Kati handed him a glass of wine, and set hers on a table.
“Well, Lank, then, you and I are the entertainment for the evening.”
She hauled out her guitar case. Lank immediately fetched his flute, while Mikal and Xoraya made themselves comfortable on a couch. Mikal would join in the singing, Kati knew; he had demonstrated a fine baritone voice during their concerts on the Cruiser. Xoraya could not manage to actually sing, but she could croon musically, and her sounds added a pleasing harmony to the whole.
“Sometimes I miss Mathilde’s ballads,” Kati mused as she tuned the guitar. “She had such a lovely voice. Made me sound like cats fighting, though.”
Lank giggled at that.
“Not true, Kati,” he protested. “You sound just fine, although, granted, you’re not in Mathilde’s class. But none of us are, though I’d say that Mikal comes the closest to sounding professional.
“Have you taken voice lessons, Mikal?”
Mikal nodded.
“Kept my mother and her parents happy by diligently going to lessons for a couple of years before my voice broke. I gather that I had a delightful boy soprano voice at the time. The teacher lost interest in me when I turned adolescent, and ended up with a much lower sound; if memory serves, he made some rude comment about how adult Borhquans all growled, and couldn’t make any decent sounds at all.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your singing voice, Mikal,” Kati protested. “Lank is right; you sound really good.”
“Thanks.” Mikal grinned impishly. “But then, that voice coach whom my grandmother persuaded to teach me, would likely say that we all sound like a bunch of cats fighting. He was very demanding.”
“I’m glad that he’s not here to spoil the fun,” laughed Xoraya, sipping wine. “I’m all for hearing the cat-fight.”
“Oh.” Kati’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got an appropriate song for the occasion, assuming that The Monk can manage to drag the tune and the words out of my memory. You’ll like it Lank; it’s a bit of a sea shanty, but a very gentle one. It’s called ‘The Fiddler’s Green’.”
“Of course, I can pull the song out for you,” the Granda snapped subvocally and went to work while Kati strummed her instrument.
The others waited for the couple of minutes that it took The Monk—he was very good at digging information out of Kati’s memory. Lank fingered his flute, ready to fill in where he could, augmenting Kati’s guitar.
“This will work really well with your voice, Mikal,” Kati said at last, “so listen closely.”
Kati went over the “Fiddler’s Green” song until they all had it pat, and she was right about Mikal’s sound. He made the story about an old salt waiting for his last trip sound poignant, but not sad, just the way Kati wanted it.
“I didn’t know that you knew seafaring songs, Kati,” Lank said after one of the renditions. “Do you have more of them in your memory banks?”
“A few.” Kati smiled. “Although I sang them by an inland lake, mostly, swatting mosquitoes and blackflies. I never did get to the seaside on my home world.”
They did not pursue the topic. Mostly, they contented themselves with the songs that Kati and Lank had performed on Vultaire, as members of a Travelling Entertainment Troupe. But when the wine was all gone, and the evening was getting late, they sang the “new” old song one more time before heading for their beds.
*****
Mikal woke up in the night, his arms wrapped around Kati’s body, the neck-hairs of his Borhquan Wedge standing up stiff. He lay entirely still, inhaling Kati’s scent, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, trying to banish the tension that seemed to be gripping his body.
This was the feeling he had had the morning of the day when Xoraya had been kidnapped off the Star Federation Space Station, while he was supposed to have been ensuring her safety! Only this was much worse, and more vague in an odd way; the premonition was precise as to the person concerned, but not to the time frame. He knew, with aching certainty, that Kati would be taken from him again, but not when, and for how long.
“No,” he groaned aloud, pressing his face against her shoulder, fighting the tears that wanted to fill his eyes.
She was sleeping peacefully, thank goodness, oblivious to his angst. They had had so little time together so far, at least as lovers. He wanted to spend a lifetime with her, working and playing together, raising a family, squabbling—doing everything that couples who loved each other deeply did. She could not be heading for the Fiddler’s Green; he could not bear it if that was what Fate had in store, if that was what the omen of The Fiddler’s Green Inn signified.
Kati awoke, she was not sure why, but became immediately aware of the tension in Mikal.
“Why, what...?” but he did not answer her, merely gathered her to himself, and began to caress her in the places which he knew would excite her the most.
“Aren’t you the lustful, insatiable one tonight,” she murmured as she allowed herself to respond to his need, wondering a little about the urgency she sensed in him.
Still, it was nice to be made love to so passionately, and unexpectedly, in the wee hours of the night. She was not about to question it.
*****
Tieri stopped them in the Lobby, on their way to breakfast. She nailed Mikal with her eyes, serious this time.
“Mikal r’ma Trodden,” she said steadily. “Remember this always: All of you are protected. Every one of you four.”
Mikal drew a breath, the tension of the night seeping slowly away as he returned the receptionist’s look. He nodded at her, fleetingly not sure what sort of a creature he had just exchanged stares with, but understanding that she—it—whatever—was on his side.
“What was that all about?” Kati asked him, once they were outside.
“I just had a feeling,” Mikal replied vaguely.
“One of your premonitions?” Kati followed up immediately.
She remembered from the Drowned Planet that although Mikal was not nearly as psychically talented as she was, he sometimes could foretell events. That was a gift that her own abilities did not seem to include.
“Quite possibly,” he admitted but did not elaborate.
“That was a curious statement, by Tieri,” Xoraya said, looking at Mikal questioningly.
Fortunately Lank saved him.
“Let’s find a place to get some breakfast before we get into any complicated discussions,” he said. “I’m starving. Supper was a long time ago.”
“And you’re still a growing boy—well you’re still putting on muscle, if not height,” Kati laughed. “The kids have to be fed, Mikal.”
“Anastasia’s Home Cooking,” Mikal read from a holo sign above a large, ornate door. “Shall we try it?”
“Sure, why not,” Kati responded. “It’s probably as good a place as any.”
They forgot about Tieri and her cryptic remark while they settled at a table in Anastasia’s establishment, perused the menu with its holographic depictions of the dishes, and got into a discussion about whether the gimmick was useful or not. Kati did not much like it; to her way of thinking the holos of food looked slightly obscene, and probably “were not accurate, anyway”. Lank disagreed, and eagerly picked his dishes by the pictures, punching the number keys beside them enthusiastically. Mikal snorted at them both, and directed Xoraya to foods which he knew that her metabolism could handle before making his choices.
They had finalized their order, and sent it off, when The Monk suddenly alerted Kati:
“Don’t look now, but the three violent brutes from yesterday just came in. They’re looking around; fortunately there are no empty tables around us, but they will glimpse us in a few moments.”
“The three hulks from yesterday just arrived,” Kati warned her table mates in an undertone.
“Have your Monk keep track of them,” Mikal answered, just as quietly. “See where they sit, do they order food, and so forth. The question is, is their presence a coincidence, or
are they spying?”
The Monk could ride Kati’s ESP energies to do his surveillance. Kati had found in the past that this combining of talents with her node could be very useful. Now she nodded to Mikal, even while she sent the Granda off.
“If we head for Makally’s after breakfast, like we had planned, they’ll probably follow us,” Xoraya said. “We’ll have to reformulate our agenda for the morning.”
“Let’s try and do that while we eat,” Mikal said. “And let’s hope that our food arrives soon.”
“They’re trouble all right,” The Monk reported to Kati within moments. “They settled between us and the door; Lank and Xoraya should be able to keep discreet watch on them from where they’re seated. I tried to get their measure psychically—some idea of what they’re out to do, how dangerous they are, and so forth—but all I can read is a confused mess. I’m not sure that they quite understand their new instructions in regards to us, though they do have new ones since yesterday’s failure. It seems that they saw us enter Anastasia’s, but that was more luck than anything else. They hadn’t been following us before that—I almost get the feeling that they don’t know where we came from to be at Anastasia’s door. I’ll stay near to them, see if one of them happens to broadcast something useful.”
Kati passed this information on to her companions, feeling decidedly off-kilter. Something funny was definitely going on, only she was not sure whether the oddness had to do with the brutes or her own group.
“What’s going on?” Lank muttered, echoing Kati’s unease. “I thought we came here to buy a used ship; not to wander about feeling like we’re being stalked by goons and strange events.”
“Just keep a corner of one eye on those three,” Mikal advised him. “Our food is arriving; you’ll feel better with a full stomach.”
A ridiculous-looking servo-robot was wheeling itself to their table. Mikal reached to help it disgorge trays with their orders from its innards; he apparently was familiar with the technology, although it was not in use on Lamania, at least not in the Second City, which was the only place in Lamania with which Kati was familiar.
Mikal saw her staring at it, and grinned, even as he gave it a slap on its mechanical butt which sent it rolling along to another table, where customers were also waiting for their orders.
“They’re actually terribly clumsy things, prone to making mistakes, and need enough room between seating to wheel themselves around,” he answered her unspoken question. “Shelonians could refine the technology, I suppose, but they refuse to. According to them, some things were meant to be done by humans, and serving food is one of them. But some of the Fringe Space Stations disagree, and it’s their right to do so, of course. Mind you, I suspect that Anastasia spends as much credit keeping those things maintained as she saves on wait staff.”
“It’s interesting,” said Lank, starting to wolf down the egg dish that he had ordered (which didn’t look much like its holo, Kati thought). “Ridiculous, but interesting.”
“Maybe I’ll have to pass the word on, back home,” Xoraya said with a laugh. “Some humans love mechanical contraptions so much that they choose to use them even in situations where they don’t make economic sense. Maybe we can create some servo-machines which are better than these ones.”
The Xeonsaurs had bequeathed to the humans—for a price—much in the way of useful inventions. One of these was the design of the space ship engines which had made galaxy-wide travel possible. Very few humans, indeed, understood their workings; it so happened that Lank was one of these, and that was a part of the reason why he was a member of their group. He would be in charge of keeping their ship operational, once they had it in their possession, and were crossing the expanses of deep space.
“They might, if they were well-made, make economic sense under some circumstances,” Mikal conceded with a shrug. “In places where there aren’t enough workers to do everything necessary.”
He was forking his food into his mouth somewhat reluctantly.
“Methinks that Anastasia’s home cooking is done by something robotic, as well,” he muttered. “Something that doesn’t know how to use spices.”
Kati giggled.
“I agree,” she said. “I don’t think that we’ll come here again.”
Lank shrugged.
“It’s food,” he said, “and it fills the empty space in my stomach.”
“I guess we should have asked Tieri to recommend a breakfast place,” said Xoraya. “She did offer to give us any help we needed.”
“Right,” said Kati, her expression brightening. “That gives me an idea. Assuming that we can sneak past the three brutes, why don’t we go back to the Inn, and ask Tieri to recommend a route by which we can sneak to Makally’s Yard, without being followed? I bet she knows a few back alleys that the goons don’t.”
“It’s worth a try,” Mikal agreed. “And a lot less dangerous than many of the ideas you came up with on Makros III.”
“Even if they follow us, I doubt that they’ll come into the Inn,” Xoraya added.
“Yeah, I’d say that they’re holed up at the scuzzy end of the Accommodation Strip,” Lank opined between mouthfuls. “They’ve just started to order food, so if the rest of you can pick up your eating pace, we can probably leave while they’ve got their breakfasts hot in front of them. Then, maybe only one of them will follow us, and we can make it back to the Inn before he can do anything except note our destination.”
“The young man talks sense,” The Monk muttered subvocally, back to make a report. “They had a wee discussion about whether to eat here or not; hunger won the day. I eavesdropped shamelessly. They are confused and annoyed about something, but it isn’t their orders; their orders are to keep you four from leaving this Station, no matter how they have to do it.”
Kati sighed, sent the Granda back to its post, and began to shovel in the tasteless food.
“What is it?” Mikal asked, his face mirroring concern.
“The Monk did a little bit of listening to a conversation not meant for him to hear. He thinks Lank’s idea is a good one, by the way. So, eat up, everybody. But the brutes are to stop us from leaving Qupar, whatever they have to do to make it so. I really dislike it when I and my colleagues become the targets of assassination attempts.”
“Well, that answers one question, anyway,” Mikal said, his voice icy. “Gorsh is at the back of this. He never had much regard for human life, and as for the Xeonsaurs, they’re useful slaves as long as they can be made to navigate his ships across space and time.”
“But we’re going after him, aren’t we?” Xoraya asked.
“But we want to get him, not him get us,” Mikal stated. “We also want to avoid war. Which means that we won’t be taking the most direct route to his home planet, Wayward.”
“Once we have a ship, you mean,” said Lank.
“Once we’ve bought a ship,” Mikal reiterated. “My reasoning as to that goes as follows, presuming that you want to know it....”
“Of course we do,” Xoraya responded. “In fact, I insist on knowing it. My Life-Mate is at issue here, as you well know.”
“Indeed.”
Mikal gazed at her.
“Thing is, we don’t know where Xanthus Hsiss is at the moment. Maybe he is navigating a ship for Gorsh, picking up more warm bodies for the slave trade. Or maybe, with the loss of Vultaire as a market for those warm bodies, the slave trade is slow, and Gorsh has Xanthus stashed somewhere he thinks is safe, either on Wayward, or somewhere else. So we need to see if we can’t get our hands on more information before we try anything resembling a frontal attack.”
“We want to get your Life-Mate, Xoraya, my friend and Xanthus’ companion, Murra, and all the slave children, away from Gorsh without having to ask the Federation to get the Torrones to flatten Gorsh’s home planet,” Kati said harshly. “We’ll have to resort to deviousness.”
“Would the Federation even do it? Start a war, that is,” Xoraya queried.
“I don’t know,” Mikal replied. “I, being a pacifist, hope not. As Maryse, my boss says, there has to be a better way to do things than whole-scale murder. That’s why we Peace Officers take the oath to not kill sentient beings; it’s to force us to find the better way.”
“We’ll just find that better way, then,” Lank said, shredding his last roll before popping the pieces into his mouth.
Mikal smiled at him. It was not a totally happy grin, Kati noted.
“That’s the confidence of youth speaking,” he said.
Something besides the brutes, and Gorsh was bothering Mikal. Kati was sure of it, but she also knew that if Mikal had decided against sharing his concerns, he would not budge. He had been short with her this morning, a sure sign that he was fretting about something he did not want to share.
“Eat up,” subvocalized the Granda, with her again. “Whatever it is with Mikal, you’ll find out in good time. The ridiculous machine is coming with the goons’ food. Get your troop ready to move.”
*****
To their surprise, the brutes did not try to follow them. One of the three came out the restaurant door moments after the four of them had reached the middle of the walkway, but he did not follow them. Instead, he stood at the door, looking around for a couple of moments, a puzzled look on his face. By the time Kati’s group turned the corner, he had gone back into the restaurant.
“It’s almost as if he couldn’t see us,” Lank mused, as they walked back towards The Fiddler’s Green Inn.
Something clicked inside Kati’s brain. She stopped walking, and stared at Lank.
“You just said it, kiddo,” she said, her voice filled with wonder. “It’s exactly as if he couldn’t see us. That’s why they were so confused, those three! They can’t always see us; part of the time we’re invisible to them!”
Mikal’s eyes bored into hers.
“You’re joking, right?” he said. ”How could we possibly be invisible to anybody, even some of the time? I mean, the last time I looked, the laws of physics were still on the books!”
Showdown on the Planet of the Slavers Page 3