inclined to throw myself against the wall of muscle that hemmed me in, but eventually our circumstances would probably change, and what then?

  What, indeed. Each tunnel was darker than the last. After an interminable time, my escorts led me into a room lit only by amber and red emergency lights. It looked like a roomier version of the corridors through which we had already walked. The far end was plugged with a wall that seemed improvised. At the near end, a pressure door stood open. I walked through it. They didn’t follow me in.

  “Wait here,” said the man who had leveled the charges at me.

  They closed the pressure door, sealing me in.

  I stood for a long time, expecting them to come back with someone more official.

  They didn’t seem inclined to do that anytime soon, so I sat down with my back against the plugged end. Eventually, even though I had no chronometer, I had to admit that quite a lot of time had passed. I was exhausted. I had nothing to occupy me but my thoughts.

  Finally, I did the sensible thing for someone who has too much time to think about the mistakes she’s made. I fell asleep.

  * * *

  The noise of the pressure door opening alerted me to the return of the men. I must have dozed for quite a while, because my body felt heavy. Despite my torpor, I got smoothly to my feet, a fact that seemed to impress my captors—if only briefly. They filed into the room, but no one spoke to me. Instead, they turned their backs on me and faced the pressure door.

  If they had known me better, I doubt they would have done that.

  Within moments, another group of men joined them. These were not pretending to be security officers. They wore an eclectic variety of civilian clothing. They didn’t notice me at all—they had eyes only for the first group of men.

  The newcomers didn’t have tattoos on their faces. To me, they looked very similar to the tattooed men, but from the expressions both groups were wearing, I suspected they saw other differences in each other that escaped me. Once the second group filed in, one last man entered the room, and my heart skipped a beat.

  I don’t generally react that strongly to good looks. After all, I have been surrounded by handsome people my whole life. Yet this fellow had something that made my pulse race and my chest feel tight. He maintained eye contact with me as he sauntered through the ranks. Once he halted in front of me, he extended his hand for shaking.

  This seemed a clear prompt, so I took it. He had a very nice … hand …

  “I’m Jay Momoa,” he said. “I own Momoa Movers.”

  He didn’t seem to expect a reply, which was just as well, since I couldn’t find my voice. Instead, he turned his back to me, something that would be dangerous under normal circumstances, except that Jay Momoa wasn’t wearing a shirt, and he had a fascinating tattoo on his back, which stretched down and across his broad, muscular …

  Pheromones? I wondered. Is that why he isn’t wearing a shirt, despite the temperature in here? To throw me off guard? Because whatever the effect was, it seemed to be stronger when he was closer.

  One of the men shouted, and I jumped. The cry didn’t prompt a fight. Instead, the men began to dance.

  They shouted and chanted along with the steps, slapped their thighs, arms, and shoulders; they grimaced and widened their eyes, extended their tongues, looking like demons in the red and amber pools of light.

  There is very little they could have done to throw me more off-balance. This was definitely not the line dancing that the Security forces on Olympia enjoyed in their spare time, and I wondered if I was being impolite by simply standing by. Even Jay wasn’t keeping completely still—he also slapped his thighs and arms, and shouted along with the other men.

  “Should I be dancing, too?” I worried.

  “No,” said Jay. “We’re showing you our strength and our warrior spirit. You’re new here, so you should know who you’re dealing with.”

  That was the same thing I had said when Octopippin wondered if the sight of her might frighten the Merliners. Now I knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that kind of lesson.

  “Don’t take it too personally, though,” said Jay. “We do this with all visitors. This is how we honor our ancestors. It keeps us grounded, even when we’re sailing to the farthest reaches of the galaxy.”

  They wanted me to be intimidated. I was—but mostly because I was unsure of the protocol on Maui. I also felt impressed—and relieved that I wouldn’t have to figure out the right steps or how to respond to the verbal prompts, something they did perfectly, despite that they might be from different clans, if their tattoos were any indication. Even their body types were diverse. I wondered, did that tall, thin fellow on the end come from a place with lighter gravity? Did the broad, short fellow who looked like he had been carved out of stone come from a heavy world?

  It went on for some time. With all those moving bodies, it got much warmer in there, so maybe Jay was dressed appropriately, after all. I watched attentively, and realized something I hadn’t noticed before, possibly because I had felt so mortified about being arrested. The clothing the officers wore did look like uniforms.

  Maybe not quite like security uniforms.

  With a final cry, they ended their dance, then stood around and grinned at each other.

  Jay turned to me. “We’re also celebrating. We just landed a big contract.”

  I think I did a pretty good job of keeping my voice steady when I said, “Not with Lady Sheba, I hope. She doesn’t represent Olympia.”

  His gaze didn’t falter. “Plenty of business got done around here before you people showed up.”

  “Indeed. Business isn’t conducted by security officers, so I’m guessing that’s not what any of you are, and my arrest is not official. Did Lady Sheba hire you? Or was it Bomarigala?”

  “Sheba did all the talking,” said Jay. “The financing might have been his. If you follow any money trail far enough, it eventually leads back to the Weapons Clan.”

  “Why does Sheba want me to miss the luau?” I said.

  “She didn’t come right out and say it, but I’m assuming she wants you to lose face. Also to delay you beyond the standard security inspection, and—there’s one other thing.”

  I waited politely for him to tell me what it was.

  “We’re supposed to rough you up,” he said. “Teach you manners.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time someone had kicked my butt. I can’t say that it’s ever taught me manners. Plus I wondered what kind of psychological damage it would do me to get beaten up by the sexiest man in the galaxy.

  “How will Lady Sheba confirm that you carried out her orders?” I said.

  I waited for him to tell me that Sheba had spies everywhere, but he just shrugged. “It’s about honor. I gave my word.”

  “Are you married?” I demanded.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Why? Are you proposing?”

  “Would you marry someone in order to establish trade with Olympia?”

  If nothing else, I had managed to intrigue him. “It’s a time-honored practice out here.”

  “It’s a time-honored practice on Olympia, too. And whether I succeed or fail with my business on Graveyard, I’m the one you’re going to have to negotiate with once Olympia enters a parking orbit—not Lady Sheba. If you would care to propose marriage, I’m more likely to accept your terms if you have never punched me in the face, Mr. Momoa.”

  He smiled. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Angelis. I’m not sure if you argue more like a queen or a fishwife, but I like your style. So—no punch in the face, but I’m still going to have to delay you for several more
hours.”

  “You’re not!” someone called from the other end of the hall, in a voice that might have suited a harpy eagle. At the sound of it, Jay and his men twitched as if they had been stung.

  We peered into the hall beyond the pressure door, from which the voice had issued. I could see the vague outline of someone as she walked toward us, her steps punctuated by the regular thunk of a cane hammered against the floor as if it were a weapon instead of a support. Red light gleamed in the teeth of the metal skull that served as its handle. When her eyes resolved from the darkness, they glittered like moonlight on the surface of black water.

  “Auntie!” said Jay Momoa. He sounded reverent, but not remotely happy.

  The woman stopped just inside the pressure doors. She was very old—I could see that much. She couldn’t have been more than one and a half meters tall. None of that diminished her impact on Jay Momoa.

  “If you delay Oichi Angelis any longer,” she said, “you will be interfering in my plans. Is that what you intend?”

  Jay shook his head. “No, Auntie. I would not have accepted payment from Lady Sheba if I had known she was at odds with you. I’ll return her money.”

  “Just as I will return Oichi to her cohorts,” said the old woman. “Do you require any further directions?”

  “No, Auntie,” said Jay. He took a step back. The other men did the same.

  Taking that as my cue, I joined the lady in the shadows. She smelled like tea and some other fragrant herb I couldn’t identify. “Come,” she said. “We’ll have a little talk as we go along.”

  “All right,” I agreed, wondering if I might not be safer with Jay and his dancing movers.

  I followed her anyway. She didn’t walk quickly, but her pace was steady as we made our way back to the pressure door in near darkness.

  “Oichi!” Jay called.

  I paused and looked over my shoulder at him.

  “Do you still want to get married?” he said.

  I considered that for a moment. “Ask me when I get back from Graveyard.”