Bad as Terk for those says-it-all-grunts; he understood hers, too.
He could try to protect the Wayfarer.
Her captain would decide how.
Course set. Three days till exiting subspace, but neither Morgan nor Erin slowed the pace in the engine room. As long as the Wayfarer’s bowels were spread over the floor, they were at risk. One emergency—something as simple as a fire in the galley—and there’d be nothing they could do but die.
Not that they thought in such dire terms. You didn’t, that was all, fear being the shortest path to error. Leaving Terk and Finelle to take care of plots and plans—along with their guests—Morgan plunged into the work, concentrating completely on the ship.
He tried to, anyway. Whenever he paused, the dreadful image of Sira, sitting alone in the cabin of the Fox, swam up behind his eyes. It wasn’t what he’d wanted for her; shouldn’t be what she wanted for herself. Oh, he understood. Who better? Her mind held such Power, such will. She’d had enough of being what others wanted. Where they wanted. That their life together was her choice now?
Said it all, didn’t it?
If he could be with her, in that unending dream, he would. He’d share it, share anything. Free her, that most of all. Hear her laugh.
Morgan worked harder.
Worse, something niggled at him. A feeling as though he’d missed a step. Double-checking himself became triple-checking, but it wasn’t the mechanics. He could—and had—worked on the Fox half-asleep.
No, this had to do with—
“Hello.”
Morgan raised his head, startled to see Rael enter the engine room, a steaming tray in her hands.
“It’s suppertime,” she announced briskly, looking for a place to put her burden.
Erin tipped a crate free of what covered it and patted the top. “Here you go. Thanks, Rael.”
“My pleasure, Captain.”
A slim figure in spacer coveralls. A tray brought to where he worked, because he forgot more meals than he remembered. Morgan’s heart threatened to choke him, and he looked down at his hands, unseeing what they held.
A bowl and spoon appeared in his view. “If you let it get cold,” Rael said quietly, “I’ll be cleaning the freshers.” She took the tool from his numb fingers; delayed, eyes on him, till he took the bowl. “Thanks.”
“Didn’t know I was starving,” Erin said around a mouthful. “Noska told me you’d volunteered to help him. Appreciate that.”
“You’re working as crew?” Morgan asked, incredulous. Rael di Sarc had many fine qualities; a willingness to exert herself wasn’t one of them.
In proof, she held out an elegant hand. Red marked blisters, the largest shiny with medplas.
“And doing a fine job of it,” the captain praised. “Noska does his best, but with four passengers—suppose you don’t count, Morgan—three, he’s close to frantic.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Rael replied. “How goes your work here?” As if the real question wasn’t: are we going to die?
Hearing it in her voice, Morgan roused himself. “The Wayfarer will be ready ahead of time. We’ve finished the teardown.”
“Putting her back together’s the fun part,” Erin contributed. “This is delicious. Are you a cook, too?” Wistfully.
“Not at all.” Rael smiled. “Credit goes to Noska’s shopping and your replicator, though being hungry helps.”
Morgan paused, spoon halfway to his lips. “We missed a meal?”
Her smile grew soft. “Just one. I’ll keep track from now on, but don’t miss sleep. That I can’t bring on a tray.”
Erin laughed. “Well put, Rael. I’ll kick him out later. Thank you again.”
“Yes,” Morgan said quickly. “Thank you.”
After the Clanswoman left, Erin grinned at him. “And much becomes clear.”
“What?”
“You. That crazy stunt, breaking into a Scat ship. Rael, bringing a tray.” She pointed her spoon at him. “You’ve history.”
That they did. Morgan gave a slight nod. “We’re family. Rael’s sister was my lifemate. Sira.” And if it hurt, saying her name, Rael had been right, the memory was what mattered. “Sira was attacked by those behind Rael’s kidnapping.”
“So it’s personal. I get that.”
They ate in silence, then Erin added, “Thel taught me personal is one step from stupid.”
Morgan’s lips twitched. “I believe I’ve heard it from her myself once or twice. I promise—” and there it was, Sira’s voice as if he could hear it now, what she’d asked of him, “—I promise to keep living. Which means we fix this engine.”
“Deal,” Erin told him with satisfaction.
As if she’d heard far more.
Interlude
Plexis
HE’D BE SATISFIED, decided Tayno Boormataa’kk, if his life contained a single station day in which he arose in the morning to find only what he expected to happen, happened. No less and, emphatically, no more.
Surprises being, in his experience, unpleasant at best. Ever since he’d agreed to impersonate his “uncle” to beings unable to tell them apart, Tayno thought woefully, the surprises hadn’t stopped coming.
To be sitting in the waiting room of Plexis security, the one for “those we haven’t arrested yet,” for the second time? Was worse than a surprise. It was dangerous.
He was harboring an alien. An alien without an airtag. Somehow, they’d found out. They being the faceless beings who existed to cause surprises to happen to him.
Life, as he’d grown to enjoy it, was likely over. The urge to slink was nigh overwhelming.
“Why are you afraid?”
Opening the disks of his head with an effort, Tayno elongated an eyestalk to regard Tarerea Vyna. She’d learned to read his body language; admittedly, slinking was a bit obvious. He’d have to try harder. “I have legitimate concerns about the reason for this invitation,” he said.
When the summons arrived, he’d panicked and run into a wall, it was true, but the wall had been in the way of escape and—there was none. Lones had calmed him. Had told him what Huido would do. Go forth in outraged dignity and virtue, bring his guest, in case she was the issue, and prove he’d no secrets. No obvious ones. To that dubious end, Lones had quickly coached Tarerea in her role, starting with calling him Huido in public. He’d explained it as Carasian manners, to use a different name for strangers. She’d seemed oddly pleased.
The Human had hurried to a consignment shop run by a relative of one of the kitchen staff, who’d collectively taken a great and amused interest in their guest’s transformation. The relative had loaned them—there being no funds left in any budget to buy—an outfit worn by a Human grandie to the five hundredth showing of Hamlet the Scat.
Apparently, you couldn’t wear something that expensive twice.
Tarerea Vyna was, Tayno thought with some pride, resplendent. Soft rich fabric enveloped her from chin to crystal-encased toes, its color shifting from blues to subtle reds with her movements. A collar flared behind her head, framing her face. If it was still too thin by Human standards, who would notice? A slim jeweled band wrapped her nearly bald head; from it hung gems that winked blue and red. They weren’t real, but who could tell?
The appropriate gold airtag was affixed to her cheek, also not real. The restaurant had authentic blue ones for staff, but Lones had insisted only gold would do. Tayno studied it anxiously. Had it started to slip? He’d so many doubts about this, it was a wonder he wasn’t shaking.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered, ending that hope.
The clothing emphasized the protrusion of Tarerea’s abdomen, something Lones had assured him was a good thing but that, Tayno knew, was Humanocentric. There were many sapient species on Plexis with vastly different reproductive cycles and all the oddness of manners that
went with them. Why gravid Ott required the private dining room and their food provided before arrival, lest hungry offspring burst from their pouch and attach to the nearest non-Ott, which was truly disturbing when it was you—
A door opened. The unfortunate door that wasn’t the exit. “Hom Huido.” The security guard beckoned. “This way, please.”
As before, the guard—non-Human this time, though the species’ name escaped him in his distress—adjusted the door to fit a Carasian’s width, then stepped aside. “The deputy inspector will see you now.”
Tarerea Vyna rested her hand on Tayno’s great right claw. “Together,” she stated, her tone admirably imperious.
“Of course.”
“Hom Huido. Thank you for coming.”
Last time, she’d claimed he’d a choice; this time he’d known he hadn’t. Still, Deputy Inspector Jynet’s courteous greeting deserved a response.
Having none, Tayno blurted, “I can explain!”
She hesitated. “What is it you wish to explain, Hom Huido?”
“My accompanying him here without advance notice, Inspector.” Tarerea Vyna had taken a seat. Now she gestured, her rings catching the light. “I am Tarerea Vyna. My host, the magnificent Huido Maarmatoo’kk, wishes to enlist Plexis Security on my behalf.” She smiled at Tayno. “I’ve assured him I need no special treatment while shopping your wonderful station, but he fusses over my condition.”
The paired flaps under Jynet’s eyes flared yellow. Interest? Curiosity? Suspicion? Tayno wished the Eima came with a manual. They all should.
“Deputy Inspector, Fem Vyna. My superior is offstation. Please accept my welcome and regards on behalf of Plexis. Is it acceptable to inquire if you are imminent?”
“It is.” Gems glittered as Tarerea bent her head. “I am not, which is why I’ve come. I must find what my child needs.”
Not the words Lones gave her to use, but close enough, Tayno hoped. A wealthy mother-to-be was their carefully chosen lure, Plexis Security’s first through fiftieth mandates being to encourage consumers to spend. Keeping them safe from pickpockets, mugging, and spoiled food was, of course, implicit in that lofty goal, but facilitating such a shopper as Tarerea? They’d be crawling, Lones said, over one another to help her spend her credits.
An image Tayno tried not to envision.
“And you require personal assistance,” with—yes—that was pleasure. “I’d be delighted to arrange whatever you require, from unobtrusive security to expert item identifiers.”
Security to follow them around? Tayno’s shudder made a rain on plas noise. “She has me!” Finding himself once more the center of attention, he went on weakly. “I’ve agreed to accompany Fem Vyna while she is here. Until the Claws & Jaws reopens, I am without occupation.”
Or funds. Would the Deputy Inspector, as Lones insisted, conclude he’d been hired as a bodyguard?
“In that case, Fem Vyna, added security would be redundant,” Jynet replied. “Hom Huido’s reputation is well known. In this office and Plexis in general.”
Was that good? It had to be good.
“However, if I may? You might require assistance in specific stores, Fem Vyna. There are some in which Hom Huido will, ah, not be fully comfortable.”
Wouldn’t fit, the Eima meant. A deplorable fact he’d discovered while hunting for his gift for Barac and Ruti’s baby-to-be. The owner had used a winch to pull him out, its hook leaving a hole in his carapace. Only visible from the rear, but still. The shelving, Tayno recalled, had been in worse shape.
Tarerea inclined her head again. “You are most kind, Deputy Inspector. I will not hesitate to contact you, should the situation arise.”
They were done. Cheerful again, Tayno rose from his crouch. “Thank you, Deputy Inspector, for your time. We won’t take any more of it, will we, Fem Vyna?”
“A moment more of yours, Hom Huido, if you please.”
“Oh.” He sank down again, morose.
The screen behind Jynet came to life with a face. “Mathis Dewley has been sighted on Plexis,” the deputy inspector announced, flaps washed with white. “I felt you should know.”
Who? Oh. “The worker in the restaurant. My restaurant,” Tayno elaborated. “I haven’t seen him.” Not that he’d looked, but he wouldn’t—
“I will tolerate no threat to me and mine,” Tarerea Vyna declared fiercely.
A new color appeared below Jynet’s eyes: a deep purple, almost black. “Why do you think Dewley is a threat, Fem Vyna?”
“Fem Vyna speaks out of instinct,” Tayno offered, aiming a handling claw as tactfully as possible at the bulge. “Her condition, you see.”
The Vyna remained tense. “What is that creature?”
She’d seemed to grasp their firm admonishment to treat every being as sapient and real, though Tayno personally doubted some of those he saw on the concourse were either, but to have Tarerea launch into her “not-real, not-Om’ray” tirade now would be bad.
Very bad.
The deputy inspector didn’t appear surprised by the Vyna’s question. “An Assembler.”
An Assembler, on Plexis. Of course, there were Assemblers on Plexis, Tayno told himself, Assemblers were everywhere, like vermin. The vermin, the ones able to cling to starships like those horrid mites that clung to sand grains, waiting their chance to attach to a passing shell and burrow inside to succulent flesh—
“Hom Huido? Fem Vyna, is he all right?”
Like pox, that other dreadful combination of fluff and teeth. He’d—
“Huido!” A knock on his head, firm and demanding. “This is no time to—to—dream.”
He must be brave. Maybe not as brave as Tarerea Vyna, but as brave as he could be. Tayno peered out, discovered the other two peering back. He gathered his courage, then gave a great noisy shake and rose to his full height. “Dreaming,” he announced boldly, “happens when necessary for a Carasian.” Rude, to invoke species’ distinction, though for all he knew others did it to him. “You were saying, Deputy Inspector?”
The purple of her flaps had grown red edges. Those faded with his attention. “I said, Hom Huido, one of my best constables has been following Mathis Dewley since he showed at a tag point. I anticipate her report shortly, but in the meantime, the Assembler went directly to meet with this being.”
Another image appeared.
“The Galactic Mysterioso?” Tayno read aloud, relieved to his core it wasn’t another Assembler. The lettering was in a striking font. One he’d like to use for his—
Tarerea was on her feet, studying the image. “Old, this one. Dangerous.”
“An Omacron?” Tayno chuckled. “If any come to the Claws & Jaws, my—I must provide a private chamber and the gentlest of servers. They bolt, otherwise.” His sort of customer, truth be told. Never a problem, always quiet and cowering—
“That is their reputation, Hom Huido.” The deputy inspector spread her short fingers on her desk, flaps now a softer mauve.
“‘Reputation?’” The Carasian’s eyestalks converged on the Eima. “You know differently?” He’d cancel the advance reservations for the dance troupe at once. No, have Lones do it. That’d be safer if there were objections—
“I know Scats refuse to dock in the same section, which has always made me curious.” Jynet’s flaps eased to yellow. “Are you certain you don’t recognize this individual? Sept entered Plexis under the name you saw, claiming to be an entertainer, but we’ve no listed booking for sept. Please take a close look, Hom Huido.”
Tayno obediently swung every eye to the screen. If Humans were hard to tell apart, he thought, frustrated, Omacrons were impossible. Their thin bodies curved this way and that depending on mood. What passed as a face had small eyes, smaller nostrils, and a mouth with thick lips, but those features were stuck within ridges and not always visible. Those ridges were wrinkled and
soft over the Galactic Mysterioso’s face; was that why Tarerea judged sept old? She could be right.
Regardless, this was a face he couldn’t be sure he didn’t know. Or did.
Feeling less than adequate, Tayno concentrated on the clothing, with the glorious lettering on the midsection. No help there, but the cloak? Where had he seen its like before? “Kapenen’s Unusual Rentals!”
The Eima’s cheek flaps developed a hint of purple, a color he was beginning to suspect meant impatience. “I’m not familiar with the establishment.”
“It’s in the back of Boyle’s Repair Shop—they do excellent work with faulty stasis units. You ask for Kapenen, say ‘I’m here for my glass slippers,’ and they escort you through a curtain.” Was that a secret? Unlikely, since Boyle would loudly demand Tayno to repeat the phrase, laughing each time till his round belly shook and he ran out of breath.
“I—see. And this is important because?”
The Carasian quivered with excitement. “Before the Regrettable Event,” that being how he’d come to think of the attack on the Claws & Jaws by those wretched Assemblers, “there was an actor from Hamlet the Scat who came for the prawlies special.” Actors, far from being glamorous goldtags, he’d learned, lived on appetizers. Huido, in another of his whims, insisted actors receive an extra large helping if they came in costume, which seemed to attract others to the restaurant simply to stare, though they had to order to sit at a table.
“Prawlies are delicious,” Tarerea Vyna offered.
“Hom Huido?”
Tayno forced his mind back on track. “Once the actor got sauce on his cloak—” His fault, as it happened, having been thoroughly flustered by the Ott offspring, which hadn’t wanted to let go, so he’d had to carry the things around the restaurant. “—but it wasn’t a problem because he rented it from Kapenen’s.” The cleaning charge hadn’t been as painful as Huido’s response to being thought the one who’d flung sauce. “The cloak looked just like that.” With a triumphant thrust of his claw at the image of the Omacron.
When this didn’t elicit a reaction, Tayno repeated the gesture, putting a little more force behind it in case the Eima had missed it the first time. “Like that.”
To Guard Against the Dark Page 25