Jay indicated the lunar settlement with a jerk of the chin. “Ilkazam?”
“No,” said Tachyon. “Alaa.”
“Who are they?” asked Mark.
“Enemies,” was Zabb’s laconic reply.
“Don’t Takisians have any friends?”
“No,” said Tach simply, and left it at that.
Jay felt a little queasy.
They passed over the edge of the curving horizon and were once again in the blackness of space. Takis was much closer now. As was a second, smaller moon – a moonlette really – which raced slightly behind its larger companion like a greyhound running at the flank of a charger. What seemed like hundreds of points of winking light banded the planet. Jay frowned, trying to fathom the twinkling display.
He was trying to decide if satisfying his curiosity was worth looking like a dumb shit. He’d just about decided it was when Mark took the idiot’s lead. “What are those?”
Tachyon looked momentarily confused. Jay pointed, amplified. “Over there, looks like somebody lost a string of Christmas lights.”
“Sunlight reflecting off platforms, satellites, weapons.” The words dried up. It didn’t seem as if she were trying to snub the humans, it was more as if she’d forgotten how to talk. Unblinking, she stared at the screen. Jay would have given a lot to know what was going on in that little head. Again, it was Meadows who dared to voice what Jay was only thinking.
He held out both hands closed into fists. “Pick a feeling.”
Tachyon studied the backs of Mark’s hands. They were ropy with blue veins, and a few age spots were starting to show. Tach reached out and delicately tapped the left one. Jay noticed that her nails were carefully maintained in that look known as the French manicure. It was strange that he hadn’t noticed before now. Strange that Tachyon would take such care with this borrowed body. Then he thought about Tachyon’s personality, and suddenly it made perfect sense.
“You really are one vain little son of a bitch,” murmured Jay to himself.
Mark’s hand was now extended palm up. Tach lightly brushed her fingers across the soft skin. “Happy.” She paused, then some internal spur set the words flowing again. “When I left all those long years ago, I thought I’d be returning in a matter of weeks. Then I thought I’d never see home again. And now…” The sentence trailed off.
Mark opened the other hand. “And this one?”
Again that featherlike brush. “Fear… because now I’m afraid I’ll never see home again.” The smile was crooked.
“We’ll get you back, Doc.”
The keying on a console brought Jay’s head around in time to see Zabb place a communication headset over his gilt hair, pull the thread-thin mike to his lips. In Sham’al he said, “This is Network *** amp;$%#@* number nine two seven five seven wanting…” (No, that couldn’t be right, thought Jay. Ah, requesting!) “Standard ** amp;%^ $#’.”
There’s something very frustrating about hearing a language with which you have a passing acquaintance. You want to understand, you ought to understand, ultimately you don’t understand. Comprehending one word in three was driving Jay nuts. He stepped in and tapped Tachyon on the shoulder. She jumped like a scalded cat. Turned to look at him with a blank, fixed stare that seemed to communicate that she couldn’t recall who he was or why he was there.
“Hello, translation please.”
There was a leitmotiv of Takisian broadcasting on an open channel. Tach listened, shook her head.
“It’s just standard landing protocols -”
“I want to hear it.”
She shrugged. “Okay. We read you – I can’t translate the Network word. I think it’s the ship’s name – you are cleared for docking at hangar bay twenty-three.” Zabb warbled back. Tachyon repeated in English. “Transferring computer control to station beacon.”
More singing from the station, and Tachyon gave a short gurgle of laughter, then translated, “Your accent is passable, shopkeeper, I congratulate you.”
Zabb glared, and the words came in a sudden glissando. “It’s better than passable, you childless, motherless ass. What a diplomat you’d make.”
Jay realized that Tach had added the final remark as a sarcastic commentary on Zabb’s social skills. It had the expected result – Zabb’s glare shifted to Tachyon.
“Get off my bridge,” Zabb ordered, but Tachyon wasn’t listening.
Her expression held all the joy of a Bernadette the first time she saw the virgin. “Listen!”
Jay listened. Meadows was listening so hard, he held his breath. Jay heard himself breathing, the subtle humming of the equipment.
“What?” he whispered. “Am I listening to?”
“Ships… singing… telling stories… Ancestors, I really am home.” Joy rang in the words, but then she swayed like a stalk of blowing wheat. Jay got an arm around her, supported her until the faintness passed. She drew a thumb across her hairline – so disconcerting, it was a Tachyon gesture – nodded thanks, and scuttled out of the circle of his arm.
The ship altered course again, obedient to the invisible reins of data transmitting from the Takisian station. The station slid into view from the bottom of the screen. Jay knew up and down were relative terms in space. He knew the ship was moving, not the station – (well, but wait, the station was also moving around the planet – too confusing) – but it still had a Jaws-like quality of an attack from below, a gaping maw opening to receive the little silver minnow. The image was reinforced by the organic quality of the station. No right angles here, no sharp edges or glitter of metal. Whatever this thing was, it had been grown, not welded, into place.
“That’s not an overgrown ship, is it?” Trips asked.
“No, the ships are a separate sentient race, although rather substantially genetically altered by us. This is nanotech at its apex.” She flashed that little porpoise smile. “We’re cultivators, not mechanics.”
“And every family has one of these mothers?” asked Jay.
“Yes, but not so large.”
“Then this isn’t Ilkazam?” Trips asked.
“No, this is the Bonded station. It was primarily built as a buffer for the Network, but we use it to do business House to House as well.” Again the smile. “We don’t like tourists on our turf.”
Jay asked the logical question. “So what about us?”
“I’ve adopted Trips, which makes him family.”
“And you’re invited,” put in Zabb. He stretched, stood, and crossed to them with that grace that always had Jay thinking nervously of the white tiger in the Central Park Zoo. “The only absolute prohibition is against any member race of the Network.”
“Or any individual who has sworn service to the Network,” Tach added, and from the looks she and her cousin were exchanging, Jay had a feeling that a lot more was being exchanged than mere words.
“You’ve really got a hard-on about these Network dudes,” Jay said.
“We despise them only somewhat less than we hate the Swarm,” drawled Zabb.
“And you’re the only Takisian to have done business with both,” Tach said, and sweet malice dripped off the edges of the consonants.
Zabb returned Tach’s smile. “I’m quite a legendary fellow.” And to Jay’s surprise Tachyon gave a sudden yip of laughter like a fox’s cry.
Trips was frowning. “So we might run into some Vayawand?”
Tach sobered. “Entirely possible.”
“Isn’t that, like, a problem?”
“Bonded means peace as well as money. This is the one place all the families can come together at any time and do business without threat of violence. An insurance consortium holds bond money from each family, and it would bankrupt a House if they violated the peace.”