by Smith, S. E.
“Not if there’s mungrass and asparagus in it. Some things weren’t meant to be consumed. Grass is one of them.”
“Any goat would disagree. I—”
The automatic door opened with a soft hiss, and three women walked in, the same three women who had been collecting their own cargo at the station, the microbiologist Dr. Keys, Ankari, and the newcomer, who, Kor assumed from the couple of snatches of conversation he’d heard, was going to be working with them. Even if he admitted to finding Ankari sexy, he was intrigued by the new woman, mostly because of the logo on her T-shirt. Nature’s Wrath.
Did she play? It seemed she must. Though Kor didn’t admit it to many, gaming had been his escape for years, something to do during the long, sleepless nights when he couldn’t sleep. When the nightmares wouldn’t leave him alone. He hadn’t expected to find someone else who enjoyed playing network games here on this ship of soldiers.
“Captain,” Ankari said—even if they slept together, she was always careful to be professional with him around others, “we need to go back to the station.”
“We can’t,” Mandrake said. “We’ve got a new job waiting for us. They need us there yesterday.”
“This is important,” Keys said, stepping forward and snapping her fingers at the younger woman. “Chanda.”
The woman—Chanda—looked to be in her mid-twenties. She quirked an eyebrow—a sarcastic eyebrow?—at the finger snapping but didn’t object vocally. She stepped forward and lifted her arms to show off something she’d been holding against her chest. Something bluish-green, oval-shaped, and furry with a pair of antennae sticking out of the top of its body. It didn’t have a head that Kor could see, nor even eyes. If it had legs, they were underneath its fluffy form.
“What is it?” Mandrake asked.
“I have no idea,” Keys said, “but there are dozens of them in the box I received from Dokler’s Animals and Specimens. I was supposed to receive lab rats. I paid for lab rats. Captain, this—” Keys flung her arm toward Chanda and her fluffy burden, “—is not a lab rat.”
An uncertain trilling came from the furry creature.
“Unfortunate that you received the wrong order,” Mandrake said, “but we can’t go back.”
“We have to go back. We’re implanting the alien microbiota strains now, and unless you’re willing to volunteer more of your men, then I need rats.”
“You’ve already been experimenting on some of them, haven’t you? Tick…”
“Yes, but we have a new and improved strain available. As much as I consider your men expendable, it would be irresponsible to jump straight to human implantation. I must have rats.”
“Expendable,” Mandrake murmured. “Really.”
Kor scratched his jaw and walked to his desk to grab his tablet. He’d read about the women’s research and business of implanting optimal intestinal microflora to replace the suboptimal organisms that humans often ended up with for various reasons, and he found it interesting, but he couldn’t imagine volunteering himself for experimentation. Unless they could promise an end to nightmares. Doubtful.
As Mandrake explained that Keys would have to care for the creatures until after his new mission, at which time they might be able to return to the station to exchange the furry goods, Kor walked over with his tablet and pulled up an identification program for plants and animals.
Chanda looked at him as he approached and started to step back, as if he intimidated her. If so, he regretted that, but he wasn’t that surprised. Even if he hadn’t been big and scarred, he sometimes thought the memories of all the death he’d dealt remained with him, cloaking him like a garment, something strangers could sense if not see.
She seemed to realize he wanted to see the creature, and she lifted it, holding it at arm’s length. It trilled again, a note of protest to the sound, and it shifted and squirmed a little.
Kor pointed his tablet at it so the internal camera could grab a picture.
“You play Nature’s Wrath?” he asked her, speaking just loudly enough to be heard over Keys’s shrill voice. She hadn’t given up on her argument yet.
Surprise flashed across Chanda’s face. She had a lovely face, warm brown skin, a straight elegant nose, and high cheekbones. Thick, glossy black hair fell about her shoulders, the sort of hair a man would enjoy stroking. A man younger and less battered than he, he supposed. Even if he’d just passed thirty-five, he often felt much older. He’d seen a lot in his various careers. Done a lot.
He reached out and touched the furry creature, running his fingers over its coat. It was silky, a little more oily than he would have expected, but not unpleasant to touch. He inadvertently brushed Chanda’s hand as he withdrew, and she started.
“A little bit,” Chanda said, answering his question. “Sometimes. Not much anymore.” Chanda shrugged and looked away. “It’s just a game.”
“Ah.”
He felt a twinge of disappointment, though he wasn’t sure why. Had he expected to meet some fellow insomniac who stayed up nights, pretending to be a knight from Old Earth, a galactic adventurer, or—as was the case of Nature’s Wrath—a human caught in an alternate universe where Grenavine still existed, and they were on a quest through its great jungles and forests to find a medicinal cure for a plague affecting all of humanity?
Because she wore the T-shirt, he had assumed she was a fan, but perhaps some past boyfriend had given it to her. From what he’d observed, most network game players were male, though Nature’s Wrath had more female avatars running around than typical, the peaceful lakes and vegetation perhaps drawing the fairer sex. Of course, there had never been a guarantee that those female avatars belonged to real-life women.
“Doc?” Mandrake asked. “There are antennae waving at you. Or are those tentacles?”
Kor blinked and looked at the creature in Chanda’s arms as she stroked its back or top or whatever it had. It had actually settled down, the antennae—they definitely weren’t tentacles—laying almost even with its fur. Very soft trills came from it, reminding him of a cat purring.
Mandrake was pointing to the display hovering above his tablet, not the creature itself.
“Oh,” Kor said, feeling foolish.
While he’d been daydreaming, his tablet had found a match for the animal. An image floated in the air above it, this one a little greener than the one in Chanda’s arms—and why was she looking at him so oddly?—but definitely the same species.
“Yes, according to the encyclopedia, it’s a quashi from Vedana Moon,” Kor said. “Vedana has an atmosphere similar to that of Old Earth northern and southern latitudes and was never terraformed, though its relatively cold climate has kept it from being popular to colonists. A finance lord owns the largest continent on the moon, but it remains largely undeveloped. It’s the home to the quashi. They’re popular pets on Vedana, but are somewhat unanimated in temperature ranges that humans prefer—they prefer climates under zero Celsius. Their inertness at warmer temperatures makes them…” He waved at the creature in Chanda’s arms; it appeared to be slumbering now. “Unexciting to humans and children seeking more lively companions.”
Mandrake looked at Keys. “No chance you can experiment on them?”
“You can’t experiment on something that… that trills,” Chanda blurted.
Everyone in sickbay looked at her, and her eyes grew abashed, as if she realized she shouldn’t chastise the captain of the ship, but she lifted her chin and drew the creature closer to her chest.
“It’s moot anyway,” Keys said. “I can’t run experiments on an animal native to this system. We need animals that came from Old Earth and share mostly the same DNA as human beings.”
“Lab rats share mostly the same DNA as we do?” Mandrake asked.
“Makes you feel less special to learn that, doesn’t it?” Ankari asked him.
“Less evolved, at least.”
“Who told you that you were evolved, Mandrake?” Kor asked.
“Captain,
” Keys said before Ankari could make the quip that looked to be on her lips. “We need to go back to the station.”
“Sorry, Doctor. You’ll have to wait. In the meantime, you better feed and water those things so you can get a full refund.” He waved at the furry creature and headed for the exit to sickbay, apparently considering the conversation over.
One of its antennae lifted, the tip rotating to track his passage. Then it settled again after he disappeared, and the creature shifted in Chanda’s arms, its trills growing louder.
“Feed them?” Keys looked at Ankari. “I don’t even know what they eat.”
Kor scrolled further in the article. “On their world, they eat a hardy cold-resistant grass. It looks like numerous species of grasses from other worlds are also palatable to it. Maybe Mandrake can make it a green drink.”
Ankari snorted, though the other women seemed confused.
Keys looked at the creature and stalked out amid mutters of how “completely unacceptable” the situation was.
Ankari rested a hand on Chanda’s shoulder. “Can you guess what your first job is, my good assistant?”
Chanda’s lips twisted. “Finding grass?”
“Have the ship’s computer show you to the grow room. I hope there’s enough. There were a lot of those fluff balls in the box. That’ll teach me to hurry Lauren aboard before she can inspect the cargo.”
3
Chanda hadn’t expected to be an animal wrangler less than two hours into her new job—she hadn’t even been shown to the office or shuttle or wherever the company worked yet—but she gamely carried the quashi in one arm and poked through the vegetables rising from pots in the grow room with the other. As she’d vowed, she promised to be a good assistant and do whatever work was asked of her. Even… selecting grasses.
Except that, as far as she could tell, the grow room only contained fruits and vegetables meant for human consumption. She tried to find grains, since those were technically grasses, but the mercenaries were apparently not into threshing wheat and millet before snacking.
Oh well. The search kept her from thinking about how she’d lied to the doctor—Blackthorn, she’d since learned his name was—and the tender little smile he’d had as he petted the quashi. It had been so out of place on that brutish face that she’d caught herself staring. And then he’d brushed her hand—she was sure it had been accidental—and she’d been startled into jumping back. His smile had disappeared, his face regaining that tired—almost morose—aspect that she’d noticed when they first met.
She wished she hadn’t lied to him about Nature’s Wrath. His question had caught her off guard. She’d been teased before about her overly developed interest in games of all kinds, so she’d learned to downplay how much time she spent at the virtual keys. And in this case, she worried the admission would somehow lead Ankari and the others to figure out why Chanda was truly here.
“I don’t see a lot of grass in here,” Chanda observed to her charge.
It shifted and sat up in her arms. Sort of. Thanks to its short, squat legs, it was hard to tell the difference between when it was sitting and when it was standing. She wondered how much the creature could move about on its own. It reminded her of a rabbit without any of the speed. Or ears. Or eyes. It seemed that those dark, slightly fuzzy antennae did all of its sensing.
“Why don’t you hang out here, and I’ll bring a selection to you?” Chanda set the quashi down on the textured metal deck, wondering if she needed to worry about it leaving animal droppings around the ship. The captain might not appreciate that.
The quashi shuffled along the aisle next to the bulkhead, pausing now and then to investigate things with those antennae. They were almost a centimeter thick and could articulate at numerous points. Very versatile.
Chanda weaved through the potted banana and apple trees, rows of annual vegetables, and walls covered in pockets of herbs. The grow room smelled earthy, and it was more humid and warm than the rest of the ship. Some of the plants grew from soil mediums, but most seemed to employ aeroponics. She found lemongrass, snorting as she imagined the quashi gnawing on the large stalks. Did the creature even have teeth with which to gnaw? It had to have some kind of mouth, but the fur hid it and any other orifices it likely had. She cut off one of the stalks, deciding to offer it a selection of vegetables.
“Spinach?” she asked, though she was deeper in the room now and could no longer see the creature. Not that it would have responded even if it was right in front of her. “It’s the right color, at least.”
To her surprise, a dubious trill came from the bulkhead, a little farther along it than where she had left the creature.
“How about asparagus?”
The stalks appeared grass-like, but she knew Asparagus officinalis wasn’t in the grass family. Still, she might as well try it. She bypassed the purple stalks and cut a couple of the green ones.
“It’s not my favorite,” a male voice said from the entrance of the room.
High-pitched trills, almost shrieks, came from the quashi. Chanda glanced in its direction, then looked uneasily toward the entrance. She could make out a man’s figure through the leaves of trees. One of the crewmen popping in for some fresh fruit?
“I’m shopping for a friend,” Chanda said, not sure if a response was expected.
More alarmed trills came from the aisle, and Chanda jogged back to where she had left the quashi. A big man in a black leather jacket stood inside the doorway, frowning down at the quashi. It had made its way almost to the door, and Chanda realized it might have escaped if the automatic doors opened for such small beings. She wasn’t sure. She also wasn’t sure about the man glowering down at it. She didn’t recognize him. Not surprising. Nobody had given her a tour of the ship yet or introduced her to anyone.
“What is that?” the man asked. “And who are you?”
“That’s a quashi, and I’m Chanda, the new assistant for Microbacteriotherapy, Inc.”
He gave her a blank look.
“I understand you mercenaries own a percentage of it.”
“Oh, right. The captain’s girlfriend’s thing.” He looked her over. “Seems like a kook’s endeavor, but I’m glad to see there are more women on board.” He eyed her chest.
Chest ogling seemed to be the mercenaries’ idea of a greeting.
Chanda sighed and picked up the quashi. It was much stiffer than before and continued to make high-pitched objections. To the newcomer? If so, she found herself agreeing with the assessment.
“Want to get some dinner with me at the mess hall?” the man asked. “Name’s Grunter.”
Grunter? Who had named these people?
“Thanks, but I’m on a mission to find something edible for the quashi.” Chanda waved the asparagus stalks and lemongrass and would have walked out, but the man—Grunter—blocked the door.
“I’m sure that it would wait. Or bring it along. We’ll see if it likes mess hall food. It’s mostly awful, but sometimes that new cook makes something good for us. Real food, not out of a box or a package. Come on. I’ll show you.” He lifted an arm and stepped toward her.
The quashi trilled in alarm, and Chanda stepped back.
His eyes narrowed, and he stepped after her, reaching for her arm. “Look, I doubt you’re supposed to be wandering the ship alone. You better come with me.” He glanced at her chest again.
The door slid open, and another man stepped into the grow room, this time one she recognized.
“Dr. Blackthorn!” Chanda blurted.
He had a tablet out, a holographic display hovering over it, and he looked through it to frown effectively at Grunter, the dark circles under his eyes somehow lending menace to the expression. “What’s going on?”
“Just looking for some fruit to have after my meal, sir.” Grunter clasped his hands behind his back. “Not sure about the girl. I’ve never seen her before and was skeptical about her having free rein of the ship.”
“Which is why you wante
d to drag me off like a space orc grabbing an adventurer by the ponytail and taking her back to his asteroid cave to mate.”
Grunter blinked. “Space-what?”
“Never mind.” Chanda blushed at her simile. She should have made a comparison the average non-gaming person would grasp.
Blackthorn’s eyebrows rose. “Stellar Dragons?”
“Er, yes,” Chanda said in surprise.
“Hm.” Blackthorn stepped farther into the room and made a shooing motion toward Grunter as he tilted his head toward the door. “As I recall the space orcs are too ugly to attract mates, even from their own species, and have no choice but to steal female adventurers.”
“Just as goodly female adventurers not wanting to be stolen have no choice but to raid their lairs and shoot them. They usually have some rare loot.”
“I remember they have a chance to drop a silver moon harp.”
“That permanently speeds up your ship, yes. It’s worth camping their caves just for that.”
Grunter, who was looking back and forth between them with his forehead furrowed, said, “On second thought, I can get some fruit later.”
He scurried out. The quashi’s muscles grew less stiff, and its trills became less agitated.
Blackthorn smiled slightly, then lifted his tablet. “I came because I finished reading up on the quashi and thought you would find it useful to know that though they’ll eat many kinds of grass native to the system, humans have discovered that they’ll eat some Old Earth vegetables too, including—” his gaze lowered to the tablet as he read, “—radishes, asparagus, broccoli, and apples.”
“Hm, I have some asparagus.” Chanda lowered a stalk to the creature’s front, still not sure where its mouth was.
“It uses its antennae for tasting—for just about everything. So you might want to hold it up to them.” Blackthorn swiped his finger through the display to bring up a diagram of a quashi. “But the mouth is actually underneath its body between the two sets of legs.”