ARC: Under Nameless Stars (10 page)

“But this is bold and thrilling,” Jules said. “I should like to be a bodyguard.” He turned to Zenn. “I can act as Miss Bodine’s body-shielder. Like a horse-riding man covered in metal skin – a knight of olden days. So you will have no worries.” He put one mech-hand softly on her shoulder. “I will go wherever you go, at the ready. To guard your body.”

“Jules, I’m not important enough to need guarding,” Zenn said quietly, not wanting to attract any more attention than she already had.

“You underestimate yourself, Novice,” the Captain said.

“Novice?” The soldier turned his silver eyes back to her.

“Yes,” Noom said. “We have a novice exovet to grace our company, Lieutenant. From the local Ciscan cloister, no less.”

“The cloister on Mars? Still in operation? I didn’t realize.” The soldier’s striking eyes rested on her in a way that made it difficult for her to look away. “But I’m glad to hear it’s still functioning.”

“Yes, Novice Bodine helped to revive my ailing Cleevus, didn’t you?” The Captain beamed at her.

Zenn blushed beneath her mask, wishing again that everyone would just ignore her.

“In that case,” the soldier said, raising his glass to her, “we must thank the fates that Miss Bodine came aboard when she did.” Another smile for her, beneath the ice-gray glance. “So, where are you headed, Novice?”

Zenn’s mind momentarily blanked.

“Oh… to… Sigmund’s Parch,” she said. “I’m traveling with my father, to return his sandhog boar to the seller.”

“So, the animal became ill?” the soldier asked. “And required your attention on the journey?”

Zenn tried to think…

“Yes. A parasitic infection,” she said, grasping for a reason she’d need to accompany the hog. “Affected his behavior and made him difficult to handle… He was aggressive, kept burrowing out of his pen, that sort of thing.”

“Well, your father’s a lucky man to have an exovet in the family,” he said. He turned then to address the table: “Now, if you’ll all excuse me for a moment, I’d better check in with my adjutant before we eat. He’s handling all the paperwork for our excursion from Earth, and it makes him cranky if I don’t update him on a regular basis.”

The soldier stepped down from the dais and spoke into his sleeve screen as he walked a short distance into the crowd.

ELEVEN

An hour or so later, they’d all finished their main courses. The ship’s stewards were weaving among the guest tables offering trays arrayed with assorted dessert dishes.

“…and in your exciting role as bodyguard,” Jules was saying to Stav Travosk, “are you often called upon to heroically defend Ambassador Noom by shooting down nefarious assailants, blazing at them with your pistol?”

Zenn noticed then the soldier did in fact wear a holster on one hip, whatever weapon it held hidden discreetly beneath a wide flap.

“The ambassador exaggerates my position. I’m just here to represent the Authority and provide a courtesy escort. Nothing more heroic than that.”

“And what’s your take on the ambassador’s negotiations, Lieutenant?” the Captain asked.

“Only time will tell,” Stav said. “But Eta Cephei makes a compelling case. I think she may have persuaded a lot of people back on Earth, people who have a long history of not being persuadable.”

“Yes, so I hear,” the Captain said. “But I wonder. Is their case compelling enough to offer them exclusive control of the starship routes to Earth?”

“Captain Oolo,” Noom interjected, rising a foot or so into the air. “You will embarrass the lieutenant.”

Stav shook his head dismissively. “There are always rumors kicked up in this sort of negotiation: that the Cepheians are trying to control all Sol space routes, that the Authority is planning an end run around LSA trade law, that sort of thing. All I can say is that the Authority is the one who’s reaching out. We have nothing to hide.”

Noom then rose further into the air to address the table. “Precisely. And I think we can all agree that Accord politics are too spicy an addition to civilized dinner conversation.” She gave Captain Oolo a significant look. He seemed on the verge of contesting her point when she went on, “Now, Captain, what about this mudlark of yours I’ve heard so much about? It will be performing tonight, will it not? I’m sure we’re all anxious to hear this rare exhibition.” Her attempt at changing the subject was successful, and the Captain happily launched into a discussion of Cleevus’s lengthy pedigree.

After the dessert course, a Gliesian waiter came through the crowd wheeling a small trolley. On it was a portable aquarium, complete with a tiny purple velvet curtain.

The Captain descended from the raised dais and went to introduce his pet to the audience. Standing next to the trolley, Zenn saw him touch one hand to his belt. His holographic human-ship’s-captain costume deactivated, revealing his true physique. Zenn had guessed right. The Captain was a bird of sorts – he was an Ornithope; six feet tall, his long neck topped by a smallish, round head with a massive hooked beak and hooded hawk’s eyes. His leather-booted legs held a body covered mostly with brown and white feathers. Where a bird would have wings, Ornithopes had evolved feathered, claw-tipped arms. His white, vest-like captain’s uniform was cut away at the chest, allowing him to show off the characteristic rainbow-hued breast feathers Ornithopes used for displays of various emotions. The chest feathers were now rippling with pride as he drew the curtain back to present Cleevus standing alertly within her small glass enclosure.

“Honored guests, allow me to introduce my fungal-animoid, Cleevus.” The Captain’s speech was now no longer the deep, bass drawl that had been manufactured by his holo-costume. Instead, he spoke in his natural voice: a bubbling Ornithope warble. Much like an Earther parrot or mynah bird, his heavy, black beak moved only slightly as he spoke, the sound produced by the complex, flexible membranes within his avian syrinx – the equivalent of a human’s voice box – located deep in his chest.

“Tonight,” the Captain continued, “Cleevus will be performing a program of symphonic, popular and operatic works by composers from across the Local Systems Accord. For her first selection, a concerto for Alcyon harp and orchestra, by Ghilic Sha.”

By the time Cleevus had completed her final number, a soothing choral rendition of a Procyoni folk lullaby, Zenn was fighting to keep her eyes open. She leaned over toward Jules.

“I’m ready to call it a night,” she said. “And I’m definitely ready to get rid of this tail. No offense.”

“None taken. You do look on the verge of sleep. I should accompany you, should I not, if I am to serve as your body-guardian?” But as Jules said this, Zenn saw he was gazing at something across the room. Through a gap in the crowd, she could see he was watching a corner table with several costumed guests sitting around it. They were playing cards.

“Would you rather stay?” Zenn said, grinning at his obviously conflicted state.

“Would I be derelict if I did so? In my guarding duties?”

“Of course not. Go play cards. But Jules…” She waited till he turned to face her. “Do not gamble your walksuit away. Promise?”

“My walksuit? That would be folly.”

“Yes. It would.”

“So, if you are certain, then,” he said, standing up from where he’d crouched at the table. “Sleep comfortably. I will see you in the morning.” He then raised his voice so the others could hear. “I will bid you all good evening. Zora Bodine, when you return to your cabin, please wish your father good evening as well for me.”

“Yes,” Zenn said, thinking this was overplaying the part just a bit. “I’ll do that.”

He leaned in to whisper to her, “A subterfuge. I am deceiving those present by leading them to believe you now go to your own cabin.”

“I get it, Jules,” she whispered back. He engaged his legs and strode off toward the card game.

She rose from her seat, thanked the Captain and said goodnight to him and the others. Noom also excused herself, saying her consorts were growing weary and she needed to retire.

The soldier took his cue from the ambassador and said he was leaving as well. He rose and approached Zenn.

“A pleasure to meet you, Novice Bodine,” he said, politely taking her hand in both of his and giving her a smile, locking his gray eyes on hers. “Travel safely,” he said, held her hand a moment longer, then released her.

“I will, thank you,” she said. She watched him go, momentarily flustered by their exchange. There was, she decided, something intriguing about this Earther soldier. Leaving the dais, she made her way through the partygoers toward the corridor. She was about to step into the passageway when the crowd parted and she saw the Captain’s mudlark, surrounded by the pack of Alcyons. They were demanding an encore.

“Sing,” one of the rodent-clad reptiles hissed, leaning in close to the aquarium.

“Yes. The Alcyon anthem. Sing that. Do it now,” another lizard said, poking at the mudlark with one claw-tipped finger. The mudlark shrank into itself, its color blanching pale.

“The Alcyon anthem.” The mudlark repeated the reptile’s words back to him, perfectly mimicking the reptilian tones and timbre. “Sing that. Do it now,” it said, again a perfect match.

Zenn looked to see if the Captain had noticed, but he was conversing with one of the waiters.

The mudlark was clearly terrified, Zenn thought, and its mimicry was just a fearful attempt to ward off the hostile group encircling it. When that didn’t work, the mudlark seemed to panic, picking up any sound it could hear, replicating more and more voices from the partygoers in the room. Within seconds, the creature was emitting a babble of dozens of voices all at once. This only seemed to annoy the Alcyons, who drew in even closer around it as they continued to hector their victim.

Zenn was trying to work up the courage to intervene when it hit her, the feeling immersing her, sapping her strength to the point she had to lean against the nearby wall for support. The lights in the room grew faint, and all at once she was in total darkness. A wave of overwhelming fear hit her, a dreadful sense of being exposed to danger but unable to flee.

She had linked with the mudlark again, or it with her, as it was tormented by the Alcyons. But there was more. A roaring in her ears, a growing onslaught of incoherent sounds. Squeals. Clicks. Gurgles. Garbled words. Tones, rising, falling in the darkness that engulfed her… She was hearing… voices, human and Asent, distorted, impossible to sort out, ten, twenty, dozens of voices, all speaking at once, in a babble of different languages. She was hearing the conversations of everyone in the room, hearing through the exquisitely sensitive audio receptors of the frightened mudlark.

In the cacophony and darkness, she struggled to keep her balance, forced herself to remain still. Then, through the din of alien tongues and snatches of sentences, came words she recognized.

“…no, it is her. I’m certain… she’s on board.” The voice was faint, indistinct, and Zenn couldn’t even tell if it was male or female, human or not. It faded in and out in the cascade of sound ebbing and flowing through the room.

“But how…?” This new voice was guttural, rasping, but clearer, easier to hear. “When last I saw her, we were at the launch port on Mars.” Zenn knew then. It was voice of her Skirni abductor – and he was talking about her.

“…doesn’t matter how,” the other, unidentifiable voice said. Then it submerged, only to re-emerge. “…back on schedule, no thanks to you. Now, we can proceed as originally – we will take the ind– You will release the… into the chamber… you gain access?”

The Skirni again: “Do not concern yourself; Pokt knows… around a starship… will achieve access… deliver the nexus… And all Skirni… have their reward… justice...”

Then she lost all traces of the conversation as it blended into the churning sea of chattering voices. She fought to find it again, made herself reach out through the confusion and noise, searching, straining. But it was no use.

“…mistress?” A new voice. Closer. Clearer. “Can you hear me ?” Unusual accent. Female.

Abruptly, the strange sensations drained away from Zenn, the hundred voices went silent, vision returned – she was leaning against the wall of the hall, near the exit. She must have been “gone” for just a second or two.

“Are you unwell?” It was a Fomalhaut; yes, the Skirni’s slave, concern lining her face, one hand on Zenn’s shoulder.

“I’m OK,” Zenn said, pushing away from the wall, trying to clear her head. “It was just… a dizzy spell. I’m fine now.”

“I am pleased to hear it. For I come to you in my master’s name,” the slave said, her crescent eyes looking off into the corridor. “I am called Carm Sivit. And I bear a message to you.”

“Yes?” Zenn said, her thoughts still clouded, unable to imagine what Thrott’s slave could possibly want.

“I am to say: forgive me, mistress, for disturbing you,” the Fomalhaut said, eyes now cast down. She raised her head, gave Zenn a quick look of pained misery, looked away again, and began speaking very rapidly, hardly stopping for breath. “Master Thrott’s Encharan slug – the one you saw – it has been injured,
grievously
injured in a fight. My master beseeches you humbly to come at once and attend to its wounds which consist of deep slashes to vital organs. It will surely die if you do not come. My master states he will pay extravagantly for your services. Please do not allow this innocent animal to perish by refusing to come. My master thanks you.”

In her shaken state, Zenn had to concentrate to comprehend the Fomalhaut’s words.

“The slug… it’s hurt? How long ago?”

The slave started in again on her memorized speech. “Master Thrott’s Encharan slug – the one you saw–”

“If it’s wounded… I’ll have to come.” Inside the room, she saw that the Alcyons had given up harassing Cleevus and had gone off into the crowd. “But I’ll need to go get my field kit.”

“Yes. Thank you. Quickly, please, mistress.”

At Jules’s cabin, Zenn changed out of her costume, checked on Katie – sound asleep on her bunk – and then hurried back into the corridor, where Carm Sivit waited.

On their way to Thrott’s cabin, Zenn tried to organize her scattered thinking enough to extract further details about the slug’s condition. But between the aftereffects of her link with the mudlark and the slave’s near-panic, she could learn nothing new. The distressed Fomalhaut would only repeat her earlier words about deep wounds to vital organs. Zenn realized Thrott must have seen Jules at the party and deduced that it was her with him. Maybe he’d been at the dinner in order to arrange a fight with another animal owner. That would explain the slug being wounded. Apparently, he was willing to forgive her earlier behavior, at least when his prize slug was at risk. She would make sure he promised no more fights as a condition for her services.

They stopped in front of a cabin door.

“The animal… is inside,” the Fomalhaut said, motioning for Zenn to enter.

Zenn had just stepped into the room when the slave’s voice stopped her.

“My master Thrott,” Carm Sivit said, eyes down, in a voice so low Zenn had to strain to make out her words. “He… holds my family in bondage. I must do all that he says or they perish. I wish you to understand this.”

“But, that’s terrible, can’t you go to the authorities and–”

“No. I am sorry. I am so sorry,” Carm said, her voice a pained cry. Then she toggled the outer door switch, and it hissed shut.

The interior was so dim Zenn couldn’t make out any details. Moving further inside, she told the lights to turn themselves up, but nothing happened. She turned and told the door to open. No response. She went to the wall, flicked the manual override, still no lights. And the door also refused to respond.

“Master Thrott?” she said, setting her pack down on a chair. “Your servant said the slug was injured. Hello?”

A faint sound came from a dark corner of the room: a liquid, rasping intake of breath. Zenn squinted into the shadows.

“Thrott? Are you there?”

There was movement at the back of the room and a soft sputtering sound. A shape lifted itself up beyond a table, emerging into the scant light. The Encharan slug. It was… out of its cage! The creature’s broad muzzle swung slowly to and fro. Had it picked up her scent? She kept still and held her breath.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the slug, she then risked a step backward and felt behind her, hands searching for the manual door switch. She found it, toggled it frantically. Again, nothing happened. The slug’s eyestalks extended, raising the weak eyes upward, where they slowly panned across the room. Panic flooding through her, Zenn gauged the distance to the cabin’s nearest high point – a shelf running along one wall. If she could reach it in time, it might let her get out of the slug’s striking distance.

She eased her foot back until it contacted the door behind her, braced herself to make a run for it. The eyestalks swiveled, catching the motion. With an ear-splitting, high-pitched squeal, the slug reared and fell forward, toxic slime splattering off its body as it humped toward her.

Zenn sprang for the shelf, reached it, hands scrabbling to gain a grip on the smooth metal. Would it hold her weight? She hurled herself up, rolled her body onto it, knocking books to the floor, felt the impact of the slug hitting the wall beneath her. She forced herself into the small space, barely able to hold herself in place.

Below, the slug raised itself, its boneless form narrowing, extending, reaching up towards her. It was just inches away. Now, the barbed ribbon of the slug’s radula-tongue shot out from the oral opening, scraping on the shelving beneath her, leaving deep gouges in the metal where it struck. The radula slid out again, hit the shelf – and stuck, embedded in the surface. The slug pulled its radula back into its mouth. It was hoisting itself up, its entire weight coming off the floor. It was climbing up to get at her.

Zenn realized she couldn’t stay where she was. There was nothing else to be done: she pushed away from the wall, threw herself off the shelf and into the air. Passing just over the suspended slug, she landed hard and came up against the front of a table. She dove through the opening between its legs and turned to see the slug release its grip on the shelf and drop to the floor. It hit with a fleshy splat opposite her, re-oriented itself, eyestalks fully extended, the head waving back and forth.

The head stopped waving – it had spotted her. It heaved itself into motion, snorting and gurgling, wet body slapping hard on the floor as it came.

Zenn looked around frantically. No. There was no other place to hide. She was trapped. She turned again toward the door where she’d entered. Even if she could reach it, it was jammed. Then, she saw – the door… was open! Yes, she could see into the corridor beyond.

With no time even to stand, she scrambled madly backwards on all fours, crab-style. The slug slid around the corner of the table, zeroed in on her and pursued, squealing, the spiked radula sawing in and out. But the door was too far. She’d never make it.

“Get down.” A man’s voice, booming behind her. “Down, now!” She obeyed, dropped to the floor, drew her body into a ball, covered her exposed face with her arms and waited for the feel of slashing spikes and burning acid.

The sound of the onrushing slug filled her ears. It would be on top of her in another second. Then a shocking blaze of blue-white light filled the room, a sensation of searing, concentrated heat rippled through the air inches above her and a short, sharp animal shriek was followed by the sound of a something big and wet hitting the floor next to her.

Zenn lifted her head. The front of the slug’s body lay six inches away. The creature was dead, a steaming, oozing stump of flesh where its head had been. Turning, she saw a figure silhouetted in the doorway. It wore a red soldier’s jacket and held a flux-pistol in one hand. A wisp of smoke curled into the air from the gun’s faintly glowing tip.