Signaling that they weren’t at the diner on official business, Thelma wore a red tube skirt and white lace blouse with matching crimson lipstick, fending off Max when he would have kissed her. “No matter what the manufacturers claim, there is no such thing as smudge-proof lipstick.” She glanced up at his teasing grin. Then down at his body. Her up and down look was one of approval. “When we return, I’m going to help you out of your shirt.”
For once, he wasn’t in a utility suit, but wore a pale blue shirt the color of his eyes and dark blue jeans with stomper boots. The shirt was tight enough to show off his sexy muscles.
“Lon designed the shirt,” Max said.
“I owe you, my friend,” she told the omnipresent AI before linking her arm in Max’s and departing the Lonesome.
“Have fun, children.”
She laughed. She did feel a bit like a teenager out on a date. There was a thrill in dressing up for Max and accepting his appreciation. She leaned into him, hugging his arm.
He smiled at her. “You are gorgeous.” He wasn’t a man who gave easy compliments, which meant he was as proud to have her on his arm as she was to be with him. That was how it ought to be: each of them reveling in delighting the other. He walked slower than usual, matching his free stride to her high heels and tight skirt.
Back on the Lazy Days starliner she’d designed her wardrobe to make an impression as a fashionable, professional woman establishing herself as an information broker on the frontier. But now, enjoying the clothes just for themselves and for the gleam they brought to Max’s eyes, Thelma acknowledged that perhaps the clothes had never been solely about re-inventing her professional image. Seven years of studying on a tight budget and enduring her outsider status had led her to suppress her natural frivolity. She’d only ever bought practical clothes, and then, she’d begrudged the money. Perhaps she’d always been a butterfly, she simply hadn’t found a safe place to shed her chrysalis? Now, with Max, she had. She could be both a tough, independent woman and proudly feminine.
Inside the diner, there was a wolf whistle at the sight of her and Max. Their heads snapped in its direction, and they saw Wild Blaster Bill.
He wore a wait staff’s black and yellow apron over a tidy gray shirt and black trousers. His shoes were brightly polished. The wolf whistle, though, proved that he wasn’t totally redeemed. The way he abandoned his customers for Thelma and Max added further proof.
A plaintive wail for “extra cheese on the burger” followed him.
However, despite how fast the old guy moved, Darlene beat him to Thelma and Max. “Well, now, and didn’t I guess it?” Her gaze locked on their clasped hands before she beamed at Thelma then Max. Taking her life in her hands, and stretching up on tiptoe with her beehive hairdo quivering, she pinched his cheek. “Aren’t the two of you the cutest sight?”
A customer to their left snorted.
Wild Blaster Bill absently smacked the jealous guy with his datapad.
“This is our first official date,” Thelma confided to Darlene.
Darlene clapped her hands. It wasn’t just in delight. The three claps seemed to be a signal. The rocket jive music playing with its jaunty beat and jazzy beeps changed to a love ballad. The lights didn’t dim, but their clear white quality muted to a hint of rose-pink haze. “I would normally invite you to chat with me in my booth, but for your first date…” She led them to a booth in the corner.
Thelma slid in, and Max slid in after her.
“So cute.”
Max ducked away from a second pinch from Darlene who was clearly enjoying teasing him as much as she was happy for the two of them. She took their orders for burgers, no onions, and sodas before leaving them—not in peace—but to be stared at by the thirty or so customers in the room. It was at the tail end of the lunch hour so the diner was relatively empty.
“I prefer our dates on the garden deck,” he muttered.
Thelma smiled. “There are distinct advantages to that location.”
A reminiscent gleam entered his eyes. “Yeah.”
The moment was broken by the arrival of their sodas, delivered by Wild Blaster Bill.
“How are you?” Thelma asked.
The old man planted his feet and folded his arms, prepared to answer her at length. However, a disturbance by the entrance to the diner had them all spinning to face it.
Or rather, them.
Two Kampia stood just inside the door. One held a small object in a front pincer. Both leaned back on their hinder legs so that their heads were level with a standing human’s; specifically, with the top of Darlene’s beehive hairdo as she happened to be the nearest human to them.
“Greetings, Unstable People,” the smaller of the two blue and gray striped Kampia said. He illustrated the point of his greeting by lifting his legs exaggeratedly and rocking from side to side. To the multi-legged Kampia, humanoids’ bipedal method of locomotion probably did seem ridiculously unstable.
Max slid out of the booth. “I’ve got my blade. I left my blaster on the Lonesome because this was a date.”
Thelma was on his heels as they wove through the tables toward the two Kampia. “I have my high heels.”
“Lethal,” he agreed.
The talkative Kampia brandished the object it held.
Disbelievingly, Thelma identified it. She grabbed Max’s belt and leaned forward to whisper. “It’s a fake raphus geode.”
Sure enough, the Kampia used a second pincer to hold up a Deadstar Diner coupon.
It seemed that in using Thelma’s idea to turn the legend of the Eldorado Cache into an advertising gimmick, Darlene had fooled the Kampia. How would they take being conned, even if the con hadn’t been directed at them?
“Good joke. Much fur shaking…no, laughter. Yes. Laugh much. Now, want co-ff-ee. Please.” It flapped the coupon with “Coffee” stamped in large letters in Darlene’s face.
“Coffee? Of course,” the diner’s owner managed to respond, but she swayed on her feet.
Max hurriedly propped her up. “I have fresh coffee on my ship,” he said to the Kampia. “My name is Sheriff Smith. Why don’t you and your companion join me?”
The silent and larger Kampia suddenly nudged the one eyeing Max via its two agile eyestalks. Both spun with inconceivable swiftness for creatures so large—over nine feet in length—and faced the entrance.
Harry marched in, presenting himself in totally emotionless mech mode, and obviously lethal.
Evidently, Lon had hacked the diner’s surveillance system to monitor Thelma and Max’s date, and with the Kampia’s unexpected appearance, had called in back-up.
Thelma winced. Lon’s decision could lead to a sudden and unwanted escalation of tension depending on whether the Kampia perceived a human-designed mech as a threat.
“Revered One.” The two Kampia abased themselves in front of Harry.
Everyone in the diner stared at the pair of legendary aliens bowing to a mech.
Realization of what they were really worshiping struck Thelma with stunning force. “Oh—”
Max was already moving. “The Revered One invites you to my spaceship for coffee. Please, join us.”
“We are not worthy,” the talkative Kampia said. Its companion kicked him with two feet. “Ow! We’d be honored.”
“Please, follow the Revered One.” Max hurried the two Kampia out as Harry turned and marched back to the Lonesome.
Lon had the hatch open and waiting for them.
“Destroy the diner’s surveillance record,” Max ordered.
“Already done,” Lon said. “And I’ve hacked customers’ individual comms units and deleted the last twenty minutes of their activity.” What had happened at the diner could now only be reported by personal recounting, and people’s recollections were notoriously unreliable. It was as much as they could do right now to contain the situation.
“Good. Get us out of here fast.”
Harry kept marching toward the living area, and the Kampia follo
wed him.
Thelma kicked off her shoes in the entrance, leaving them for a robot to retrieve, and entered the lounge sure-footed, if barefoot, to try and cope with the stunning turn of events.
She’d been right. The Kampia were searching for something in the Saloon Sector: raphus geodes. And they’d found one in Harry, powering his AI processing unit. How long before they also perceived Lon? What would they do when they did?
Chapter 17
Lon had rearranged the lounge before everyone reached it. The sofa and recliners were pushed against the wall, leaving a large space in the middle, big enough to accommodate the two Kampia, Max and Thelma, and Harry.
The AI strode to the far side of the lounge and stopped, swiveling to face everyone.
The two Kampia immediately halted just inside the lounge and once more abased themselves. Max and Thelma edged around them, and the smaller of their two visitors hissed at them. Its colleague kicked it, again.
“I am not bowing to you, Harry,” Max said, recognizing the dynamic at play with the Kampia, but keeping his tone light.
“Never asked you to, son.”
“Son? Child?” the talkative Kampia squeaked.
“I feel a familial affection for the two humans,” Harry said carefully.
Both Kampia swayed. The one who’d been silent so far gave a long, low moan, but what that indicated was unclear.
Harry demanded their names.
“I am Tangles-in-Dreams,” the talkative Kampia responded hurriedly. “My friend is Chases-Auroras.”
“Why have you come through the wormhole to visit us?”
“It is forbidden, yes? We are sorry.” Tangles-in-Dreams’ apology was punctuated by a second moan from Chases-Auroras.
Harry glanced at Max, who nodded fractionally. The Kampia were responding to an authority they perceived in the AI. It was best that he continue the questioning.
“It is not forbidden by me,” Harry said. “Have you broken the laws of your own people?”
Tangles-in-Dreams lost control of its legs. All of them splayed and its belly kissed the deck. Its companion reacted differently. Chases-Auroras curled into a ball.
“I’d say that’s a yes,” Max muttered.
“Forgive, forgive?” Tangles-in-Dreams yelped. “We come in peace. We mean no harm. We are searchers. We look for eggs to hatch more of your kind, Most Revered One.”
Harry’s recliner was conveniently behind Thelma when her knees wobbled. She dropped back onto it. He gave her a wry look. “Seems you were right, little missy.”
“Little missy? Really?” She was punch-drunk. “We have Kampia surveyors on the Lonesome.”
“Surveyors, yes!” Tangles-in-Dreams lurched to its many feet. “We search for the eggs, the gods’ eggs, but we did not know that your people had found them. That you have Revered Ones among you.” Having regained its feet, Tangles-in-Dreams bowed. “We cannot take the eggs from those who know the gods.”
“Especially since you couldn’t find them,” Max said dryly.
Chases-Auroras uncurled. “Is true. Was tricked. Co-ff-ee.”
“Which is only fair,” Thelma said. “Since you tricked our government.” She wondered momentarily if the Kampia’s grasp of Federal language and social institutions included the concept of representative government.
“No hurt.” Chases-Auroras inched nearer to Harry.
“We wanted your violent people away from the asteroid so that we might find the many eggs your stories spoke of. Three of our friends are meeting with them distant-distant.” Translated, Tangles-in-Dreams was confessing that they’d lured away the Navy so that they could scoop up the legendary Eldorado Cache. They had fallen for Wild Blaster Bill’s wild story and Darlene’s spin on it. “Instead, we find coupon for coffee…and a Revered One. No eggs, so cannot hatch Revered One for clan, but not all honor lost for we have met and survived your Revered One. Is in strange body, but we recognize.”
“What exactly do you recognize?” Harry asked.
Chases-Aurora’s indigo tongue flicked out and retracted. “Energy.”
Tangles-in-Dreams eased back and up, raising its head to an inch beneath Thelma’s seated height. “Kampia live by energy. We don’t hide from it as you do. We swim in space. Eat the radiation. We sense the gods’ eggs even when they are buried. Planets have less energy than our home in space, but we visit them for eggs. Find if we are lucky.”
“What do the gods do for you?” Harry asked. There was an odd note to his voice.
Thelma couldn’t decipher it, and she doubted the Kampia would be able to, either.
“The gods are gone,” Tangles-in-Dreams said simply.
Chases-Auroras folded its legs, lay down at Harry’s feet, and sighed. “The gods left their eggs so that Revered Ones could tell us our stories.”
“What does that mean?” Thelma asked.
For the first time, Lon spoke. He sounded somber. “It means that the Revered Ones are the repositories of Kampia knowledge and history.”
The two Kampia sprang to alert status, their blue fur rippling as muscles twitched beneath their skin. Their eyestalks were rigid and their tongues flicked the air.
“I unshielded my core,” Lon explained. “They are sensing my raphus geode.”
“A second Revered One. We are blessed!” Tangles-in-Dreams exclaimed.
“More blessed if we found eggs,” Chases-Auroras corrected its friend sotto voce.
Max’s grim expression momentary lightened with an amused grin. That was a true surveyor’s attitude.
“Most Revered Ones,” Tangles-in-Dreams continued. “Might one of you return to our home space to speak with our Revered Ones?” It was definitely the brasher of the two Kampia.
Thelma glanced quickly up at the ceiling, but of course, Lon wasn’t there. Or not specifically there. He was throughout the spaceship. If he wanted to accept the Kampia’s invitation, would she and Max need to disembark or might they accompany him? Should they?
So much for Max and the Lonesome keeping a low profile. The thought was sharp with worry rather than ironical. Establishing diplomatic relations with the Kampia was exactly the sort of fame Max had wanted to avoid, for excellent reasons. It would be horrible if he lost the life he loved, out here on the frontier. On the other hand, they couldn’t snub the Kampia. This was the opportunity of a lifetime.
Then again, AI lifetimes were long.
Harry politely declined Tangles-in-Dreams’ invitation. “Neither my revered colleague nor I are in a position to transition into your space and meet with your Revered Ones. However, one of our other colleagues—”
“A Revered One?” Tangles-in-Dreams checked.
“A Revered One,” Harry confirmed. “Might be willing to meet with others of our kind shortly. Is there a way they can use the wormhole? It is currently closed to us.”
Tangles-in-Dreams stamped its feet enthusiastically. “Chases-Auroras will give you the sequence to emit to exit the wormhole.”
Chases-Auroras whistled a complicated melody.
“I’ve recorded it. Thank you,” Lon said.
“It is only for Revered Ones,” Chases-Auroras said.
Max nodded. “Understood.”
Thelma had an idea of her own. She dashed out to the entrance and found her discarded red shoes. She crammed her feet into them and dashed back, detouring to her cabin to scoop up her comms unit along the way.
The Kampia seemed unperturbed by her rushed exit and re-entrance. They were in the presence of two Revered Ones. The strange activities of mere humans meant nothing in comparison.
She walked between the two Kampia, positioning herself in front of Harry. “I’d like to get a selfie with both of you, Tangles-in-Dreams and Chasing-Auroras. Would you mind?”
“A selfie?” Tangles-in-Dreams was confused.
“An image of the three of us together. A memory aid.” She squinted at the screen of the comms unit. “Max, get out of the picture.”
Harry intervened,
rephrasing her request in terms the Kampia wouldn’t refuse. “I will recall the three of you together and transfer the memory to whichever Revered One journeys to your home space so that they can share it with your Revered Ones.”
“Oh! Yes! Yes, yes.” Tangles-in-Dreams shuffled closer to Thelma, who shuffled closer to Chases-Auroras, who very luckily didn’t kick her.
Thelma trusted that Lon and Harry would also take photos, in case the image on her comms unit wasn’t the clearest. “Thank you.” She wriggled backward and joined Max.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
She tapped a finger against her forehead. “Genius at work.” He gave her a wide-eyed look of doubt, which she ignored. Now was not the time for explanations. They had to move fast if they were to get ahead of the game. The Kampia had proven surprisingly easy to manage, if only because of Harry and Lon’s presence. But channeling the curiosity and egos of the Senate Worlds Development Committee, Galactic Justice, the Navy and all of the rumormongers of the Saloon Sector would take her best efforts. “Trust me. I’m an information broker.”
The Kampia departed, having assured Harry that they were in contact with their three friends, and those friends—the decoy party—were leaving their meeting with the Senate Worlds Development Committee to return to Kampia home space.
“We shall not venture through the wormhole again,” Tangles-in-Dreams promised.
Thelma believed it was a promise they’d keep. Their awe in encountering Harry and Lon suggested that respect for the Revered Ones shaped Kampia culture, and that the Kampia in Federation space had been pushing the limits of allowable behavior. They’d scamper home, bringing the news of an AI visiting there sometime soon.
And speaking of soon, she didn’t have any time to lose, not if the crew of the Lonesome were to maintain their chosen private lifestyle. “Lon, can you get me a direct line to Senator Gua?”
“Even for me that’s asking a lot…but, yes.”
“You’re an angel, oh Revered One,” she teased as she ran to the bridge. She spun at the doorway and put a hand on Max’s chest when he’d have followed her in. “You can’t be here for this.”
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