“Least I have one.” Her face was hard.
“Do you?” Morgan asked, suddenly gentle. Gods, he knew her, inside and out. Knew this, as he did so little these days. “You’ve a gift for machines and an eye—a good one—for starships. I’m not doubting that. But the moment one of your creditors demands to be paid, this is gone. All of it.”
She didn’t like it, but listened. Finally, “You got an answer to that, Captain Morgan? You got more to say than what I’m doing wrong on my own damn ship?”
No one had told him, those long years ago, what to do. He hadn’t asked, was the sorry truth, too consumed by his own problems. Certain he was alone and should be.
Until Sira. Who’d not only asked for his help, but insisted he teach her to be crew on the Fox. Who’d come to love the ship, despite those moments when her lack of knowledge threatened the plumbing and worse.
He’d no time for this—
“And I have made trades,” Captain Usuki Erin informed him. “Just—Auord doesn’t have the right customers, is all, and without the ship ready to fly, how’m I supposed to find them? Tell me that?”
He should find another ship—
Unless—
Jason Morgan took a deep breath. “Show me what’s in her hold.” If there was hope for the Wayfarer, it was there.
Interlude
I’D GIVEN UP HOPE.
What replaced it now was purpose and not all of it was mine. There was a presence close. Another, nearby. Innumerable those who waited Between, holding us in this instant. Wanting me to do—what?
Sister. Heart-kin. You must accept where you are. You must feel the reality of it. Breathe. Trust me.
So I did. It felt strange, to have to think of it.
Sira, trust nothing. Taisal’s advice.
I found myself inclined to giggle with my new breath, but managed to not. They didn’t appreciate how they sounded in my head.
I had a head?
Do you remember—remember—re—
“Waking her wasn’t in our instructions.”
I certainly didn’t remember that voice, if that’s what they meant. Really, I thought, growing annoyed, disembodied helpers should be, well, helpful.
“Your arguments-sss are tediouss-ss.”
Breathing? I’d have stopped if I could, remembering too much all at once. The sibilance, the hiss and spit around words?
Scat.
I breathed, had a head, and was helpless in the presence of a species that viewed any weakness as invitation. Not good. Not good at all. Panic would be the right response. At the very least a forthright stand.
Did I have feet?
There. That’s it, sister. Quickly. Take hold and bring the rest!
Take—
HOLD! I was wrung out and emptied.
Then FILLED!
“She’ll need time in a med cocoon.”
“Why would we have one of thos-sse?”
Memories rushed into place. I knew my past; was grimly aware of my present. The only thing not quite settled?
What I was. The body I remembered wasn’t this body. Rael’s—my—arms and legs felt like ill-fitting shoes. The rest—oh, dear.
Without bothering to open my eyes, I vomited. Violently enough to produce a satisfying shriek from someone too close followed by the drum of feet as he/she/it moved out of range.
While not the “hello” encouraged by my Human for appropriate first contact, at least I’d made an impression.
With the irony I’d come to expect from the universes, the first voice I’d heard in NothingReal—in the Trade Pact—belonged to an Assembler. Her name for one-minds was Argyle Touley, and she was afraid of Scats.
Sensible, yes, and common ground of a sort, but having Touley—my assigned caregiver—fragment whenever a Scat entered the room? Wasn’t helping, other than to amuse the Scat. When we were alone, as now, she came back together and did.
“I will close the remaining holes now. Are you prepared?”
Had I a choice? I nodded, counting stains on the ceiling as she applied what had been a package stapler and was now an impromptu medical device. The only advantage so far to being in a body other than my own was a lag in sensation, but as that was growing shorter, it wouldn’t be long before I’d experience the stapler in real time. “How many are left?”
“Six,” Touley informed me. Snap. “Now five. It is better not to leak.”
In our brief times together, I’d noticed this Assembler’s fondness for tidbits of the obvious; we’d covered that vomit stank, naked skin lost heat, and Scat—although her employers—were bad. I’d come to the conclusion that, far from being simple-minded, Argyle Touley merely lacked experience conversing with one-minds.
She was practicing with me. Snap. “Four.”
Fortunately, she’d used dabs of glue to seal the ranks of small holes lining my arms and legs. As each set, the surrounding skin puckered, and I knew I’d be in for some serious itching—once my brain worked out where those limbs were. I supposed in a way I was experiencing myself the way Touley did: as disassociated parts.
Snap. “Three.”
“Ouch.” There, the first staple making itself known. More to come, I thought dourly.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” I said, though it was more of a grunt. The thing stung. On the plus side, now I was well aware of my left breast. The one with a staple in it.
Snap. “Two.”
And there was Rael’s—no, my—right breast, complete with staple. I refused to pity myself; Yihtor would have no gentler reacquaintance with his body, given the damage done to it, though with any luck, he’d arrived to proper medical care.
Not an Assembler with a stapler.
Snap. “There is one left. You must roll to the side.”
I tried, managing to turn my head to face a blood-splattered apron. “Not enough. I will arrange you.” She did, then waved the, yes, bloody stapler in my field of view. “This the biggest hole. It will take several. Do not move.”
Snap. Snap. The one on my belly announced itself with a sharp bite. “Touley—” I gasped more than said, “—why are you doing this?”
“You were leaking.” Snap. “Stupid Scat wasn’t to wake you,” she elaborated. “You were safe in the box. Out of the box, you leaked. You must not die.”
This, from a member of the species who’d done their utmost to eradicate mine? It wasn’t, in any sense, what I’d call compassion. I had a value.
No, Rael di Sarc’s body had a value, but it wasn’t to Touley, not directly.
Snap. Snap. By the sound of it, she was stapling my entire hip. That was going to hurt far more than the burning spots informing me of the rest of my new abdomen.
Better questions, I thought suddenly. Targeted. Species-specific. “What is the gain to your—” amalgamation? collective? “—assembly?”
Snap. “Group.”
I felt a ridiculous sense of triumph. “‘Group.’ How does my survival benefit them?”
She paused to stare at me. “Success.”
My triumph evaporated. If we were going to move forward word-by-word, I’d faint before understanding anything at all.
“My group,” Touley said then, her body expanding so I could see the cilia connecting her parts. They locked back together with an unpleasant meaty snick. “Good bits. Most,” she gave her right hand a sour look. “Touley group succeeds, others take us as nexus, follow as one. Everyone happy. Makes more success.” She applied the stapler. Snap.
Morgan hadn’t known this about Assemblers. Had anyone, before? “Who can join a group?” Could I?
A one-shouldered shrug. “Release from group, easy. Follow nexus, easy. Latch to better group? Only if can make success for the rest. Each nexus must decide. Touley group? Scat today. Clan. Best group.”
With a chilling smile. “Others pick foolish Humans. Brill. Others— You ask too many questions for someone with no group at all.”
How wrong she was, I thought, letting myself be aware of the uncountable Singers and Watchers binding me across universes. Overwhelming, that sensation, and I pulled back, but with something of my confidence restored.
Snap. “Finished.” Touley tossed the stapler over a shoulder that twitched as if trying to duck. She bent to stare into my face, dark eyes gleaming. “You need to eat now. One-minds use so much energy to be alive. It is hard to imagine being one part so big. So alone.”
But I wasn’t alone, not there.
Here? In the Trade Pact?
I’d a hip again, tracing itself in fire. That pain made tears slip out, crossing over my nose in a maddeningly immediate tickle—it wasn’t loneliness, wasn’t longing, please let it not be what I mustn’t imagine—
Touley drew back in alarm. “You are leaking again!”
“No! It’s normal.” I was terrified she’d try sealing up my eyes. Was that what had happened to Yihtor? “My eyes clean themselves. Leave me be.” The last came out more like begging.
The fingers of her left hand ran up her right arm, then back again. Thinking? Arguing? They stopped. “I will obtain suitable food. Stupid Scat didn’t think of that, either. Wasn’t to wake you. Bah.”
She turned to leave me. “Wait.”
The head rotated on the shoulders, giving me another unsettling glimpse of the thick cilia holding it in place. “Why?”
Because any company was better than my own? Because I no longer trusted my heart?
“I want to know why the Scat woke me, if it wasn’t supposed to.”
A toothy grin. “Maybe you are suitable food.”
After that, I was happy to see her leave.
I grew numb, then calm. I couldn’t waste this opportunity.
First, I used my privacy to take stock; a sign, I supposed, that my mind was settling into its new home. My eyes told me I was in a small metal-walled room with an open drain in the floor, presumably to relieve myself if and when I remembered how. My fingers found a plas sheet beneath me. It felt—strange.
No, it was the fingers, with their exquisitely sensitive tips. No calluses, no thickened spots from playing the keffleflute, hauling cargo, or climbing the canopy. Rael’s short life had been gentler than mine.
Till now.
I focused on the sheet. Unlikely that it protected the table or countertop presently my bed. My guess was they’d used it to carry me here from the stasis box.
Having it ready to wrap my corpse if I’d died in the process was a bonus. Kept the ship tidy.
I was thinking like a spacer again, my ears attuned to the low hum of engines. A hum that indicated—I knew this—a ship using her own power, but not underway. We could be linked to a station like Plexis.
That hope faded as I remembered this was also how a ship felt when dropped out of subspace to hide, the likelier scenario.
Hiding, or waiting.
The hard surface beneath me was abruptly worse than the hurts to my skin. “Going to try sitting,” I warned my new body, and did.
While the resulting contortion did raise my torso, my feet and legs skidded on the blood-slick sheet and the rest of me followed.
To the floor. Almost. As the sheet fell, I clung to the table with both hands, arms outstretched over its surface, its edge digging into my abused stomach. “Missed the staples,” I said breathlessly. “Has to count.”
I kicked one foot, then the other free of the sheet but had to pause before attempting to rise. Why was I weak? Stasis kept a body ready to move, unharmed.
If the body was healthy.
Rael had been poisoned—had died of it, only to be brought back to life. Her body, that was. Which I was in.
I shook my head and was immediately sorry as the room spun. “Think it through,” I told myself. There could have been lingering damage. Maybe they’d had to flush out the poison, explaining the holes and punctures, but these were crude, hurried.
I’d had my own experience with field surgery and it had been better than this. Not that I was one to talk, being held together at the moment with staples and glue. Glue that was, thank you, starting to itch like a thousand little bites.
Bites, I thought, growing still, left by teeth. For I was no longer alone.
Pairs of small red eyes watched me from the hole in the floor. The sort of eyes that implied teeth.
A dainty foot clawed thoughtfully at the rim, as if gauging the effort required to come out all the way.
Dinner, on the loose? The Scats favored live prey. Or the ubiquitous vermin that snuck on at every port—
A distinction hardly of importance as one yawned, its very pointed teeth catching the light.
Climbing back on the table was beyond me. Instead, I heaved myself to a shaky stand, then used my feet to push the sheet along the floor. The eyes blinked in unison. Deciding my behavior was alarming, the owners of those eyes whisked away and were gone.
I made myself keep going to the floor drain, made myself toe the disgusting sheet to stop up the opening as best I could without toppling over to join it. “Chew on that,” I told the vermin.
A door I hadn’t noticed opened, revealing Argyle Touley with a tray in her hands. She made no comment about the sheet. “You are up. Good. Here is suitable food.” She put the tray on the table.
My stomach objected; I ignored it, focused on what else she’d brought, draped over an arm. “Is that clothing?”
“Yes. Do you wish it first? Naked skin loses heat.”
What I wanted first, I thought desperately, was to feel clean again, but I’d take being dressed.
I’d known pirates to acquire wardrobes of species-specific belongings, but what Touley held out for me was more basic. The enterprising Assembler had taken a blanket and cut openings for my head and arms. She did most of the work getting me into it, securing the result with a length of wire around my waist. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.” The blanket was black issa-silk, light as air, and smooth enough not to snag on the staples. I looked down at myself—
—at Rael—
—at me. I fought the urge to disconnect and remember. While I remained here, this was my body, and I needed to believe it.
I was taller, that gain from long legs, tattooed in the Denebian fashion. My sister had worn clothing to display them. The blanket did a good job of that, too, ending mid-thigh; at least, what it did cover was warmer.
“Now eat suitable food.”
I risked a glance at the tray. It held a bulb of water and a handful of— “E-rations,” I said, my lips dry.
“Human food,” Touley reminded me. “Eat now.” She grabbed one and unwrapped the end, thrusting the tube into my hand.
E-rations.
I brought it to my mouth and took a bite. The stuff was as tasteless as I remembered, requiring a serious effort to chew. While you could soak them in water, they’d turn to a slimy gel and stick to your teeth and be that much harder to swallow.
Morgan liked e-rations. He kept a couple of tubes in his pocket, insisting they were for emergencies. Shipwrecked on a world without restaurants. A failure of the kitchen replicator—which had happened, so that wasn’t a good example, and we had, it was true, shared e-rations beside a crackling fire in a jungle without restaurants—
Closing my eyes, I heard a voice cry out in such anguish I wanted to weep, yet it was my new voice, wasn’t it, and I’d done so well, I’d tried, I had, and managed until this instant and taste not to think of—
Him.
Chapter 11
“—SHOULD HAVE TOLD HIM.”
Deep in thought, Morgan tuned out the voices. Whether Huido had appreciated the state of the Wayfarer or not was irrelevant. Either they coul
d get her off the ground, soon, or he’d find another way up to the Worraud. Once there, well . . .
. . . part of the answer could be stacked in front of him.
Bone. It filled the hold; first up, neat rows of pale skulls, each with three empty sockets regarding him with all the baleful intensity of the original owners. Yabok weren’t hunted so much as they were battled, and big ones—like these—won often enough to make such hunts irresistible to risk-junkies.
Beyond the skulls were racks of ribs and hips, crates of vertebrae and horns, while along the walls hung the vastly elongated finger- and wrist bones that were the Yabok’s most lethal weapon. In life, they supported a transparent membrane inhabited by microscopic stinging organisms, symbiotic partners. Once touched to skin, they’d fire. Prey—or a hapless hunter—would die in silent agony, paralyzed and unable to scream.
He walked down the rows, Erin a step behind, and her silence held an agony of its own. The bones filled the Wayfarer’s main hold. On an inner system world, Yabok bones would be a high-ticket prize, especially if you knew how to arrange an auction. Get a bunch of grandies in the same room, show some hunt footage, and they’d climb over one another to acquire a danger-free trophy.
On Auord? Lucky if portcity maintenance would take the lot away for road filler and not ask for a disposal fee. She’d been taken, plain and simple. Knew it, too, by the way none of it was secured for lift. No wonder she’d been hiding in the engine room.
Bone, however, had other uses. Morgan stopped by a scapula as tall as he was, and ran his fingers over the bone, feeling its pores and hardness. He stretched out his arms. The shoulder blade was wider.
He stepped around it. Thick enough.
“I’ll take this one,” he announced briskly. “How much?”
Erin stared at him, then threw up her hands. “Take it. Hells, I don’t care.”
“Huido will buy the rest.”
To Guard Against the Dark Page 14