by S. L. Viehl
Aliens. My mouth hitched. No wonder they make Terrans so nervous. “Doesn’t work that way with
my kind, pal.”
“Pity.” Amusement glittered in his eyes. “Major Thgill, Allied League Border Patrol, Engineering
Division.”
“Jory Rask, homeless deportee.” I waited as he ordered the carafe from the drone, then asked, “Kind of
far from Pmoc Quadrant, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been on leave to see my parents. They’ve just retired to Europa Station.” He nodded toward the
soldiers huddled at the bar. “I’m sorry about that. My men usually know better, at least when they’re
sober. I’ll see it they don’t harass you in the future.”
“I’m not worried.” I took a server from the drone, then watched as it served him his. “They really think I’d
spit in the drinks?”
“Terrans tend to ejaculate a lot of saliva around nonhumans.” Thgill gave me a wolfish grin, and added
deliberately, “Present company excepted, I hope.”
Terrans loved to spit on aliens, as I’d discovered leaving the courthouse. And now the aliens were ready
to kick my ass, thinking I’d do it to them. Yep, jaunting to Joren was going to be a real treat.
Thgill misinterpreted my silence. “I’m just kidding, Jory; don’t let it bother you. Not everyone hates
humans at first sight.”
“How many have you hung out with?”
He made a face. “Well, okay, your kind are… fairly disagreeable. Maybe you could change that, you
know, provide a more positive example.”
I pulled off my shades, then my gloves. “I’m not exactly a role model.”
Thgill whistled. “Very nice.” He peeked over at the front of my tunic. “Hiding any fur under that,
runback?”
“No, sorry.”
He shrugged. “Can’t blame a male for asking. So tell me, what was it like, playing N.A. for World
Game?”
Thgill kept me company over the next couple of days. He was amusing, harmless, and played a decent
game of whump-ball. He also talked a lot about other species and quadrants, and how they figured into
the Hsktskt conflict.
“See, if we could recruit a few battalions of Tingalean warriors, we’d have it made.” He turned from our
table in the galley and nodded toward the pair who remained aloof from the rest of the passengers.
“They’re fast, fanged, and even their blood is pure poison. The lizards wouldn’t have a chance.”
I took a bite of my synpro sandwich and studied the two snake people, feeling very glad I hadn’t gotten
nasty before. “Why don’t you sign them up?” I asked after I was done chewing.
“They’re pacifists.” He made a rude noise to illustrate his opinion of that. “Don’t believe in open
aggression, especially against other reptilian species. Just like the Jorenians.”
I drained my coffee. “How much do you know about the Jorenians?”
“They were some of best pilots and navigators we had, until they broke with the League. Want more of
that brew?” At my nod, he got up and refilled our servers. “Damned pity we lost them, too,” he said when
he sat back down. “Get the Jorenians riled, and those big blue bastards make the Tingaleans look like a
bunch of garden pests.” He eyed my coffee. “How can you drink that stuff black?”
“Because if it were green, it would make me throw up. So they’re siding with the Hsktskt?” If they were,
I’d just skip my visit to Mom’s homeworld.
“They don’t side with anyone that I know of. Completely neutral—militantly neutral, in fact. They’ve
declared their home system off-limits—not that any League ship would go within a hundred light-years of
them after what happened with the fleet in Varallan.” He thought for a moment. “I heard they joined up
with the Aksellans to free some Hsktskt slaves on a depot world, but it sounded like a one-shot deal.”
He gave me an uneasy look. “You know, Jory, they say a Terran made them break treaty with the
League.”
“Yeah, the captain told me about that squabble over that escaped clone. So?”
“They don’t trust Terrans. You look Terran.”
“Should make my visit interesting.” My knee felt like it was swelling, and I got up slowly, handing my tray
to the nearest server drone. “I think I’ll hit the platform early. Night, ‘Gill.”
Ever the gentleman, Thgill insisted on walking me to my quarters. “You’re limping again,” he said along
the way.
My whole leg had been aching all day, but now it pounded. “Old game injury.”
He tried to take my arm. “Have you seen the ship’s doc?”
“I’m not a cripple.” I tugged away. “Forget about it.”
Thgill wouldn’t be sidelined. “Listen, if you won’t report to medical, at least let me take a look at it. I’ve
had some first-aid training.”
We reached my door panel. “You just want to see the inside of my cabin,” I said, and keyed the door to
open.
“Am I so obvious?” He caught my arm as I stumbled over the threshold. “Suns, Jory, you’re in pain.
Come on, you know I’m not going to jump on you. Not without an invitation, anyway.”
I sighed. “All right, get in here.”
I stripped off behind a privacy screen and shrugged into a robe, then retrieved the tool kit I’d bought off a
crewman. Amazing what people will trade for a couple of signed pennants.
Thgill came over to watch me sit down and unwrap my thermals. “Holy High Bitch.”
I raised my brows. “Now that’s one I haven’t been called before.”
“Not you, sweetheart, one of my deities.” He knelt in front of me, reaching to touch, then pulling his hand
back. “Why did they do this to you?”
“To keep my leg attached, mostly.” I pulled out a calibrator and went to work adjusting the brackets. The
surrounding tissue was badly inflamed—again—so I’d have to start another round of antibiotics. “Grab
some ice out of the prep unit for me, will you, ‘Gill?”
My knee was ugly—a tangle of scarred flesh and tech—but at least it still functioned. The original had
gotten pulverized five years ago, during my rookie season. The underground fixed me up with a
biomechanical replacement, but shockball wasn’t a gentle sport, and I’d gone downside for ten more
retrofits since then. After the last one, the underground’s doc had lowered the boom: one more bone
shave and I’d lose my leg from the knee down.
“The Terrans are finally starting to catch up with you, Jory. Same ones you ran circles around last
season,” he’d said when I’d argued with him. “Go out with a little dignity, will you?”
That had been a month ago, when I’d started my retirement plans to take Mom and move up into the
mountains, where no one would ever find us. Now I had dignity. No mother, no money, no place to live,
no prospects outside of keeping a promise, and maybe reduced to begging help from six complete
strangers who owed me nothing, but all kinds of dignity.
“Here.” Thgill had fashioned a pack out of the ice and a piece of cloth, and applied it to my leg. “How
long have you had this prosthesis?”
“Eight years.” I took out the syrinpress and dialed up what I needed for the infection.
He lifted the pack for a moment to examine it again. “I’ve never seen components like these used on a
living being before. Kind of scary to think someone would.”
“Recycled cybertech. Some of my frie
nds in the underground steal it from service drones. I take
amolynicillin for the occasional infections,” I added as I pressed the port against my neck and infused
myself. The sting barely registered. “Don’t look at me like that. I couldn’t exactly check into a hospital.”
“I’m just trying to imagine someone like you in hiding.”
I told him a little about it, although I skipped over the years we’d spent underground. I liked ‘Gill, but he
belonged to the League, which had gotten into the war with the Hsktskt because some Terran had
spoken out against the slave trade. Instead I told him about the old-fashioned future-agers commune
Mom and I had taken sanctuary with.
“They liked living off nature, burning herbs, and remembering past lives. We didn’t belong to the cult, but
since farm equipment and hypnotherapists are expensive, I gave them money, and they tolerated us.” I
bent my leg, winced, and straightened it again. “Bribing them bought us a decent amount of living space,
supplies delivery, and even a little protection for Mom when I was on the road.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe the junta never caught on to you.”
“Most shockjocs have their own private cutter, so I didn’t have to use the team doc. People saw what I
wanted them to see.” I tapped my shades. “I had to get all my meds and tech replacements through the
underground, and sub my blood and urine samples whenever there was a drug sweep—but otherwise,
everyone left me alone.”
“So how did they catch you?”
“Mom got sick, and died before I could get home. Someone at the commune decided the tip-off comp
was too good to pass up and called in the PRC.”
“What did she die of?”
“Chicken pox.”
I remembered how I’d rushed home, only to find Mom’s body on the floor of her bedroom. The brief,
insane hope it was some kind of tasteless future-ager practical joke. Turning her over, seeing the horror
that had been her face. Realizing my mother had died of a childhood disease that could have been cured
with a single dose of over-the-counter inoculant. I’d carried her to the bed, laid her out.
Then I’d kicked a hole in the wall, which was what had screwed up my knee.
“She must have contracted it from one of the kids in the commune,” I told him. “She’d let them in the
house sometimes when she was lonely. Fed them tea and morning bread. I told her not to, but she never
listened to me.”
“At least she didn’t suffer.”
“I ran the house security vids.” I didn’t look at him, but my voice went flat. “She spent the last day
convulsing from the fever and screaming my name.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah.” I stared at my knee. “Me, too.”
Thgill took out a scanner and made a couple of passes over my leg. “Jory, I design and build combat
drones for the League. I don’t know how, but you’ve already developed a tolerance to tech that’s
supposed to be incompatible with living flesh.”
“Thanks, that makes me feel better.”
He patted the side of my leg. “No, what I’m trying to say is, if you’re willing to let me tinker on you, I
think I can do better than this.”
I was not going to hope. “How much better?”
“With the gear I’ve got with me?” He sat back and thought. “I don’t have the interior femoral and tibial
components—you need an ortho surgeon to put those in, anyway—but I can replace these obsolete
supports, and recalibrate the ligament tension, range, and movement tolerances. Take a couple of hours
in medical, tops.”
What mobility I had was pretty precious to me. “Will I be able to run?”
“Your tech won’t stand up to any more serious impact injuries, but as long as you don’t play contact
sports again”—he flashed his pointed teeth—“you’ll run like the holy bitching wind.”
I lifted the ice pack and hobbled over to the viewport. All around the ship, cold, black space stretched
out for millions of star-pocked light-years. Terra was long gone. Just like shockball. And Mom.
All I have left is Joren. “When can you do it?”
CHAPTER THREE
“The path stretches beyond the House, beyond the world, beyond the very stars.”
—Tarek Varena, ClanJoren
A few weeks later, I saw Thgill off at Kevarzangia Two, where the League had set up their quadrant
command post. He wouldn’t take any comp for the retrofit, but he made me swear to get in touch if the
new tech failed.
“This is my personal relay code.” He pressed a chip into my hand. “Memorize it, and you can reach me
anywhere I am if you need help.” He frowned down at my leg. “I still think you should go on-planet with
me. K-2 has a decent FreeClinic; one of the docs there can finish what I started.”
“No, I’ll get it done on Joren. Thanks, ‘Gill.” I shook his hand, then, on impulse, gave him a one-armed
hug. “Watch your back, okay?”
“Always.” He gave my chin a friendly nip with his teeth. “Take care of my tech, sweetheart.”
Three systems later, we still hadn’t encountered any Jorenian ships. Naturally, my credits and the
captain’s generosity began to run out, and I was informed I’d better decide where I was getting off before
the ship looped back for Terra.
I took a chance and got off at a Rilken outpost, and turned the last of my valuables into credits. I didn’t
have to look far for transport, thanks to a Rilken steward who saw me pawning my belongings. After a
hard bargain with the nosy little demon, which bought me passage on one of the system trade ships, the
Chraeser, which jaunted a munitions supply route to the front, and routinely encountered Jorenian ships
on the way.
“Can’t say they’ll let you board if we do,” the ship’s steward told me. “Jorenians aren’t real fond of
Terrans.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” I hitched my pack onto my shoulder and walked up the docking ramp. “Lucky
me.”
Life on board a gun runner proved a lot different. For one thing, its amenities made the Terran trader
look like a pleasure cruiser. Basically what the Chraeser offered its passengers were cramped quarters,
lukewarm meals, and zero recreation.
Because of their diminutive size, the Rilkens employed bigger life-forms to run their trade vessels. The
crew were a hodgepodge of different alien species, and seemed interested only in staying on schedule,
keeping costs to a minimum, and dodging battle space. If they said anything to me and the other
passengers, it was usually a variation of “Get out of the way.”
It did have one plus over the trader—a training deck. Since most of the other passengers were League
soldiers or officials returning to the front to resume duties, the Rilkens had provided ample workout
space and gym equipment on one of the cargo levels.
I started working out every day to keep my mind occupied and get my refitted knee in shape. Once we’d
convinced the ship’s doc to let us use the medical facility, ‘Gill had done exactly as he’d promised. Within
a few days of the retro, I had more range of motion and flexibility than ever before. The only problem left
was the interior tech, which he had inspected and declared absolute junk.
“You get to a colonial hospital and have them replaced as soon as possible, Jory.” He showed me the
scans of the
stress damage he’d found during his tinkering. “If you don’t, one more serious injury and
you’re going to lose half a leg.”
Which was exactly what the underground doc had told me—so much for the second opinion. I flexed my
leg and ignored the clenching fear in my midsection. “They’ll fix me up on Joren.”
He gave me a suspicious look, then sighed. “If they don’t, signal me.”
That morning I pushed the future surgery out of my head and concentrated on getting back into shape. I
figured if I couldn’t make a place for myself on Joren, I’d get a slot hauling cargo on one of the trade
jaunts. When I paused to up the resistance on the extension machine, a black blur passed by me, headed
for the private rooms.
Huh. The Shadow’s early today.
I’d seen the thing the first time about a week out from the Rilken docks. Tall, vaguely humanoid, and
completely silent, it acted as if it didn’t want to draw much attention to itself. The problem was, everyone
noticed it—mainly because of the strange black garment it wore that covered it from head to footgear.