The color drained from her face. “Pardon?”
“Yes, pardon?” The Carasian’s eyestalks swirled in all directions, as though trying to count the giant skeletons.
Morgan carefully didn’t smile. “If you don’t have a price in mind, Captain, allow me. You’ve my word it’ll be fair.”
Huido rattled. “No need to be hasty.”
The Human tapped twice on the nearest bit of carapace, their signal for “play along.” “Don’t be shy, my friend. We both know time is of the essence, but I’m sure, with immediate transport to Plexis, you’ll have these in place in time for the grand reopening of the Claws & Jaws.”
Erin looked from one to the other with growing hope. “Hom Huido? Is it true? You’ll want them all?”
A trio of eyes surveyed her expression. “It is . . . I do . . . because . . .” a worrisome pause, then Huido gave himself a shake, “. . . I’ve been looking for dramatic new decor for the entrance. How wonderful you have these. And so many. And—” The eyes returned to Morgan, a pleading in their depths. “—that I can afford them.”
The Human grinned, picturing Bowman’s reaction. “I’m sure you can.”
The Whirtle hugged itself, crooning in delight, but Erin smiled and grabbed hold of Huido’s great claw with both hands. “Done. And thank you, Hom Huido. If you need more,” persuasively, “I know a source.”
Eyestalks bent. “These will suffice,” with utter conviction.
Morgan lost his grin, his attention back on the bone. Terk stepped up beside him and spoke in a low whisper. “Tell me you aren’t thinking what I know you’re thinking.”
“Even Scats don’t disable the safeties.” In particular, those that gave a chance, albeit minuscule, to a hapless being blown from a ship in space. “A hatch detects complex organics, the autos unlock. That’s my way in.”
“Your way dead, you mean,” with a glower. “Still have to manually open the hatch. How’re you going manage that without taking off your suit? Which would be—” as if he was hard of hearing, “—the ‘dead’ part. Before the Scats can shoot you.”
“I’ve a better idea.” Morgan put a hand on the other’s thick shoulder. “I’ll need something—things—from the Conciliator’s cryobrig.”
The enforcer shook it off, growling. “No. Not happening. No way.”
“I’m doing this with or without your help,” he said quietly. “‘With’ would be preferable.”
Terk swore under his breath. Then, louder, “Bowman’ll skin me—for starters, mind, then she’ll get creative.”
“Probably.”
“You’re scum, you know that? Pure scum.”
Which was yes, no matter what cost, and Morgan didn’t attempt to offer thanks.
No need, with a friend like this.
“Hom Huido’s cargo has been loaded,” the new captain of the Heerala said with pride.
As he should, the Wayfarer’s hold having been emptied in record time, though Morgan guessed Henerop’s immediate background as cargo supervisor hadn’t hurt.
“Will—will Hom Huido be coming soon?”
Good question. The Carasian stood in the open hold door, an ominous cloud blocking most of the sunset. The final group of Drapsk edged past, staying as close as they could to the far side. “Give us a moment,” Morgan asked.
“I don’t want to go,” Huido rumbled at his approach, his voice deep with anger. “I won’t.”
The Human leaned on the bulkhead by the door, taking an appreciative sniff of sea-scented air. Auord’s shipcity’s one grace, that switch at early evening; soon, of course, to be followed by rain. “Can’t make you,” he agreed.
A suspicious eye aimed his way.
“Besides,” he went on easily, “Tayno’s there. I’m sure he’ll know what do with a shipment of Yabok bones.”
Another eye.
“As I recall, there’s room in the corridor behind the kitchen. Not to mention Plexis will have replaced your quarters—”
“My pool?” With a clatter of outrage. “You suggest my fool of a nephew would pollute my new pool with those—those—filthy scraps?!”
“Only if he ran out of space,” Morgan assured the distraught Carasian. “It’s not as though—” he pretended to hesitate.
All eyes converged.
“—you have wives for a pool. Then again, Tayno might have been lucky—”
Huido loomed larger. His great claw rose and snapped, the stub bent as if eager to do the same. “LUCKY?!” The word echoed through the hold.
A ball of Drapsk rolled down the ramp.
“Could happen.”
“It could NOT! Wives do not choose based on chance. They study and compare their options, make reasoned, thoughtful—you’re laughing,” with outrage.
“Bone dust.” Morgan made a show of coughing. “If you’re certain Tayno won’t attract wives of his own, then I don’t see the problem. He can put the cargo anywhere he wants. You left him in charge of the reopening, after all.”
His friend shrank to normal size. “I left to care for you.”
“I know.” Morgan turned serious. “You saved my life. Now I’m asking you to take care of yours.”
A sullen rumble. “No, you’re asking me to abandon you before battle.”
The Human went to lean companionably against that hard shell, neck bent to meet the gaze of uncountable unhappy eyes. “There won’t be one, I promise. A quick stop and switch play, Huido. Thel delays their shuttle till we’re in place. Terk’ll be on the Wayfarer, pretending the ship’s off course with mechanical trouble.” The real possibility of that something his friend didn’t need to know. “The Worraud distracted while they’re trying to dock their shuttle. I’ll slip over, find Rael’s body, and end her suffering. They’ll never know I was on board.”
Huido’s sigh rocked a blaster onto Morgan’s shoulder; eyeing the weapon, he didn’t dare move. “Could be worse,” he said lightly. “I could have gone up in the Brexk box.”
Delivered, according to Captain Henerop, with seals restored, to Manouya’s address. He hadn’t been forthcoming as to what was now inside—a still-comatose Yihtor having been transferred to the Conciliator—and Morgan hadn’t asked.
“If you’re worried about the Scats?” he hazarded. “This is civilized space. If they find me, they’ll call in the Jellies and have me arrested.” If they decided otherwise, well, with Terk involved, Bowman would be watching; not that Port Authority, whose jurisdiction extended to orbit, would be pleased by enforcer intervention. “I’ll be fine.”
“You can handle Scats.” A small handling claw shifted the weapon from his shoulder, then closed over Morgan’s arm to demand his full attention. “Yihtor’s back in his body. What if Rael’s inside hers?”
He should have known Huido, with a heart bigger than his head, would go straight to the crux of things. “I’ll do what must be done. Rael deserves to be with those she loves, not trapped here.”
With Sira, but he couldn’t say it out loud.
“No matter what happens, that is her fate. What troubles me is now. Why they’re here. Yihtor hasn’t told us. We don’t know.”
“We know,” Morgan said heavily, “the Clan can’t be in Trade Pact space. Sira—she made a deal. That’s the only way I can explain it. Her part was to ensure those who belonged in that other universe returned to it; theirs, to stop harming worlds to find them.” Sira had saved the Hoveny, along with the Oud and Tikitik; species neither of them had known existed before. She’d expect nothing less of him now, with the Trade Pact at risk. “Yihtor. Rael. The Clan I saw yesterday and any others still hiding here. They must go back. They die, here, or we do.” Morgan hardened his voice and his heart. “Rael first, by my hand. I owe her that.”
The claw released his sleeve, straightened it with a fussy little movement. “It’s going to rain, i
sn’t it?” Huido said dolefully. Louder, “I hope the aircar has a roof.”
“It does, Hom Huido, it does. A wonderful roof.” Hearing his cue, Captain Henerop hurried up to the Carasian, antennae tipped forward. “It waits outside.”
Morgan reached up his hand, felt the pinch as Huido’s needle-tipped jaws closed on it. “Take care of yourself,” he told his friend, when they were done.
“Bah. I shall take care of that wretch of a nephew!” Huido boomed. More quietly, “Take my excellent advice. Don’t die.”
The Human raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“I’d give you better,” with an amused rumble, “but we both know I’d be wasting my time.”
Interlude
An Undisclosed Location
THERE WAS A ROOM in Trade Pact Board Member Choiola’s living quarters, be that her apartment or on board a Brill ship, no one else was ever to see.
Which wasn’t strictly true, given the room had inhabitants with eyes, but this being her first and firmest rule it was obeyed by servants, crew, and tradesbeings without question or speculation. With fear, yes. Brill were a volatile species, physically intimidating, and known to apologize, too little and too late, for their acts of temper.
Choiola apologized not at all.
The room was furnished in bright colors, not all of which a Brill eye could detect, but she wanted everything to be exactly as it should be. Little chairs were pulled up to little tables. Cups the size of her fingernail sat waiting. There were rugs shaped like flowers and puffed pillows resembling fish. Not the sort with teeth, of course. Happy fish. Happy flowers.
Having time before her next meeting, she crouched awkwardly and cooed. “How’s my little preciouses?”
The toddlers—a boy and girl as Humans referred to their get—looked up trustingly from the sand. They’d eyes of disproportionate size and charm; a species’ trait. Brown, on this pair, as was their skin and hair. Siblings. Naturally born twins, in fact.
Adding horrifically to the cost, but the supplier knew her tastes. She hadn’t liked her last set as much, not even as “gifts.” They were gone now.
These were new and special. She quite liked their eyes. And their toes, too. She let them wrap their chubby little fingers around her smallest, discouraging with a tap the boy who tried to fit the tip of her polished nail in his mouth.
Both paused at that, their eyes round. Their mouths opened, but no sound came out. The girl had learned Choiola would not abide the mewling noise they made.
The boy had not. A simple matter, to remove the tongue. At this stage, they healed with remarkable speed.
A shame they aged quickly, too. Developed awareness. Discovered the darkness in their nursery.
It was all over so soon.
The Brill lifted a curl of hair, softer than issa-silk it was. She could use another blanket—
Chortle-chirp!
The toddlers leaned together at the cheery interruption, not daring to move. Choiola rose to her feet with a displeased grunt. Her vidcaller was early. Anyone else, she’d make wait.
But the Sector Chief of the Trade Pact Enforcers mustn’t be given cause to wonder where she was, or what she might be doing. Oh, no.
Not yet.
Choiola activated the servos. One would rake the sand. Another was equipped with nipples to dispense authentic Human milk, it being important to the continued health of her precious guests.
She did like their round cheeks.
Plexis
“I don’t like the look of her,” Lones said. “She’s too thin.”
The Carasian relied more and more on the small Human for guidance. Lones had told the rest of the staff he had a “guest.” They took this as a welcome return to normalcy, Hom Huido housing aliens in the living quarters of the restaurant so often, the biological accommodation had extra porcelain whatevers. He’d only broken two. So far.
His lot, to be burdened by another’s inexplicable whims.
Huido’s, alas, to arrive home not only to the bill from Plexis, but a potential—surely minor—lawsuit filed by Chef The Righteous SeaSea. She hadn’t taken being fired well at all; hardly fair, since every chef on Plexis had been fired from the Claws & Jaws at least once.
“‘Thin?’” Tayno regarded the figure on the bed from the safety of just inside the closed door. She looked normal to him. “Are you sure?”
“I am.” Lones gently lifted her wrist. A hand with six nailless digits hung languidly from it, knuckles prominent, blue vessels beneath the skin. Paired green rings wrapped fingers and opposing thumbs below the outermost joints; she’d arrived wearing nothing else. “You shouldn’t see a person’s bones. And look how pale she is!” He eased the wrist and hand back down.
Her eyes had followed the movement. Now they drifted back to puzzle at Tayno, much to his discomfort. Deep-set, those eyes, in a face without eyelashes. Sparkling dots inset in her skin—or the bone beneath—marked where there should be eyebrows; her head bore a short fuzz of white that flattened or rose of its own accord. A face within Human or Clan norm; a face he wouldn’t confuse with any other. It might have been carved in ice, like the ornaments they put into a bowl of prawlies to keep them cold for customers.
She moved when required. For their care, to use the fresher. Had consumed food, though only when they weren’t present. She’d yet to speak, but she wasn’t, to Tayno’s relief, deaf. Whenever he said “Morgan,” her face changed.
He didn’t do it often; the change wasn’t nice.
“We need to bring in a med-tech, Hom Tayno. She could lose the baby.”
Tayno wasn’t entirely clear on the details, but had grasped that “baby” referred to the only thing round about her, a growth distending her abdomen. He’d have gladly arranged a shower, like the one for Ruti, and make another gift.
Something about their guest told him neither would be welcome. “The Rugheran left her in our care,” he said, not for the first time. Well, Morgan’s, to be precise, but the Human wasn’t here, and no one knew where he was if not. “If only she could talk.”
“About that.” Lones went into a bag Tayno hadn’t noticed before and pulled out an ominous clutter of disks and wire. “It’s a sleepteach set with Comspeak. If our guest—” He held out the device.
She turned her head on the pillow, closing her eyes briefly. No, that meant.
Lones lowered his hand. “I don’t know what else to suggest, Hom.”
“Give it to me.” The Carasian took the thing with a small shudder. Technology, in his experience, existed to create embarrassing problems that other beings would have to come and fix, beings who considered anyone having such problems to be problems themselves. He waited for the thought to finish, sighed, and draped the wires and disks over several eyestalks.
Eyes he aimed at her.
“Hom?” Lones tried not to laugh, then did.
Tayno lowered his eyestalks, careful not to lose the device, then wiggled them.
The corner of her mouth deepened. The start of a smile?
“Put them on yourself,” Tayno ordered, lowering himself so the Human could gingerly retrieve the sleepteach. One wire refused to leave an eyestalk and it was all the Carasian could do not to flinch and snap his claws while Lones untangled it.
The Human demonstrated how the disks rested neatly against the sides of his head, with one on the forehead. Then he closed his eyes, resting the side of his head on a hand, and made that noise Humans did when sleeping.
He’d inspired Lones by example, that’s what he’d done. Tayno swelled with pride.
After two snores, Lones opened his eyes, and began to speak, gesturing as if to wave the words outward.
“I don’t think she’ll—” Tayno began.
Their guest beckoned imperiously.
“I think she does,” the Human said with a smile as he obeye
d, fitting it with care on her head. She touched the metal as though curious, then gave the Carasian a somber look before she lay back and closed her eyes.
Tayno watched uncertainly, then leaned toward Lones. “Can she understand me now?” he whispered, disappointed when the other shook his head.
“It’ll take the night. If it works. Hom Tayno?” He was holding the door open. “We should leave her in peace.”
Lones knew best about many things, Tayno thought as he went out and let the other close the door.
But their guest wasn’t here for peace.
Chapter 12
THE DEAFENING RACKET didn’t bother Morgan, though, he winced, that high-pitched grind? Not good news. He touched Erin’s arm to gain her attention, then shook his head.
She released the manual throttle to end the test. “How’s that?” she shouted over the engines.
Waiting for the noise to stop, Morgan eyed the bank of gauges, comparing them to the specs in his hand. “We need to boost the field integ thirty percent if we expect to get close to nominal.”
Her grimace matched his feeling on the subject. They’d been in the Wayfarer’s engine room most of the planet night. Progress, yes, but each step forward opened a new can of toads.
None they hadn’t handled.
The rest of the ship was, hopefully, close to ready as well. Noska, the Whirtle crewbeing, had been put in charge of stowing everything loose, with the help of some of the Heerala’s Drapsk who—at his request—discreetly whisked away what couldn’t be managed. Most, Morgan hoped, would end up in a recycler. He couldn’t blame Erin; Whirtles were prone to hoarding.
Perching on the edge of a crate, Morgan pulled two tubes of e-rations from his pocket. “Here.”
Erin shot him a harried look. “There’s no time.”
“Sit. Eat. We need fuel, too.” He made to toss one to her.
“Got my own. For emergencies.” She grabbed a rag and cleaned the worst of the grease from her hands, then dropped cross-legged on the deck. Pulling out a tube, she opened it with her teeth, then took a good-sized bite, regarding him thoughtfully as she chewed.
To Guard Against the Dark Page 15