“We’re violent, but pragmatic,” Zabb added.
Braking jets fired, and the ship gave a lurch as it settled onto the floor of the docking bay. Tachyon stumbled, and Zabb threw out a hand to steady her. She jerked away, and he jerked back his hand before contact could be made. Jay decided it was a good thing they were saying adios to the Takisian just real soon now.
Meadows broke into his worried thoughts about the little Takisian soap opera. “Jay, we’ve done it. We’ve made it. We’ve reached another planet!”
“Yeah… swell.”
Chapter Seventeen
At the foot of the ship’s ramp Tachyon felt anxiety fall away like snow sliding off a roof. It still wasn’t solid ground underfoot and open sky overhead, but at least she was off that ship. Away from him. She looked back at Zabb and inclined her head regally.
“Thank you for your services.”
“The pleasure was mine.”
She led the two humans toward the bay doors, then became aware of the steady rap of Zabb’s boot heels on the floor behind her. She whirled. Nesfa and her people were eagerly tumbling out the lock, chattering in their own language.
“Zabb, you’ve done your job. You’ve delivered me to Takis. Now go away.”
“It’s a free station. I’ve a mind to buy a new hat. Besides, you aren’t home yet.”
“And just what does that mean?”
He shrugged. “Also, I have to keep an eye on my happy groundlings on an outing.” He jerked a chin toward the giggling Viand.
Chewing down irritation, Tach resumed her stately waddle for the door. They were on the perimeter of the station – little to see but maintenance vehicles, automated loaders, an occasional mechanic – both genetic and mechanical. Tach realized she didn’t want to hike all the way to the central hub, and she was sick of listening to Zabb and his mudcrawlers march after her. She reached a pedestrian strip and slid a hand across the wall. A schematic of the station appeared, delicate veins of color running beneath the skin of the wall. She traced a travel path and keyed the strip to move. The strip moved slower than a walking man. Zabb waved as he passed them. The Viand observed the gesture, looked at each other, waved.
Fifteen minutes later they were in the heart of the bustle. The central hub combined the beauty and reverence of a Gothic cathedral, the manic energy of the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, and the conspicuous consumption of a stroll down Rodeo Drive. The walls arched toward a tapering point hundreds of feet overhead. The ribbed material softly glowed, throwing an iridescent light over the throngs of people strolling across the glass-like floor, entering and exiting the exotic buildings, pausing by carved fountains to exchange greetings, supping in the cafйs, examining the bounty of a hundred worlds laid out in elegant, eye-tempting display.
Two of the Viand were carrying laden plates to a table. Nesfa and several of her crew were inspecting elegant handguns in the window of a nearby gunnery. True to his word, Zabb was in a hat shop arranging a long-tailed, shining cap on his fair head. He spotted Tach, swept off the hat, and gave her a bow so low and so flourishing as to male a mockery of the courtesy.
Takisians, both Tarhiji and Zal’hma at’ Irg, were everywhere, and Tach viewed them with growing alarm. Almost fifty years had sent fashion careening to the opposite extreme. There was still a lot of lace and layers, but the new look among the younger breed was the speed-skater look. Tight spandex caressed every curve and angle. Eye-confusing colors swirled, dotted, or splattered the one-piece suits, and the biotech that had grown this cloth was keyed to galvanic skin responses. Colors shifted and swirled in response to the wearer’s mood and whim. Hair had also adapted to the new look. In place of long curls, peach fuzz across the nearly naked skulls, or a river of straight silk as long as it could be coaxed. Tachyon’s old body was sadly out of fashion with its naturally curly love-locks. Tach’s borrowed body fit right in – or would if it hadn’t been female… and pregnant.
“Nice,” Jay said. “Be nicer if there were a few more babes around to model the spray-on look.”
“We are getting, like, some weird looks, man,” Trips whispered hoarsely.
A scent, rich and spicy, assailed Tachyon’s nostrils, and she froze as the smell crossed time and triggered memory. Mark’s concerns and alarms seemed unimportant, overshadowed as they were by the play of images behind her closed lids.
“You okay?” Jay asked.
“Fritter cakes,” said Tach, swallowing the saliva that filled her mouth.
“Yeah, they smell great. If we had some money, we’d buy some.”
Ignoring him, she continued. “I must have been ten or eleven. Jadlan and I slipped into the private kitchen and made them. The smell woke father, and we thought he would kill us. Instead he laughed and made hot ikadah. We talked until almost dawn.” She bowed her head and lightly touched her stomach. “I never saw Jadlan again.”
“Why is it you’re never happy unless you’re miserable?” growled Jay.
“Guys, we really are in the shitter,” Trips said urgently.
Tach pulled her attention from the past and gawked at the seven Takisian men who had fanned out and were advancing on the trio. They halted just out of arm’s reach, and their demeanor was decidedly hostile. One of the men stepped forward. Two long braids hung at each temple. Beads had been worked into the pale hair, each marking a significant moment in the life of this noble of the House Alaa. The rest of his hair formed a tangled cloud across his shoulders.
“Intaye, do you require aid?”
Tach was confused. “No.”
The man peered closely at her. “Are you of House?”
For a moment the question took her aback. Of course she was of House, the greatest and most puissant house on the Crystal World. Fortunately Takisian caution overrode Takisian pride. It would not do to reveal to strangers the return of the heir to House Ilkazam. Then it finally penetrated – these men were not concerned with her noble pedigree, or her mission. They saw a breeding female. A strange enough sight even among the shops and homes of the Tarhiji. Unheard of among the Zal’hma at’ Irg. And it was obvious this little body had enough grace and beauty to make them question her station.
Tach evaluated her two paladins. Only Jay could effectively pass as a member of the majority population, that ninety-seven percent that actually engaged in industry and agriculture and supported the elegant, telepathic overclass.
Tach shrank shyly against Jay’s side. “No, lord.”
Their interest in her vanished like steel shutters falling behind their eyes. They transferred their attention to Mark, towering head and shoulders over the diminutive Takisians that surrounded him. “And what, by the Ideal, are you?” drawled the Alaa nobleman.
Mark flipped them a peace sign. “Terran, human, from the planet Earth. Peace, man.”
Jay leaned in to Tach and whispered, “He’s gonna say it. I know he’s gonna say it.”
“Like, take us to your leader, man.”
“He said it.” Jay shook his head.
The Takisians exchanged puzzled glances, and Tach felt a smile growing like a sunburst. The Most Bred, the Zal’hma at’ Irg, don’t like jokes they don’t understand. Particularly when they suspect they’re the brunt of the joke. A few black looks were bestowed on the trio, and they dispersed.
“Meadows, you are one crazy fucker.” Jay shook his head again. “Wish I’d thought of it first.” Mark smiled shyly.
“Let’s find a phone. I want to get home.”
“Phone?” queried Jay.
She fluttered her hands like a person waving off flies. Jay stayed stubbornly in place. “Link stage. Okay?”
Fingers flying across the keyboard, Tach tried another combination of numbers. The stage remained stubbornly gray; then the flowing red script appeared, instructing her either to present her credit crystal, or to give a valid account number.