Part 12
On the Road Again
So I had a brother. Okay, I could deal with that. And he was an asshole that
I'd almost killed in an uncontrollable rage. I could deal with that, too.
But there was something in his tone; something in his eyes that was vaguely
unsettling. Maybe it was the sway he had over that Kyaruin or the fervor
with which he'd screamed at me. I couldn't get it off my mind, so while we
skipped past the stratosphere and arced out away I looked him up on the ship's
database.
Our freighter was not the luxury yacht it could have been. The 'bridge' was
a cramped cylinder with eight seats and a wide array of utilitarian screens
that cast pale white light everywhere. The padding on the walls was flaking
away, the interior paint was chipping, and the air filters were obviously
fighting a losing battle against mildew. Still, it had an engine. It had
a conversion drive. What else mattered?
I punched Hrasi letters on the keyboard. Slowly but surely my grasp of written
Hrasi was coming around. Sure enough, my brother was listed: 'Miles Arathch',
the human Hrasi. Apparently he was either the spokesperson or legislator
for a particularly powerful arm of the government, the defense branch. Rachel
- my mother - was indeed also his, though our fathers were different.
Mostly his half-page entry was concerned with his accomplishments. The man
was seemingly obsessed with space-based system defense batteries. Idly I
read through his life's abstract before flicking it off and returning to
the main systems. S'jet's conversion point coordinates were already locked
in and I didn't really feel like doing any book-learning. Bored, I shoved
out of my seat and headed for the door.
The rest of the ship was no better; grease and sweat hung perpetually in
the air of the main corridor. I tried to ignore it all as I headed for the
common lounge area. It was the last door on the left, and for a lounge it
wasn't much. I rounded the corner to be greeted by the lounge's two square
portholes, one dirty cabinet, and the back of one white Hrasi bent over the
lounge's databank terminal. The computer softly purred sibilant vowels and
consonants through its speakers. Naia sat watching and listening to the computer
intently. She didn't even notice me as I walked in.
"How's it going, Naia? Found anything out yet?" She jumped, then settled
back down, cut off the terminal's presentation, and looked back at me.
"I'm a cat. One that talks," she told me matter-of-factly. "A lynx, I think.
And a female," she added proudly. I stood there completely dumbfounded.
"No you're not. A cat, I mean. How the hell did you come to that conclusion?"
She held up a claw and made the universal 'come-hither' gesture. I leaned
over her shoulder to look at her computer. She must've found a smaller human
database - probably captured - because about half of the computer's text
was in human. She had been looking at a Hrasi translation of Earth's big
cat history. Jaguars, lynxes, and cougars were depicted in paintings showing
them in their natural habitat. The lynx was white.
"See? It looks like me," she argued, pointing to it. "And there are some
other things too…" She brought up an historical article that showed
a grizzled Hrasi woman with graying hair. I read through it with my fledgling
grasp of Hrasi. I guessed she was Hrasi Charles Darwin. "This person says
that people like me came from cats." Then she switched to pure human writing.
"This here: a story about people that are half animal." She looked at a longer
word and read it. Her muzzle was moving as though she was pronouncing it.
"The style is called anth… anthrax?" I had to laugh.
"Sorry. Anthrax is a weapon. Maybe it's something else." She shrugged.
"See? I'm a cat," Naia purred.
"Trust me, you're not a cat. You're a Hrasi. Trying looking up that instead."
With an annoyed twitch of the ears she turned back to the console, then stopped.
Her body perked.
"You need meat. You smell wrong." What?
"How do you know that?"
"Read about it," she replied absently, already on the search for Hrasi. I
ignored her then, moving instead to the pantry to get some food. Post-Haras
Naia has always been a bit single-minded. I find it odd that she hadn't noticed
my iron deficiency before I wiped her - and I had been running one. Not enough
to make me anemic, but enough to be noticeable to a Hrasi.
That's the amazing thing about the Hrasi; when it comes to living things
their expertise is beyond compare. We're talking about people who had
fertilization in vitro down to a fine art before they had engines of any
sort. Plato and Socrates' Hrasi contemporaries were theorizing about DNA
and they actually got it right. Eugenics and genetics were a way of life
to the Hrasi from the beginning. Hrasi lord-patrons were having cockfights
with bacteria and viruses when the Europeans were doing it with chickens.
Unlike the Europeans, however, they were doing it for more than just bragging
rights: Hrasi lords fought with plagues and bio-weapons along with the feeble
pointed sticks that the Brits spent their equivalent historical period pissing
on each other with.
Now I had Naia telling me I was iron deficient. Apparently the new Naia was
looking to be a doctor. No big surprise: unlike humans, just about every
Hrasi alive has the potential to become an excellent doctor. They're just
made for that stuff the same way we're made for playing with inorganic materials.
But I needed a fighter, a pilot. Sure, I'd lost the only qualified doctor
in Ayo, but I needed someone who could fight at my side. Naia wasn't quite
up to that task yet.
"See you when you're done," I said as I left with my crackers, dried meat,
and instant soup, knowing perfectly well she wasn't listening to a word I
said. At least she'd know she was a Hrasi. What else would she 'know'?
Anthrax… jeez.
Back in the bridge compartment a whole lot of nothing was happening. I sat
there, sipping bitter soup and gnawing on salty meat. At least I could sit
in the captain's chair, right? Just to busy myself I touched the captain's
master keyboard, summoning up a map of the system on every screen in the
room. Our trajectory was highlighted in red. It made a band from Haras a
to conversion point between the fourth and fifth planets. There were a few
other points farther out, but none took us closer to S'jet. By all accounts
it was a rough place, and only two conversions away. The map didn't have
any orbital batteries included, but who knew? If my brother was even remotely
like me, then his platforms would be secret, nasty things. I was going to
stay on the bridge just to be sure.
Conversion was approaching. I'm sure that we'd been detected, but we were
hitting several percentage points of light and they weren't going to catch
up with us or fire into our path as long as we kept up some automated evasive
maneuvers. I altered the course absently, trying to skim off a second or
two from our flight plan. Efficiency is a navigator's obsession, you know.
It's a symptom of being restless and constrained to one's seat all day. One
last time I checked the conversion ETA: four minutes.
Something crashed loudly from down the hall and I winced. Pained yowling
followed immediately afterwards, slowly gaining coherence. There were mostly
expletives and shocked words. Somehow I figured that my attentions would
be needed, so reluctantly I rocked out of the captain's chair and jogged
back to the lounge. Naia was leaning next to one of the portholes and sucking
on her paw. I raised an eyebrow inquiringly to her vexed expression.
"It… hurt me!" she managed to garble around the hand stuck in her mouth.
"What hurt you?" I asked, and she pointed to the counter immediately below
the cabinet. It had two stovetops for basic cooking, and she'd had the front
one on full blast. "What were you doing?"
"Trying to make soup," she said, then pouted in indignant tones: "I touched
it to put down the bowl and it hurt me! It's hot!" Well don't stick your
hand into the fire, dear. Of course it's hot. And here I'd thought she was
picking everything back up so quickly. Maybe there was farther to go than
I'd originally assumed.
"Are you going to be alright?" I asked sincerely. She nodded.
"I'll be okay. It just hurts a lot…" She smiled, hand still in mouth.
"Ice?" I shook my head.
"Sorry. We can look the ship over later and find something, but we have a
conversion in…" I glanced over to the terminal's clock. "Three minutes.
You want to come up to the bridge and go through it with me?" She flicked
ears back, pupils dilating.
"Does it hurt?"
"No, not your people. They feel… unpleasant if you're not ready for
one, though. You'll see." She didn't look too excited by that prospect, but
followed obediently.
Once on the bridge the question became where to put her. I gave her the
compulsory 'don't touch anything' speech, but that usually isn't enough,
especially with curious young kids. Navigation and either pilot station were
out. Tactical / Engineering was just as bad. Finally I decided to put her
in the comm seat, where the worst she could do would be to identify us. Naia
twisted in her seat nervously as I secured her safety restraints. "Calm down,"
I admonished her teasingly, "I don't bite." She looked at me with pursed
lips.
"I do," she answered in her unnerving soft voice. I shook my head and took
my seat. Conversion ETA was a minute and fifty seconds. I quickly strapped
in myself and brought the conversion engine on line. With it came the precise
conversion timer. When it hit zero I punched in the conversion sequence;
at such speeds, the window for delay was less than a second.
"Here we go," I said to Naia, "Relax." The timer began flickering in earnest
red light.
01:030:010
01:020:000
00:100:100
00:079:030
00:050:076
00:023:048
00:000:001
Punch. The universe dissolved before my eyes.
---v---
Conversion is something akin to death. You cease to exist as matter, transferring
into pure force that can go anywhere nearly instantaneously. This is not
compatible with continued life. In effect, when you are reassembled at your
destination you are a clone of the person who went through the conversion.
Creepy as it sounds, it's even worse in practice. Just before conversion
your gut, your mind knows you're about to die. When the conversion takes
place and your body begins to unravel into the basic forces of the universe
you panic. It's impossible to get used to - that searing pain like you're
being bathed in acid. The only mastery I've ever had over myself is the ability
to not scream like a baby.
Naia howled when we went through. My heart went out to her; I knew exactly
what she was going through. Well, maybe not exactly - Hrasi handle it better
than humans - but I remember my first time. At least Naia didn't cough up
her lunch all over the bulkhead. During conversion it's theoretically impossible
to feel anything, but I always get a lurching sensation, and when you come
out it's just as bad as going in. Naia's yowling and moaning didn't make
it any easier.
With a silent shudder the ship came out of conversion and back into the universe.
Taught muscles kept me glued to my seat, but I forced them to move. They
ached; these muscled hadn't moved before, ever. They weren't going to exist
long either. My one motion was to reach over to the navigation console and
punch the next conversion into it. A few feet away Naia was coughing and
hacking dryly. There was a garbled meow from that direction - she might have
tried to say something. Whatever it was cut off abruptly when we both died
in conversion again. Another physical flop of the gut and we were spat from
a conversion point on an irregular course.
Red lights cast around the room. Light mains cut out everywhere. Three sirens
went off for three different problems. I leaned forward with a crackling
of new flesh do stare at the navigation consoles. We were insystem, but off
course. The prescribed exit course that the automated beacon was sending
us was a completely different vector. A gravity well scan showed ships
everywhere, a station or large asteroid orbiting a moon orbiting a star.
"What's wrong?" Naia whimpered from behind. I narrowed my eyes and answered
flatly.
"Don't know. The systems have gone crazy. Something's wrong. We're still
here, through. Just sit tight." I got a whine in response. Worse was the
whining from the walls. That sort of stress really wasn't a good sign. I
brought up the systems map and found our bearings. We were significantly
under the plane of the normal shipping lanes, maybe six minutes out from
S'jet. The automated beacon came over the intercom, blaring out even the
warning sirens.
WARNING! YOU ARE APPROACHING ON AN ATTACK [COURSE? / VECTOR?]. CHANGE [COURSE?
/ VECTOR?] INTO ASSIGNED LANES IMMEDIATELY.
WARNING! YOU ARE APPROACHING ON AN ATTACK [COURSE? / VECTOR?]. CHANGE [COURSE?
/ VECTOR?] INTO ASSIGNED LANES IMMEDIATELY.
WARNING! YOU ARE APPROACHING ON AN ATTACK [COURSE? / VECTOR?]. CHANGE [COURSE?
/ VECTOR?] INTO ASSIGNED LANES IMMEDIATELY.
I looked up from the console to glare at the speakers, then struggled to
get the engines back around. My first thought was to ask Naia to cut that
comm off, but the idea was immediately squelched. She'd probably find some
way to botch the commands and space us.
The engines screamed from metal tension as I wrestled with the controls.
Our ship shook with rattling jolts, but slowly came around as we dumped velocity.
Force fought force on incredible levels as the merchanter ship sloughed away
incredible speeds to point its muzzle to the station. We arced in a huge,
rounding path as the engine thrust slowly overcame the breakneck speeds we'd
used to escape the Haras system. Pretty radical maneuvering for a merchanter,
if I may say so myself. I hoped that no one would ask just why or how a
merchanter was making moves like that.
Someone from on high at S'jet took pity on us as we smoothed out our course
and aimed for the normal lanes: the beacon's drone cut out. Another moment
spent over the computers and I had a safe, passive approach locked into the
auto-pilot. Two of the sirens had gone off at that, and last I searched out
my calamity through the console. It was an air filter that hadn't made it
through conversion. With barely controlled temper I cut the damned thing
out and sagged into my seat.
Restraints clicked off behind me. I flicked my eyes up tiredly to meet Naia's
as she leaned forward and looked at me wearily. She looked haggard, disoriented,
and shell-shocked past sanity. Her matted, sweat-soaked fur marred the
still-beautiful build over which it was stretched. Moist, warm breaths blew
down my neck as Naia stood over me and panted.
"We're safe?" she asked between soft exhalations.
"For now," I agreed. She looked at me more intently then. The red, gloomy
light there gave the room a dirty blood look that reminded me of the Haigh's
prison, and the Hrasi above me was making me extremely uncomfortable. Her
questions were innocent enough, though.
"Do humans ever sleep?"
"They're supposed to." She had a point; it'd been about twenty hours since
I'd gotten any sleep. "We have to worry about other things right now. Getting
onto the station and to the Yusuurans, for one. I think I may have an-"
"Do you ever sleep?" she followed up, cutting me off in mid sentence.
"I can't. I have things to do. We're going to reach the station in-" I stopped.
When were we going to reach the station? We'd slowed down very considerably.
I did a quick recalculation in my head. We had slowed to three fourths of
a percent of our entry speed… nine hours? "Yeah. I sleep. I think I'm
going to right now."
"Will you sleep with me?"
"No." Her nostrils slitted and her eyes squinted into tiny slits. "I said
no. I'm… promised to someone else, alright?" She looked miffed, to say
the least.
"Fine. Some friend you are." I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
"I'm being human. Look it up," I suggested, refusing to be goaded. Or maybe
I wasn't being goaded. I could've just been reacting poorly. How did she
already know about that? I undid my safety restraints and stood up sorely,
brushing past Naia brashly. Definitely reacting poorly. It didn't matter
in my mind, though; I stepped through the corridor, aching everywhere, and
searched out a cabin. Closest was the captain's, so I pulled the door and
moved into the darkness.
Among the shadows all I could make out was a king-sized bed. I sighed, pulling
into it, throwing my clothes to the floor, and slipping under the sheets.
There was still fur between the sheets - it hadn't been made at all. The
pillows smelled like Hrasi and soap, but I didn't mind. It was warm, and
that was enough.
A few minutes later and the door opened again, then closed. Naia padded to
my bedside, rustled with clothes for a minute more, then lifted the covers
and lay directly atop me. She was hot and wet, hugging me with sweaty arms
that forced my head into her armpit and made her fur stick to my skin. "Go
away," I murmured. "I'm not going to let you stay."
"You're really not someone I'd expect would ever be my friend," She breathed.
"You're not very caring."
"I said get out."
"See? But I'm stronger than you. Go ahead and try to fight me off."
"This is not how adults act. I'm human. I don't sleep around with my friends."
"I do," she growled softly, "I read about it; it's part of me. I can't go
to sleep alone." Dammit, I didn't feel like arguing that late.
"Let go of me," I repeated slowly, "or I'll keep you awake all night. If
you can't sleep alone then you can hold my hand, but let me go." She growled
to herself and disentangled from me to lay with our sides barely touching.
"Why don't you like me?" she meowed softly.
"I do," I sighed.
"Then why don't you act like it?" I sighed, closing my eyes. I wasn't going
to tell her yet.
"Just go to sleep…"
---v---
When I awoke she was gone, thank god. I tried to stay in bed for a minute
or two, but I couldn't. It's hard for me to sit and feel bad about myself.
I rolled out of bed onto the floor, then patted around the floor for my clothes.
They weren't there. It was just my luck that they'd be knocked into a corner
somewhere…
With a hiss the door slid open and Naia walked in. Walked in with her clothes
in one hand and mine in the other. Her ears folded and drooped in a blush.
"Morning," she said quietly. "I cleaned our clothes." Naia gulped. "We might
want to shower first." I stood crouching under her in a naked, fetal position.
She stared at me lamely. "Does this mean I should leave?" I raised my hand
up and pointed at the door silently. "Right," she coughed, dropping my clothes
to the floor and walking back out the door to leave me in the dark.
"She's learning," I yawned, crawling to the door. I left them where they
lay; they weren't going to be much use at S'jet. I wasn't going to mess around
with a slave's uniform. The door opened above me and I got to my feet, stumbling
into the lower corridor. The crew quarters would be the only room with a
shower on a ship our size. Naia was in there, washing up. I followed her
intentionally, making my way through the bunk beds to the shower room.
Water was streaming down the walls there. I stepped in among about an inch
of water to see Naia leaning against a wall, muzzle open and up at the water
stream from one of the showerheads. Steam billowed throughout the room. I
moved carefully up behind her and hugged her chest, getting a 'eow' of surprise.
"Aaron!" she sputtered, "You, you... don't ever do that again!" I patted
her back.
"Got you." Naia gave me dirty look. Then I turned my gaze away. "I was
thinking… I'm sorry about what I said before. I like you: don't think
that I don't." God, I felt like an idiot. "I can't do some of the things
that you'd have me." She looked at me blankly, made a sad attempt at a smile
that quickly faded, then bowed her head into my neck.
"I still don't understand why we're friends."
"You used to be a very… different person," I murmured. "Someone very
different. And you were my friend. I'll keep care of you as long as you want,
but there's someone waiting for me where we're going, and I'm waiting for
her too." Naia raked her hands through her mane and looked up quietly.
"I don't understand you. I don't understand you at all."
Without warning her furry bulk spun on one heel and a rush of soapy water
caught me full in the face, knocking me to the ground. Naia chuffed from
up above me. "Didn't expect that, did you? I'm not the same person as you
remember, and I have no idea what you've been talking about." I squinted,
wiping soap out of my now-stinging eyes.
"Stop being flippant, damn you. I'm trying to talk about something important."
She snorted. Somewhere within the blurring of my vision Naia crouched beside
me and pushed me into the shower's stream. She was still chuffing.
"Why can't I? Like I said before, I'm stronger than you are. Until you can
control me, why should I take you seriously? You're not going to abandon
me." I glared as the last squirts of soap washed out of my eyes, but she
just laughed. "No, don't try to tell me that you would. I don't believe you."
"Dammit, Naia…" I gave up and sat under the showerhead, rubbing the
filth off my shoulders. She was right - there was absolutely no way I'd abandon
her until we got to the Yusuurans - but if she was going to insist on being
ornery, then life was going to get a whole lot harder. Newton really should've
added a fourth law to his repertoire: for every inch of leeway the universe
gives, it takes away an opposite and grossly unequal amount.
Water ran down in a torrent, tickling my back. It streamed to my feet in
rivulets, pooling and draining around my legs. I kind of lost myself in among
the water, nodding up against the wall. Warm, wet fur brushed up aside me
and Naia held my shoulder, turning her head to the side with curiosity.
"Aaron, you worry too much. Your breathing didn't slow down yesterday until
you got in bed, and it's fast again. Calm down. Really, the change in heart
rate is noticeable. If you stay this agitated you'll stress yourself to death."
I sighed.
"You could be less of a problem if you're so concerned," I grumbled. She
chuffed.
"Get up. We'll be docking soon, and I've yet to hear any brilliant ideas."
"I liked you more before you started learning."
"Oh?" she purred. "I like myself more."
---v---
The silk vest didn't quite fit; it looked like I was going to have stick
with the cloak. For clothes tailored to a Hrasi, they fit pretty well, but
you just can't have everything. It was too bad; for some reason true white
silk struck me as just the right aristocratic look for a Hrasi nobleman.
My daring plan was going to have to live without the vest.
Naia had so graciously provided me with the full history and background on
my brother. The resemblance between us was uncanny, and that was exactly
what the plan rode on. The single picture of Arathch included in the ship's
databank showed him draped in a drab brown and green cape that enshrouded
a vibrant blue-red shirt. Not much of a template to work off, but hopefully
our tastes ran close enough together that I could accurately guess the apparel
he'd be expected to be wearing.
Waltz right in with an officious air and befuddle the customs officers: that
was my plan. After that… I'd asked Naia to learn as much as she could
about S'jet and the underworld. Maybe she would be able to dig up something
useful (read that: illegal), but I doubted there was going to be much of
use in a purchased databank. If there was something there, though, she'd
find it. Naia had gone naked and sopping wet from the shower straight to
the ship's terminals. It was as though the new void between her ears was
just sucking in all the knowledge and lore it could find to fill her back
up.
Shrugging, I tossed the vest aside and slipped on the cloak. One last time
I checked the disguise in the captain's room mirror. Black military boots,
slacks that dull brown shade ubiquitous to the Hrasi, a loose teal dress
shirt, and a black cloak. His hair had been braided in some mystifying Hrasi
fashion, but my hair wasn't long enough to mimic that. As a last minute thought
I searched through the captain's desk at the foot of what had been her bed.
There was a medium caliber handgun, a chemical projectile type that I pocketed.
Also, there were three gold bracelets and a silver gauntlet. The bracelets
went on one hand and the gauntlet on the other: I wanted to at least look
imperious.
For Naia I had a surprise that came in a cloth bundle. The doors hissed open
as I came away from the captain's cabin and stepped through the corridor
up to the lounge. Naia was there, still wet and unclothed, dripping onto
her keyboard.
"You need to dry off," I reminded her. "You'll electrocute yourself." She
perked up and flicked an ear: for a Hrasi that was full attention.
"E-lec-tro-cute?"
"Shock. Like that lightning on Haras. I've got clothes and a towel for you
to dry off with, though." I unraveled the towel and tossed it over her. "There.
Dry off, I've got clothes for you." She rose, still looking at the terminal
screen, and rubbed her towel down her back. Naia's tail beckoned enticingly,
flitting back and forth. I stepped forward obligingly, holding the rest of
her outfit in my hands.
"So who are you going to have me impersonate?" she asked offhanded, with
a bit of purr rumbling through her voice. I smiled mischievously and leaned
forward as she rubbed away the water on her stomach. Naia meowed with a
plaintive, agitated cry when I slipped the metal-leather collar around her
neck. "What're you doing to me?" I smiled deviously and held her leash tight,
yanking her back when she tried to spin around.
"Consider it payback," I laughed. "It's your turn to be the slave." A scared,
confused look was my response. Of course she wouldn't know what I was talking
about. I shrugged: it was still funny to me. Didn't want to frighten her,
though. "I recently impersonated your slave, on Haras. Now it's my turn.
I've got some clothes that I'm sure you'll love." Naia winced when I unraveled
her new corset; it was a deep blood red.
"You're not serious," she growled.
"What, you want to go out there as you are?" I asked, and she blushed a little
bit - amazing modesty for a Hrasi.
"But this is demeaning!"
"Just put it on. I have more." There was a matching short skirt, a pair of
shoes, and a red ribbon that I handed her. There was some interesting stuff
in among the crew cabinets, but for their sake I'll say no more. They were
probably perfectly normal people, mind you: when you're stuck in a ship with
nothing to do for months on end you find ways to entertain yourself or you
go crazy. Naia glowered at me as I fit the corset around her chest and pulled
the strings tight. She obviously wasn't going to outright oppose me, but
it was plain that she wouldn't condone it either.
"I can put a skirt on," she growled when I moved to slip her feet inside
it, snatching it from my hands. "And this dress is tight!"
"It's supposed to be," I dismissed, taking the ribbon and weaving it through
her hair. Braiding was never one of my fortes, but there was so much silky
fur in her mane that all I had to do was stick it in there and let the ribbon's
ends drape over her shoulder. Red and white: she looked like a feline candy
cane, and more than just a little enticing. To other, single people, that
is. She pulled her skirt up under her corset and snorted.
"Waiting for someone. What a joke, Aaron." My turn to go red in the face.
"Am not. Anyway, we're almost to dock. I'm going to land this thing personally;
you search out the ship for anything useful." She growled ambivalently, but
moved. That was all I needed.
I marched down the now ill lit passageway to the bridge, which was alive
with the quiet bustle of whirring computers. Everywhere soft screen glows
advertised different crises. On the comm officer's screen a flashing symbol
blinked. It was a pictogram from some secondary Hrasi writing language that
I could only guess meant message. I brought it up and stared at what appeared:
a simple communique from the stationmaster.
From the [hand?] of Aunumn Pauru, S'jet [stationmaster?], to the acting captain
of the [ ], his attention requested:
Your entry into our system was not [in keeping?] with standard piloting
[procedure?]. May I remind you that S'jet is not a [lawless?] community.
If you do not respect our [ ] in this system, you will be obliterated without
further warning. We do not tolerate [wanton?] breaches of our [protocol?].
-Aunumn Pauru
EX: Be informed that you are scheduled to dock in [bay? / pylon?] three,
section fifty-four.
Wonderful. Either he or she sounded like they'd be waiting for us where we
landed, if they didn't simply send an armed brigade. The idea sent chills
down my back. If we were captured here, who knows what would result? I'd
be lucky if I got to stay me.
Unnerved, I moved over to the pilot's seat. The basic wire-frame rendition
of our position showed us coasting forward as we completed the predetermined
vector I'd earlier laid out. Below the flight touch-pad lay dormant. Larger
ships don't have joysticks or steering handles, but either keyboards or
touch-pads that let you tap your way through space. It takes all the fun
out of flying.
Our course took us in very close to the station, but not quite. I hit the
pad and dragged our course port-side. The station was so close that it actually
showed up on the radar. Scans showed six pylons extruding like brown metal
teeth from S'jet's docking maw. I made a minor course change, sending us
straight in; the envelopment really did give a sense of being consumed. Our
ship jolted once, then smoothed out as our engines automatically cut out
and the station's systems took over.
We slowly spun to the left as we drifted towards the docking walls and the
full expanse of the docking bay came into view. God… It must have been
a hundred kilometers long and had a radius at least half that wide. Entire
fleets could fit inside. The hulls were red and brown metal, scarred and
rusted from use over the ages. It couldn't have been half as old as Earth's
shipyard-ring, but that station was still sparkling enamel white after centuries.
Maybe they didn't care, or maybe they couldn't do anything. Either way, it
was unsettling to dock with a station that had decaying hulls.
"Aaron." A tuft of white stuck out from the doorway, followed immediately
thereafter by Naia's pointed snout. "There isn't much left. I've found a
gun and a few bracelets…" She swung around to lean against the doorway
and proffer three slim silver bands. "That's all." I stood up and strode
to her.
"Alright, put them on. We're going to wait at the airlock. Maybe we can talk
our way out this one." Her ears laid back.
"We are going to fight? Maybe?" I took her by the arm and pulled her forward.
"Hopefully not. Have your gun ready anyway."
---v---
Hydraulic systems on the other side of the lock grated open, rumbling vibrations
through the hull. It was a lengthy two-minute process; our lock slid aside
smoothly once the station side had linked up. The ship's docking system had
to be at least a couple of centuries newer than the station's. Naia looked
at me worriedly from her place at me side. I gave her a reassuring smile.
Past the airlocks was a dingy, dimly lit connection tunnel to the docks.
For a minute we waited, but when no one appeared I grabbed Naia's leash and
herded her down the tunnel. With my luck, it probably was going to fail and
space us before we got through. At the tunnel's end was a simple turn to
the left, opening into a cavernous room. There was a well-dressed Hrasi gentleman
waiting for us there. Not to mention twelve armed guards.
"Madame capt-" the man started, then stopped abruptly and flicked his ears.
"Sir captain. I am an [official] of this humble station. Jaehi is my name:
the stationmaster's [adjunct? / aide?]. I would like to extend our…
welcome to you and your… companion. You are?" I stared at the gaunt,
furred figure. Fear sunk deep into my stomach; I would've loved to run, but
it didn't look like that was going to be an option.
"Arathch," I gulped, losing composure for a minute, "uh, Miles Arathch. I'm
part of the Haras defense council. This is my servant Naia. We've come here
on leave from Haras; I've been temporarily excused from my duties. May I
first apologize for my unskilled entry into your system?" Jaehi blinked.
"You may, but that does not mean we will accept it, Mr. Arathch. You may
be a government official, but the government's rules still apply to you.
That conversion entry was at an illegal speed with a [blatantly?] illegal
bearing." The man straightened up and ruffled his mane irately. "Your
incompetence as a pilot does not excuse your [endangerment?] of innocent
lives." What gall! But I was Miles Arathch.
"Again, I apologize. I had no intention of endangering innocent Hrasi."
"Get flight training taped into your servant before you leave," he growled.
"I want proof that you have before I let you out of this port." Naia shivered
and sidled closer against me.
"Then, may I board your station, sir?" Jaehi set his ears back and walked
directly up to me.
He pulled a molecular syringe and a hand-held computer, then before I could
so much as flinch he rolled the syringe across my cheek and fit it into a
slot in the back of his computer. Shit, a DNA screening? I reached into my
pocket as surreptitiously as possible. For a moment I stood there silently,
worrying. I watched Jaehi intently as he gave his computer's screen a critical
eye. For exactly three and a half heartbeats I stood there, fully expecting
to be gunned down by the twelve assault rifle-carrying guards behind me in
the heartbeat that followed. With a gesture of finality Jaehi let his computer
glide back down into his pocket, and across the rooms noses gustily exhaled
in a release of tension.
"Of course," he murmured politely, then suddenly presented me his flat,
outstretched palm: a small computer chip rested atop it. "You may want this.
It's your ship's [deed? / voucher? / key?]. Keep it with you during your
stay onstation: lose it and you lose your ship." I picked it out of his hand
and held it up to the light. Huh. So that was the sort of place we'd found.
At least I'd made it through the blood screening…
---v---
Human station promenades might fill during midday traffic, but on Hrasi stations
they positively clog. Even in the main course-way, where the halls were a
hundred meters wide and twice as tall, people jostled. Thick smoke from incense
and probably a failing ventilation system provided a murky fog that hung
from the ceiling, blurring everything from the shoulders up. I kept my ship
key deep in an inner pocket and remained vigilant about brushing away attacks
on Naia's person: there were a few.
Dammit! Where the hell was the information broker? With Naia's help I'd found
a listing in the S'jet station director for a 'Lower-S'jet Information Exchange'.
The address traced it to where we were, but I didn't see any information
exchange. In fact, I didn't see anything on either wall: It was a miracle
that I could see them in the first place. Sure, there were a few neon blurs
in the shape of Hrasi lettering, but I couldn't begin to translate them without
being able to see them near perfectly.
"Over here, sir," Naia urged me, "It's this next one on the left." I followed
her eyes to a depression in the far-left wall with a yellow neon sign posted
above it. I changed course and the two of us moved slowly there, bumping
aside seas of Hrasi and apologizing profusely, receiving no few annoyed swats.
When we'd pushed past the crowd I ducked into the doorway alcove with Naia,
precious shelter from the Hrasi flood. A reinforced transparent steel blast
door sealed us out, but it slid open mysteriously and the two of us moved
into the murky darkness. Once inside the door closed behind us, killing the
light. Internally I groaned. Not again…
"Major Sykes, I presume?" Lights came on and I swiveled around the room,
staring. Yellow-white light poured from lamp around the walls. Computer hardware
was jammed everywhere except directly opposite the door, behind which a haggard,
auburn Hrasi man sat and eyed me. I stood back warily, drawing my firearm
but not raising it up. The man smiled. "Put that away. You won't need it
here." I scowled and pocketed the weapon.
"Miles, actually. Miles Arath-"
"No you're not," he whispered, still smiling. "He's still on Haras, Ahrn.
That makes your friend there Naia, I suppose?" Naia's jaw dropped so low
it must have dislocated.
"How-"
"News travels fast, and it has a habit of [leaning? / gravitating? / coming?]
towards me," the man purred. Naia bristled and moved back.
"Who are you?" I asked. "Who are you really?" The man chuckled: a rumbling,
hissing affair.
"This may be an information exchange, but there's no price that'll get you
that. There are other things that you might want to know though, other things
that you can afford. I'll sell the same information to anyone, but I'm not
your enemy. You're stuck here because you have no friends. Like a little
lost child."
"I've done it before."
"Not interested? Huh, thought you were smarter."
"Didn't say that," I replied softly. The man stared at me with a wan smile;
Naia looked just as scared as ever. I made a mental note to teach her how
to keep from losing it whenever a problem arose. "You may be right. I might
want to know a few things. I might want to know where I could contact the
station's Yusuurans." The man smiled softly.
"That could be pricy."
"How pricy?" I asked. "Theoretically speaking, of course."
"Theoretically? Maybe seventy-five thousand credits." His eyes flickered
over to Naia. "Or fifty thousand credits and an hour with your servant…"
Naia's ear dropped and she spun away from me, looking sure that she'd betrayed.
The man chuckled quietly.
"No thanks." I looked around the room. "I don't have seventy-five thousand
credits. Or maybe I do: how much is my ship worth?"
"Everything question has a price," the man warned. Naia growled.
"It's a twenty-thousand-credit merchant freighter. That leaves us fifty thousand
credits short." I sighed.
"Fifty-five thousand," The man corrected.
"Wonderful. So how can I make fifty thousand credits fast?" The man sighed
and leaned forward.
"Well, I see that you're poor. Let's have your gold bracelets, then." I pulled
the three of them off of my wrist and moved forward, casting them down on
the desks. "Excellent. I'll give you three choices, then. By far the easiest
option would be to lend out your servant's services. You could have the fifty
thousand in a few hours."
"No," Naia said firmly, "we couldn't." The man shrugged.
"Alright, then… The banks here are loose. S'jet Emirated Banks in particular
has minimal guard. It would not be too difficult to break into their vaults
and extract the credits you need."
"That's immoral!" I protested. "Besides, that'd get us killed."
"Then I have only a single other option for you: the Dririechs. They are
a betting ring in which masters [front?] their slaves against one another.
The least expensive fights are between humans, and they attract the worker's
bets. You have a very beautiful Hrasi servant, though. If you fronted her
against a domineering Hrasi male you'd attract spacers' and official's bids.
If your slave was to win, you could attract more than the fifty thousand
in a single match." Naia was eyeing me anxiously. I looked hard at her, then
back to our broker.
"There's something you're not telling us." The man chuffed.
"Astute. Winning a match means [domineering?] the opponent; pinning or
restraining is not enough. Only beating into submission, physically
[mutilating?], crippling, or otherwise utterly humiliating your opponent
can bring victory to your master, and the losers almost never survive, much
less [recuperate?] to fight again. Very few females are therefore ever fronted
against men. It is considered a waste of slave; even if they survive, they
are rarely of any worth once the males have finished with their victory.
This is a dangerous proposition. That's why it pays well."
"I'll do it, then," Naia said quietly. The two of us looked at her: ears
down, staring at her feet. "You're only going one way, right? If I don't
help you now we won't go any farther, and I don't want to stay here. Not
a whole lot of choice." The man licked his muzzle.
"You could just sleep with a few of us merchants and be done with it…
I'd personally give you the credits if you're willing to stay overnight…"
Naia's ears went flat.
"No."
"You'll be torn to pieces!" I complained. "It doesn't matter whether or not
you want to: you're not fighting!" She looked at me with defiant resolve.
"Aaron, he's right. What would you have me do?"
"I have a solution for that too, for another price," the man purred, then
pointed at me. "That gauntlet you're wearing ought to do." I gave him an
exasperated look, then slipped my gauntlet off and tossed it to him. He smiled,
thumbing it over, then set it down. "I have a close contact, one Iera Haestch
Nama, who runs a taping program. Copying, inserting, and deleting memories:
she'll do anything to anyone's mind, willing or not, if someone pays. Your
slave could easily become experienced in martial arts with her services.
Would you be interested?"
"Yes," Naia said quickly, cutting me off, "he would." I looked at her
beseechingly and she stared back forcefully. "He wants to go there right
now." I gave up, shrugging.
"Is there any way that this might actually work?"
"Most [assuredly?]," the man promised. "She's very good. She works out of
a second home in the habitation deck of the old blue sector. Area three,
section alpha, room 315. Tell her you were recommended to her by an old man."
He opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out a hand-held computer pad, punched
in a simple code, and handed it to me. It had an elaborate grid system of
the station with directions to his associate. I pocketed it quietly and looked
at him.
"You could make more money by turning us in than you will by helping us.
Why haven't you betrayed us?" I asked softly. The man smiled and leaned back.
"Maybe I have. Or maybe I haven't because I realize that my job depends on
your war continuing. I'll let you wonder." The lights cut off and behind
us the door opened. "Go fight your war, Sykes. For my sake, I hope you survive."
---v---
"I can't believe you, Naia. This is dangerous stuff we're talking about.
You could be killed."
"I'll be fine," she promised. "If I learn how to fight I can protect myself,
and if I can protect myself then I'll be safe at your tournament." I gave
her a sidelong look as we went down the habitation ring in S'jet's blue sector.
"You sound pretty confident about that. Don't get cocky." She looked at me
and shrugged. "I think you're taking our situation too lightly. You could
die, Naia." She smirked like a teenager who thought she knew everything.
"I won't." What crazy idea had gotten into her that made her so suicidally
brave? That unnerved me. Naia nearly swaggered beside me. Was she crazy?
Room 311, 313… 315. I stopped Naia and moved into the doorway, rapping
on the door loudly. Almost immediately the door opened a crack. I couldn't
see anyone inside - it was pitch black - but I could hear soft breaths.
"Yes? May I help you?"
"An old man recommended me here. He said there was an Iera Haestch Nama who
could provide the services I need." The door shut, then opened in full.
"Of course. Come in, please. You're most welcome here." I didn't move inwards
at first, but Naia caught my arm and led me through the blackness. The door
shut behind us. "A free human with a Hrasi slave… very interesting.
What can I do for you?" I made sure to respond before Naia did.
"My slave needs combat training quickly," I explained. There was an Ayo-like
animal burble from behind us.
"I see. Do you have the [prerequisite?] memories?"
"Yes… maybe. I don't have training with claws." The woman snuffled from
behind us.
"Shouldn't matter. Slave, I want you on the right bunk. You sir, on the left.
I assume you have the required payment?" I held onto Naia's arm.
"I've no idea what your payment is. Do you have a set price for this procedure?"
The woman chuffed softly.
"Of course I do. You think you're the first person I've had today who wanted
their Hrasi slave taped? It's 3000 credits per work-hour."
"How long is this going to take?" I asked worriedly. The idea of laying prone
for any great length of time was definitely not appealing.
"To tape an entire profession with all associated sub-skills? That's asking
a lot. I could try and pick out only the pertinent [memes], but they're swimming
in a convoluted mess of experiences. I don't doubt that I could eventually
get them out, but it'd take a lot of poking and prodding, then a [re-laticcing?
/ re-integrating?] to fit them into a Hrasi environment. We'd be talking
about a half-day's job. Or, there is a somewhat quicker way…"
"Which would be?" I asked. I turned and searched for the woman's face in
total blackness, to see her reaction. Couldn't see anything, of course, but
Naia obediently kept her paws wrapped around my arm, keeping me well-tethered
in my own security.
"The brute force method," Iera said with a hint of amusement. "I prefer doing
it, but I wouldn't want it done to me. It would [entail?] simply copying
every memory you have that deals with combat and then forcing them into your
slave's mind. If I just [uprooted?] your whole '[memetic?] ecology' and dumped
it into your slave's mind those skills would be sure to transfer. I'd have
to re-format your memory files in order to [facilitate?] the transfer, but
it'd only take about twenty minutes." Sounded too good to be true…
"Is it risky?"
"Not at all. It does have some lasting side-effects, though. Well, only one,
really. Permanent personality shift." I stood there dumbfounded, trying to
run that through my mind.
"What?"
"Memories create personality," the woman reminded me. "If I give her your
memories she could become very much like you. At the same time, she could
react differently if one experience triggers a chord with another of her
former ones. The results are impossible to predict, except that she'll survive
physically. It's probably the easier way to go if that's a risk you want
to take."
"It is," Naia blurted out. There was dead silence from across the room.
"My servant is correct," I said slowly and deliberately, "it is." More silence,
then a snort.
"…I see. Then, do you have a thousand credits for my time?" I nudged
Naia, who growled and pressed her gold bracelets into my chest with a small
chink. "[ ]?" the woman asked softly, "what do you think I am, a [ ]? I prefer
actual money."
"I don't have any," I responded quietly. Iera humphed, a sort of growling
cough.
"Dammit… I'd turn you away, but you wouldn't make it back here with
credits. Sir, the left bed, and you, slave, on the right one."
"Ma'am… I can't see." She gasped with a chuff.
"I'm sorry, sir! [ ] a long time since I had a human client. I'll get the
lights." A moment later the lights came on full blast, then dimmed when I
flinched in pain.
Her room was not a place where people lived. It looked like a cross between
a hospital room and a university computer lab. Two beds were backed up against
the wall, ten feet apart, the right one with metal arm and legs restraints.
Each had computer terminals above it with cables that ran in tangled bundles
across the walls, floor, and ceiling to a huge agglomerate supercomputer
made piecemeal-style from at least a hundred separate cases welded together.
There were holes in the floor and wall where the station's wiring had been
hacked into with fistfuls of archaic cables. There was even an independent
power distributor hooked into a corner of the wall, presumably draining some
station system and metering it out to hers. God… there was even some
inventive plumbing alterations to cool Iera's computational monstrosity.
"That's a big machine," I commented as I lay down on the left bed. "You really
need all that to copy a few files?" She chuffed.
"These aren't normal files. They're subjective, fluidic. Converting them
from one person's file type to another's is a little more complex than it
seems. Even this [mammoth? / something big?] here isn't enough; I want one
of the government's transfer booths." The woman walked up beside me to fiddle
with the main terminal of her computer.
She looked starved: all bones and no muscle. Her red-gold fur had fallen
away in patches, exposing raw skin. Obsessed scientist types like that usually
end up neglecting something: Iera had apparently chosen her personal health.
The woman bent over Naia, who had obediently taken her place on the right
bed, and murmured something to her before giving her a pair of red tablets.
Then she turned to me.
"Have a snack for me?" I jested. She raised an eyebrow at the suggestion.
"Going to pay me?" she countered. I handed over the bracelets and she studied
them intently. "All right, I suppose. Going to be a pain turning these into
cash without [attracting?] too much attention…" Her eyes ran over the
bracelets, then refocused back on me. "Take these," she mumbled, stuffing
a pair of red tablets into my mouth. I gagged on them, taken aback by her
forceful attitude. At the mere sight of my surprise Iera eeped softly. "Hai,
sorry. I'm used to the human being the slave. Forgive me." I nodded and swallowed
her pills.
"Feeling okay?" I called out softly. Naia didn't respond.
"She's asleep. You'll stay awake, though; the only reason that she's out
is so that I can make those changes. Just a minute…" I laughed tiredly,
them lay my head to the side.
"Uhn…" Iera looked at me, and her ears deflated.
"Hey, sir? Are you all - oh, damn. Not again-"
---v---
Bad times flashed past my eyes in a rush. Like an inferno they came: an onslaught
of all my violent memories. The associated fear and anger washed over me
in a far stronger wave, leaving me twitching in a black recess of my mind's
many corners. These were my plagues, which haunted me in the night. Specific
memories ebbed and flowed back and forth from view. An old, old memory of
basic training.
"Kill her!" the instructor screamed. I held my rifle up, shaking, slowly
pointing at the wild-eyed figure before.
"Don't do it!"
"Follow your orders without question or hesitation, mister! Fire!" The young
woman wavered uncertainly, then pulled a knife and backed into the corner.
"Don't…" But the instructor watched on.
"Do you need help, private?" Two thunderclaps rung out, a body fell, and
a knife clattered away. Instructor leered at me. "Good. Next time you don't
hesitate." It was all I could do just to breath.
"You don't think you'll actually win," Magus Fennel jeered at me from the
other side of the mat, "do you? Even Sensei admits it. All the discipline
in the world does you no good if you don't have the muscle to use it. I'm
gonna knock you into the ground, Sykes." The worst fifty seconds of my life:
Magus moving in and throwing his single roundhouse kick, high and fast, myself
ducking and throwing him a punch in the small of his back, his surprised
yelp and short scream as he went sprawling and landed head-first. His cranium
spit open like a rotten vegetable, spilling thick purple-red goo over a concrete
floor.
Fourteen years old and I'd already killed someone. I remember standing there
in shock as I watched his brain dribble out like syrup onto the floor. Sensei
had walked in calmly and left rapidly, without a word, to call the emergency
crew. It'd been too late, of course. For a scared little kid who'd never
committed a crime the judge handed out a light sentence: three hundred hours
of community service, an early draft order, and an order to complete jujitsu
training within the year. Being an early November sentence, I'd had to work
like crazy, especially after spending three hundred hours cleaning the soot
out of Earth's patrol fighter engines. Oh, I'd filled the court order, but
the scars from that affair ran much deeper than the paltry cuts on my shoulder
where a stray engine blade had once caught me…
The old memories kept being dredged up, kept coming. If I had known who I'd
become I would've crawled back into my mother's womb and refused to come
out.
---v---
My head throbbed. Someone's face was stuck right into mine; two fingers held
my right eye open as slitted cat eyes stared into me. I grimaced and groaned,
making the person let go of me and back off. Iera, it was. I remembered her.
"Is my servant alright? Did your transfer work?" I mumbled, slipping my legs
off the side and sitting up.
"Perfectly," she purred. No, it wasn't her: there was a dangerous, threatening
undercurrent in her tone; it hinted of sharp steel under silken words. Soft
footsteps patted from the left, then a rustle of sheets as someone sat beside
me. A white-furred arm wrapped around my waist and Naia stuck out her head
to examine me. "I'm fine, Aaron: better than ever. It was like watching a
video." She smiled. "You know, we should've won the 2401 All-Sol Saber open.
The director made some fairly inventive calls." I couldn't help but grin.
"Yeah. They had to have the Martians wins, though; we beat them in everything
else." Iera cocked her head to the side.
"Is that all?" Naia stood up and folded her arms.
"Yes, it is. Our thanks; we'll not impose on you any longer." Without so
much as another word she turned and made for the door, leaving me to quickly
thank the woman and then follow after my runaway friend.
End Part 12