“I grasp your meaning, Hom Huido,” the deputy inspector assured him. She lifted her hand high, then brought a finger down on her desk as though showing him something he’d missed. “Jesper will see you and Fem Vyna out. Thank you for your assistance.”
They were done? Tayno hesitated. Should they be done?
Tarerea Vyna took firm hold of his claw. “Thank you, Deputy Inspector, for yours.” She urged him toward the now-open door, with its waiting guard.
“Oh, and Fem Vyna?”
They stopped as one, turning to look back at the Eima whose flaps had gone white, the color Tayno was beginning to associate with a daunting focus. “Jesper will replace your airtag for you,” she announced. “Yours is slipping.”
This time it was Tayno who steered them to the door, and quickly.
The Infant Emporium was, Tayno had been assured, the finest source of unnecessary items for offspring of the rich. It should be, located on one of the uppermost levels of Plexis. If not for Tarerea Vyna’s now-valid gold airtag, security would have stopped them two below this one.
The Emporium itself consumed so much space, was so impressive and grand, the Carasian began to seriously rethink the restaurant business. Unfortunately, Tarerea wouldn’t go through the glittering doorway. “I don’t understand. Why must we do this shopping?”
Lones had explained “shopping.” Tayno sent eyestalks in every direction. No one was close, so he dared answer with the truth. “We want the deputy inspector to believe you’re here to buy things for the baby.”
“What I want I take.”
Could the Human have missed a crucial component of the process? “It’s not important,” Tayno said hastily. “We won’t buy anything—” having no credits, and taking was out of the question, “—but it’s important to appear interested in these things.” He waved generously at the opening.
Almost decapitating a Neblokan, who grunted rudely and rushed inside, followed by three living attendants, each struggling with a load better suited to a grav sled.
Tarerea Vyna didn’t budge. “Why?”
“Because—” Best not mention the potential difficulty posed by failing to impress the deputy inspector and so Plexis itself—he’d seen Tarerea’s reaction to imagined threat and had no desire to see her truly upset. Again. In public. “—aren’t you curious?” Plaintively. “I’ve never been inside, myself. I hear it’s remarkable.”
“I have no time for curiosity or this shopping, Tayno. My people languish in captivity. Let us go.”
“Wait.” People were approaching. People as in Humans. A small horde of Humans, meaning courtesies and curiosity galore, Humans being drawn to those pregnant like blowflies to stranded jellies. He had to get the Vyna out of sight. The Carasian gathered his guest within an irresistible claw and drew her into the store.
“I’ll ’port us both,” she threatened, but didn’t, to his relief. Instead, Tarerea Vyna opened her eyes wide and stared.
The Infant Emporium was, Tayno thought with amazement, bigger on the inside.
A bewildering complex of racks rose overhead, messengers at the ready to deliver an item of interest. On the floor surrounding them were the merchandise displays suspended at adjustable viewing heights. The babies in each looked so lifelike, Tayno worried at first they actually were. Which they couldn’t be, so he followed Tarerea to the nearest.
In it, three small Humans sat playing. Each wore an exquisitely detailed outfit, a miniature of what an adult would wear: a spacer, a dancer, and yes, that one was a chef. Each played with an array of themed toys, though the Carasian wasn’t entirely sure one should be gumming the business end of what was undoubtedly an expensive replica needler. Still, the infant looked blissful.
They went to the next display, where six little Papiekians hung in ornate sleeping bags, their tendrils clutching jeweled rattles. To the next, where a group of Whirtles were rapidly building a bridge from candy. The next, where a Human baby younger than the others slept in a bed made from a Norsenturtle shell, which must be a replica also, Tayno decided, trade in the iridescent shells being illegal. The market for shell and, not coincidentally, soup stock had led to Trade Pact restrictions on the export of fellow sapients for consumption.
That said, the soup, Huido’d assured him, was exquisite—
“Are Human babies born without minds?” Tarerea asked abruptly.
“I don’t think so. Not that I know much about other species’ reproduction,” he replied, though “nothing” would have been more accurate, “but they play with toys at this size—and say words.”
“Ah.”
The syllable held such sadness, Tayno’s eyes converged on his companion. “What is it?” It seemed inherently dangerous, to grow inside another body and be inflicted by all that could happen, and Tarerea had suffered hardship. Carasians, as was proper and rigorous, swam the warmth of Mother Sea until large enough—he shook himself, getting back to the point. “Are you afraid your baby will come out—wrong?”
“‘Wrong?’” she echoed softly, her fingers stretched toward the baby on display. She brought them down over her swollen abdomen. “Within her should be the mind of a Glorious Dead, an Adept full of wisdom and Power. Solina Vyna was lost when the Rugherans took us, as all were lost. I am empty and will die of it.”
“‘Die?’” No. This was terrible, impossible. How could she be so calm? Overwhelmed, the Carasian crouched and came as close as he could, using the tip of a handling claw to stroke her arm. “There are medical staff on Plexis,” he offered without so much as a thought of the budget. “I’m sure they deal with babies—full ones and empty ones. I could take you. Save you.”
“The only thing that could resides within the crystal orbs of Vyna Cloisters. I accept my fate. So must you.” Tarerea touched a finger to his claw, a look on her face he hadn’t seen there before. “You have become real to me, Tayno Boormataa’kk.”
A profound admission. He’d have been exceedingly happy to be “real” except that how could he be, knowing this brave and special being was in such danger? It was enough to make him slink, but he wouldn’t. Not before her.
It was enough to make him long to touch her skin with his jaws, but Huido’d warned him innumerable times the tender gesture terrified non-Carasians and he mustn’t, ever.
Though Jason Morgan wasn’t Carasian, and he never looked terrified—
He’d take no chances. “I am honored, Tarerea Vyna,” Tayno told her.
Her lips curved. “No more being serious. Those around us will notice. Is this not a beautiful child?”
Tayno dutifully scrutinized the sleeping Human. Chubby fists. The eyes were closed, long lashes on the round cheeks. The little mouth worked in and out as though sucking on a memory; probably a toe, by its moist glisten.
He’d take the Vyna’s word for the appeal.
“She is, indeed.” The Brill had been standing at another display. Now, she moved closer. “How old, do you think? Six months?”
Half again Tayno’s bulk, the creature, though he trusted the gauzy robes added to her size. The Carasian felt the oddest impulse to stretch to his full height and raise his greater claws, which would not be considered polite at all. “I wouldn’t know,” he replied stiffly.
“Well, it’s the best age. Take it from me.” The Brill tipped her big head toward the display, making a cooing noise.
Tarerea appeared taken aback. “It is not-real.”
Tayno hoped she meant the baby.
“These, no,” the Brill agreed. “Yet fully representative. This is Plexis.” The other’s savoring of those words reminded Tayno of a food critic they’d had to let gorge at the Claws & Jaws. No review, Huido’d said afterward, was worth the slobber. “But I see you’re making your own, Fem. When are you due?”
Tarerea Vyna’s hands went to her abdomen, as if protecting what was inside. “It is impo
lite to inquire.”
A second Brill, smaller than the first, arrived. “Excuse my colleague’s curiosity,” he boomed. “We rarely meet a—” was that hesitation real or feigned? “—Human in your happy condition.”
Tayno could tell Tarerea was anything but happy at the moment. He made a show of rattling his carapace. “Enjoy your shopping, Fem, Hom.” He suffered a momentary pang, aware he should invite richly dressed, gold airtags like these to the opening of the Claws & Jaws. No, the Carasian decided. They weren’t right, neither of them. Huido would understand. “We must go.”
“No need to hurry off,” the male objected, his deepset eyes fixed on Tarerea. “Join us for a drink. We’d enjoy knowing more about you.”
He shouldn’t be afraid of this being, the Carasian told himself. Wasn’t he bigger? Didn’t he have claws and a body encased in shell? Though come to think of it, a Brill’s thickened skin was akin to body armor, bulging over bone and muscle. Heavy gravity beings, Brill, and fond of physical self-expression.
They weren’t to be given the nonrecyclable porcelains.
He shouldn’t be afraid, yet it was all Tayno could do, all at once, not to pick up Tarerea and run.
“No time, no time,” he blurted.
“My turn to ask your pardon.” The female Brill clutched her companion’s arm, ivory nails digging in. “We can’t always indulge our hobbies,” she told him, then smiled pleasantly at Tayno. At least, the Carasian thought the expression on her face was meant to be pleasant, though it wasn’t at all. “We know you’re a busy being. Huido Maarmatoo’kk. You are, aren’t you?”
Much as he’d rather not be at the moment, Tayno managed a weak, “Yes.”
“Such a shame about your fine establishment. We’re all looking forward to the reopening. Please accept a token of our esteem.” She held out two strips of plas, the sort that were used as advertisement.
He’d no choice but to take them, though he did so gingerly, with the tips of an extended claw. “Thank you.”
To his discomfort, the Brill put her ivory-nailed hand on his claw, with weight behind it as though testing his strength. Before he could pull back, she did, smiling. “We’ll see each other again soon.”
Not if he saw them coming, she wouldn’t. “Fair skies,” he said firmly.
It felt like an escape when they were finally out of the store.
“No more shopping,” Tarerea said vehemently.
“No more,” Tayno agreed.
They’d gone down the ramp to the level below and were walking through a zone of plantings and promotional waterfalls, the latter with a stream of words enticing passersby to seek the virtues of Beneficial Massage for All Bodies, Group Specials Available when Tarerea spoke again. “What did the not-real give you?”
“What? Oh.” He’d forgotten the strips. Tayno brought them in range of his nearest eye and read. Without noticing, he came to a halt beside a group of tall pots containing taller clumps of grass. He didn’t notice the grass rustled despite the lack of wind, moved by those inside who peered out with curious red eyes.
Nor, truth be told, could he have remembered his own name at that instant, seeing what was on the strip. He’d reached, he decided wearily, his limit for surprises in a lifetime.
“What is it?” the Vyna asked finally. “What’s wrong?”
“She gave us passes to a show,” Tayno replied. “A show by the Galactic Mysterioso.”
An Assembler posing as a Human? It was what they did. An Omacron in disguise working with that Assembler was admittedly stranger. But a connection to the sinister pair of Brill—who’d paid too much attention to Tarerea—who’d seemed to know she wasn’t Human at all?
“We have to get back,” he said, shifting into motion. “Quickly.” The Vyna reached for his claw, and Tayno skittered frantically out of reach. “Not that quickly!”
They’d get to the Claws & Jaws, lock all the doors, then he’d call the deputy inspector.
Or have Lones make the call. Yes, that’s what he’d do.
Because something, Tayno feared to his shaking core, was very wrong on Plexis.
Chapter 23
SLEEP WASN’T GOING TO HAPPEN. Not while his thoughts whirled like this.
“Lights.”
Not when he couldn’t settle on why.
Morgan crossed his arms behind his head, ordering his body to relax. The refit was going well; Erin had insisted he take the first rest period. Insisted he did rest, which wasn’t the same thing. The Wayfarer’s captain had him pegged, or so she thought.
What she didn’t know, having lived a life free of anything worse than a few overeager debt collectors and some less-than-pleasant employers?
How a life could be empty.
That wasn’t, however, what made sleep an impossibility.
Something was wrong. No, he corrected. Something wasn’t right. There was no taste of change. No imminent threat, that implied, though they were as prepared as possible for another surprise Rugheran.
Just that niggle. What was bothering him? Frustration became annoyance. What was he missing?
In his experience, unsolved mysteries were dangerous. This one? If he didn’t know better, he’d think he didn’t want the answer.
Which made no sense.
Morgan kicked off the sheet and rose. He’d spent too much time alone, in bed, facing a universe that refused to make sense either, to start again here. He’d enjoy ship life while he’d the chance. Enjoy this peculiar, fascinating ship, the Wayfarer, while he’d the run of her.
Dressed, he headed to the galley. He’d bring Erin a cup of sombay. Talk engines.
Shipnight. The corridor lights were dimmed, not out. Doors were closed: the medbay; where the others slept. Morgan rolled his head, easing a knot in his neck. Just as well he was up and moving. He’d have taken more care to move quietly, not to disturb those who could rest, but he wasn’t the only one awake.
Any spacer would recognize the whooshwhirrr of a sweeper set to hush mode. Pricey new machines might be soundless, but the Wayfarer’s was third-hand and its hush was more the polite “sorry to be making noise in shipnight, done soon” variety. A reassurance, that little noise. Someone was on duty; you didn’t have to be. He might have been able to sleep, had the sweeper been outside his door.
Noska, Morgan decided, smiling to himself, avoiding the Lemmick. Maybe the Whirtle could be convinced to join him in the galley.
He lengthened his stride and came around the bend.
There was the sweeper. It wasn’t Noska using it but Rael, her back to him.
Morgan stopped, for no reason.
For every reason.
In an hour, anyone could learn to use a sweeper. To maneuver the clumsy device without banging into walls in a day. But this economy of motion, this confidence promising to leave no section of floor unbuffed? Took months, if ever learned at all.
She’d known the Vyna. The Rugheran.
Knew ships.
Knew him.
This wasn’t Rael di Sarc.
The truth left his mouth in a single breath.
“Sira.”
Interlude
“Sira.”
His voice.
Nonsensically, I kept sweeping until I finished the oval I’d mapped out, turned off the sweeper—swallowed hard—then turned. My casual “Pardon?” died unspoken when I saw him.
Jason Morgan stood a few steps away in the night-dimmed corridor, his face unreadable, the blue of his eyes as dark as I’d ever seen them. Shock would do that.
The truth, would.
I dared feast my eyes on him as Rael never would, drink in the real of him, listen to breathing that was, admittedly, a bit ragged. So was mine, for that matter, and I wasn’t sure if I should move or speak—or run.
Run, I realized a second too late.
> Chapter 24
BEFORE—THIS WRONGNESS—could run, Morgan had his hands around its throat. He used the grip to shove it backward. Drive it through the open galley door. Push it hard against the table, so his arms could straighten while it bent.
Terk, there, half standing. Morgan lifted his stare from it long enough to meet the other Human’s eyes.
The enforcer flinched and swore, then left the room, closing the door behind him.
Morgan shifted his attention to the WRONGNESS. He would end this. End this before his heart broke again, though he hadn’t known it could break twice. And if tears splashed down on his hands, on its face—
His hands had its throat. He’d only to snap the neck. He glared down.
What looked back was love.
And it didn’t matter, all at once, if the eyes looking up were green or brown or gray. He knew that look. Had lost himself in it.
“Sira.”
Releasing her throat, he folded her in his arms and buried his face in her shoulder.
Interlude
MY ARMS, not Rael’s, went around Morgan. My heart, not my sister’s, pounded like something wild, something trapped, but if this was a trap?
Let me stay in it. I murmured such silly things in my Human’s ear, though I doubted he heard me. Doubted, by the new burn around my neck, if I could speak louder than a murmur anyway. We’d have to talk about this novel tendency of his to choke me first.
We’d have to talk about so much, I’d no idea where to start.
This was good, though. Held tight; free to hold tight. Better than good. If I had my hair, it would be going mad about now.
Morgan took a ragged breath, then raised his head. Keeping one arm around me, he traced the outline of my face—my new face—as if discovering it. The rage and grief in his had turned to wonder. “A Vessel.”
To Guard Against the Dark Page 26