“So we talk to Bowman.”
“We get answers,” he stated, determined on that point.
Sira’s eyes seemed to see beyond him, then refocused, studying his face. “I wish—” She sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Ignorance is its own danger—you taught me that, when I thought I was Human.”
She could pass for one. Morgan tucked a stray lock of red-tipped hair behind her ear, lingering when a wisp caught on his callused fingertip. The stuff had grown to the collar of her coveralls and he knew better than leave his hand close—gods, he knew better than wait for her hair to slip around his wrist like warm, heavy silk—than hope—
Jason. When he didn’t—couldn’t—respond, Sira stepped inside the curve of his arm, putting her palm flat over his heart, and he’d happily die now, if the universe could for once be just, drowning in her eyes—
The air lock gave a too-cheery ping and whooshed open.
—forcing them apart.
Interlude
Plexis
“ARE WE TOO FAST?” Tayno slowed with Tarerea Vyna, eyes awhirl with worry. “Uncle! We’re too fast.”
It was all too fast. All too strange and he didn’t like any of it. Didn’t like the empty concourse, had never, truth be told, liked this part, where lights pretended to be stars and you had to watch your feet or step on what had been tossed aside. A considerable amount of tossing had taken place. Beings must have panicked—which could happen in the dark, which this was—before running for the interior of bars.
Though the music hadn’t stopped and those he could see through the doors appeared to be dancing. There was no understanding aliens.
Huido looked back. “Do your best, Fem.”
“I’m all right.” She steadied herself with the claw Tayno offered and kept walking. “Is it much further?”
“One more ramp.”
Did she nod? It was too dark to be sure. “It’s not far,” Tayno encouraged, though unsure of that as well.
Tarerea tired. He should carry her, but to do it gently would take both of his great claws. Claws he must keep ready.
It hadn’t left, that restless mean feeling. If anything, this hurrying through the dark?
Made it grow.
They were heading to a starship, that much he knew. To Captain Morgan’s ship, recently docked with the station, which was reassuring.
In secret, which wasn’t. A courteous notification via comlink might have spared them this running around—and prevented surprises, always a plus—but Huido’d dismissed his reasonable suggestion, claiming “they couldn’t be trusted.”
Leaving Tayno to worry if “they” referred to the com system or to some mysterious enemy, this “threat” that wasn’t his uncle at all. He glumly suspected the other Carasian enjoyed filling his head with such quandaries.
Plexis’ underbelly was a thoroughly unpleasant place; Tayno’d been grateful to avoid a return since arriving on the station, it unseemly for the great Huido Maarmatoo’kk to pick up his own shipments.
Plus, Carasians didn’t fit very well down here. They had to go single file, Tarerea between them, and Tayno grew dizzy trying to spot all the wires and pipes before snagging on them, a process complicated by the need to keep some eyes on the floor, too. There were inexplicable bars of metal crossing their path every few steps. Tripping hazards! He should file a complaint.
Which Huido Maarmatoo’kk wouldn’t do, not the Huido who moved confidently through this dreadful place without so much as catching one of his dangling weapons on a rivet; which was just as well, Tayno decided.
At least there weren’t vermin in sight.
He’d his own burden. Huido had unclipped a bag, producing a box for Tayno to carry in one of his upper handling claws. The Carasian regarded it woefully. Each time he almost tripped, he couldn’t help but squeeze it.
He’d almost tripped several times. The ends of the box remained intact, but the middle had become a splintered mass held together by some inner lining. The lumpy contents hadn’t come out—yet—surely that was what mattered.
He hoped they weren’t explosives. Or refills for the weapons his uncle carried. Or explosive refills, which was, Tayno sighed to himself, entirely likely, but all would be fine so long as—
Tarerea Vyna stumbled.
—he didn’t have to stop quickly.
Disaster, as usual, happened in precise order. Tarerea grabbed for a wire to save herself, the wire snapped producing sparks. Tayno, meanwhile, busy getting his feet to stop without tripping and falling on the Vyna, flinched from the sparks, his claws flying up.
The box sailed through the air to smash on Huido’s back. White lumps careened from walls, shell, and floor, most shattering to dust on impact.
Without blowing holes in the station. Relieved on that score, Tayno focused on his own predicament, having punched his lower left clawtip into a pipe while wrapping the upper right into wire. Maybe if he moved the left first—but then what might spray out?
Something struck him in the top head plate like a hammer.
It had been a hammer, Tayno realized, now flat on his back. The position afforded an excellent view of the cluttered ceiling and the spray of foul-smelling liquid arching overhead. There were, thankfully, no more sparks.
“Tayno!” Small hands patted him. “Are you all right? Why did you hit him?” Fiercely. “I should get rid of you—”
“No! Please. My esteemed uncle helped me,” Tayno explained hurriedly. There being no graceful way back to his feet, he banged and clattered against both walls, Tarerea wisely giving him space. “See? I’m fine.”
“A matter of— What are you doing, Fem Vyna?”
She tried to kneel, Tayno saw, for Tarerea a difficult and awkward procedure. He put a claw in reach and she used it, but didn’t look up or thank him; her attention was for the floor. When she reached it, she plunged her hands into the growing puddle of nasty muck, searching with desperate haste.
“Tarerea?”
“Help me, Tayno. The Glorious Dead. What I need. There’s one here!”
Huido gave a deep bell-like tone. Tayno looked at him, startled. Grief, that sound. “Uncle?”
“It’s too late,” Huido said heavily. “Come.”
No. It couldn’t be. “We can help, Uncle.” Tayno crouched and began to collect whatever bits of the crystal he could see.
“Not those,” she told him. “I must find the whole one.”
Huido crouched, filling the corridor behind her. His once-shiny carapace was streaked with white powder, what wasn’t slimy with whatever continued to rain from the pipe, but he moved with care, using a handling claw to touch Tarerea’s shoulder. “You misunderstand me,” with terrible kindness. “It’s time for you go home, Tarerea Vyna. To listen to the voices calling you. You don’t belong here.”
She stared up, her lips parting. “You know—” More breath than words.
What Tayno knew? This was his fault. Everything was. As usual. He searched frantically, freezing when something he touched rolled away. He stretched. There.
He picked it up more carefully than he’d ever picked up anything in his life. “I found it.”
Tarerea snatched it from him, her hands no cleaner than the lump of rock. “You can’t stop me,” she said, low and hungry.
“No need.” Huido tucked his claws against his body. “You know it’s true. I sense it in your grist.”
His friend’s grist was fine, Tayno thought. The finest. “Uncle—”
“She doesn’t belong here, Nephew. None of them can stay.”
He rose, raised his claws. Mean didn’t begin to describe this feeling. This was rage—
“It’s all right, Tayno.” Tarerea’s voice had changed, softened. He stared down at her, shocked to see a weary smile. She held out the crystal. “Take it. Crush it.”
He crouch
ed, uncaring how any many eyestalks retreated. “I don’t understand.” They couldn’t make him. “You said you’d die without one. You mustn’t die.” It was very simple. “You need this.”
“I’ve been this,” a nod to the crystal, “and reborn, too many times not to be tired of it.” Her smile grew tender. “All I want is to see my people free of the Dark. To join them. You are my friend, Tayno Boormataa’kk. Heart-kin. Do this for me.”
He took the cold and priceless thing she didn’t want and closed his claw with all the power of his grief.
The dust sparkled as it fell.
“Can this starship take us to the Vyna?”
Tayno, his fate to wallow in misery for the remainder of his life, tried not to hear Tarerea Vyna’s questions or Huido’s answers. To be sure they knew he wasn’t listening or interested, he walked as far behind the pair as possible without risking being left behind and lost.
He didn’t notice his preoccupation made him less clumsy, rather than more, nor the number of eyestalks his uncle bent his way.
“My blood brother will know.” With confidence. “Ah. We’re almost there.”
The “ah” signaled their arrival where three corridors met with a frenzied interchange of overhead plumbing. While he no longer cared for the future, personal safety, or, Tayno thought in a moment of wild rebellion, the budget, he quickened his pace to be sure they stayed together.
“My, my. There’s two of you.”
Having already quickened his pace to a near gallop, Tayno couldn’t easily slow despite his shock when the Brill spoke. He surged forward, knocking over someone the size of Tarerea, who wasn’t, thankfully, her at all.
But was— “Mathis Dewley?” He was too surprised to notice he’d remembered the name and used it for the correct Human-esque being.
The Assembler, having squeaked, climbed back to his feet. “Why are you two?”
“Hush.”
Tayno went rigid, sending an eye to look over his shoulder. The giant female Brill from the Infant Emporium stood there, with the Galactic Mysterioso.
While Huido faced the other Brill. Smaller, yes, no bulkier than a large Human, but the totally illegal weapon aimed his way did, in this instance, count for more than size.
Tarerea reached her hand back, for him. Her other slipped toward Huido. Suddenly, she stopped moving.
“That’s right. No touching,” the female said, pushing Tayno aside. “Your Clan tricks won’t work. Gryba will make sure of that, my pretty thing.”
The Omacron’s grist was a fetid horror; the weird little hum it made hurt his elbows, and Tayno shouted over it, “Leave her alone!”
“Quite the protector, aren’t you? You’re the one who brought us here,” the Brill informed him, and pointed to his claw. “You let me put a tracker on you, fool.”
The claw she’d pressed—Tayno’s eyestalks tangled trying to see what she’d done.
“Stop!” Huido looked meaner than Tayno had dreamed—in his worst nightmares—a Carasian male could look. Meaner, if regrettably not so large as two Brill. “Don’t you—”
“She comes with us, and you can’t do a thing about it,” the Brill said in a bored tone. “Can we be done here?”
“But this is such a special moment.” The female stroked the bulge at Tarerea’s abdomen, the helpless Vyna unable to do more than look down. “I’ve always wanted one of their get. So close to Human but not. Too well protected—until now.”
Meaning him. The tracker. This was his fault, too. “The baby’s dead,” Tayno blurted. “That’s why we’re leaving the station. To—for the funeral. To—” what had happened to Lones great-grandfather? “—bury it in home soil. Go away!”
The female Brill frowned. “You’re lying.”
“Why would we?” Huido’s rumble was menace itself. “Leave while you still can.”
“You’re no threat, Carasian. You’re already dead,” the male announced, his tone bored. “Both of you. Your wives. You just haven’t noticed yet.”
“About them.”
All eyes, except those Huido left on the Brill, shot to the Assembler.
“They didn’t go to the pool,” Dewley pointed out. “The wives.”
“They’ll still die,” the big female said with horrifying confidence. “Gryba’s concoction will have spread.”
Huido grew, but Tayno wasn’t sure if he felt mean or scared. Could you feel both?
“About that.” The Assembler’s foot turned sideways as though planning to escape. “Plexis put up forcefields. Biohazard forcefields. Means no spreading.”
The Omacron spoke, over that hum. “A move I predicted. Concentration will enhance the second stage. The Humans will all die.”
With a roar, Huido launched himself at the male, heedless of the weapon—
Tayno didn’t wait to see what would happen. He threw himself past the female Brill, claws out and snapping, going for the true evil here.
The Omacron’s skin flared as red as its cloak as it spun away, nipping into the side corridor and, impossibly, running up the wall to disappear in the plumbing. Thwarted, Tayno rocked himself around.
The Brill were gone, as was the Assembler. Huido lay unmoving against the walk, looking like a heap of discarded servo parts. Tarerea, again able to move, went to him, then looked up, her eyes going unusually large. “Tayno!”
A flood of red-eyed vermin poured down the corridor.
“I can take us away! Where, Tayno?”
For once, Tayno found an important decision easy to make. With no idea how to find Morgan or his ship, they’d one choice offering protection—and a vital duty to perform. “The security office!”
Deputy Inspector Jynet should consider information on the Brill and their threat against Humans as good as an appointment—so long as their arrival didn’t break furniture or shock her into shooting at them. Oh, dear.
As for his grist? At least he wouldn’t be the only male afflicted—
With Tarerea’s touch, the corridor vanished . . .
Plexis
Apart, the bits of Mathis Dewley could move faster than the whole, something the right foot kept trying to prove, causing the rest to lurch and complain, subvocally, of course.
The rest agreed the foot was stupid. Being apart wasn’t an option. Plexis was empty, this concourse the most exposed place Dewley’d ever been forced to occupy, whole or apart. He was disturbed those with him appeared unconcerned. Casual, though they walked with firm, long strides. Hard to keep up with strides, one-minds being larger and inconsiderate as well as, he was beginning to fear, less than reliable group members. The term “stuck with” possessed significant additional meaning to Assemblers, including “mutually assured destruction.”
That nonsense with the Carasians, wasting time for Choiola’s “hobby” when Plexis could be onto everything and, dire thought, everyone?
It could, Dewley decided, be time to expand his options. His parts enthusiastically expanded theirs, making the whole stagger.
A Brill hand gripped a shoulder, hard. “I wouldn’t,” Choiola advised sweetly and the parts, terrified in equal measure, firmed their connection. “We’re on record.” She swept an arm in salute to a pole topped with a vid banner directing customers to the nearest Clear-Coat Shower installation, a pair of strangely immaculate Festors singing Sweat Got You Bored? Let’s fill those pores!
Being seen was bad, Dewley knew, hunching as they passed the pole. Why did the Brill seem eager for it? There was something he was missing.
“Cheer up, Split.” The one named Manouya beat his chest with a fist, surely painful. “It’ll be over soon. You’ll be famous.”
Famous?
The Assembler fragmented. Bits scampered for the nearest pots of greenery, diving inside. Those of narrow shape burrowed with their cilia till they hit bottom.
Th
e head shoved itself between sharp nasty branches as the best it could do. It heard the Brill laugh, but “famous” wasn’t good. Being in the pot was better.
Rustle.
Unless the pot was already occupied.
Chapter 31
LEVEL 5 WAS ANOTHER shopping level, and something more: home for the majority of beings who worked on Plexis. The signs weren’t subtle. Unlike the deliberate slow-the-shopper maze of pots and growing things sprinkled throughout the other levels of Plexis, Level 5 featured—if you knew where to look—low-walled gardens complete with tidy plots of vegetables. The ceiling was the usual height, but fruit hung down the walls, where there weren’t rental units or balconies, and had the occupants not been locked inside, and customers not been trapped in stores, the entire concourse would have bustled with the sounds of families.
And escort services, the appeal of species-appropriate nesting behavior not lost on professionals.
This odd distinction from other levels arose from the then-shocking realization staff needed homes. Plexis, needing staff and plenty of them, grudgingly allocated space. Rental space, of course, taxed and costly, with suites reserved for paying customers, encouraging a boom in hotels and inspiring business owners to offer rooms to entice employees, rooms ranging from closets to shelf space, but, as the saying went, “thespaceyoushareonPlexis” at least got you paid.
Such a concentration of staff, a proportion of whom in desperate need of sleep at any and all hours of the station’s rotation, led to Level 5 being the only concourse free of night-zones and associated entertainments. Making it less appealing to the usual spacer and trader riffraff.
And, in Morgan’s opinion, the least likely place to host a gathering such as theirs, yet here they were.
To the right of the ramps, twenty-three Carasian females formed a wall of brooding, glistening black; they’d spread out on the way down and hadn’t, for reasons making sense to them, reformed their aggressive phalanx. Plexis security stood a rather sheepish guard over the left side, half in biohazard suits and that many again in their gray uniforms under battle armor. The pair towing grav carts loaded with autograpples and string-steel nets had taken one look at the female version of a Carasian and pushed those tactfully out of sight.
To Guard Against the Dark Page 32