Yellow-and-salmon’s huge black eyes studied the treatment of her wound without blinking. Ayr and its companion only stood complacently, as though she’d never spoken.
Rahel wasn’t surprised to discover she was in no mood for mazhet weirdness. “What?” She looked irritably among the three of them. “Is there some mazhet rule against answering simple questions?”
The boy’s rapid breathing and the creaking of tlict limbs were the only sounds in the central compartment. The duacs had wandered off to sniff at Toad’s door and annoy her.
“The rules of the barter.” The dhaktu said it suddenly, without any mazhet’s urging and as though he surprised himself with the sound of his own voice.
Rahel aimed a frown at him. “What barter? Ours?”
The dhaktu dipped a stilted nod, wringing his hands in the folds of his orange robe and speaking in a quick, breathless voice completely unlike the competent tones he used as a translator. “They’re bound by the conditions of your agreement, proctor. You instructed them never to speak of the transaction with anyone.”
She dropped her arm to her side in shock, and was rewarded with a thick pulse of pain. “I didn’t mean me!”
The dhaktu winced a shrug. “You said anyone.”
The concept of banging her head against a bulkhead suddenly seemed very appealing.
“Healthy scenting. Tasting strong.”
The tlict stepped over and away from the boy with the delicacy of a four-legged dancer. Rahel brought her arm back up to her chest with a sigh, just as glad to turn her attention on the Larry and away from her own stupid barter technique.
“Yes. Yes,” the Larry’s translator stated solemnly. Its smallest arms danced here and there across its thorax as though searching nonexistent pockets for something. “Small food. Dark air. Non-tlict merchandise. Large food. Wise air.”
Rahel nodded slowly. “The boy needs food and a better environment.” She was guessing at the tlict’s full meaning, and wondered if repeating what she thought it meant would just get her words translated back into the same near-nonsense the tlict had said before.
Whatever happened when her voice crossed the language barrier, the diet’s tiny mouth parts played across its translator and it waved its lower arms enthusiastically. “Large Food. Wise air. Yes. Yes.”
Well, at least that kind of help wouldn’t be too hard to administer. Just about anything would be better than wherever this poor kid had already been. “Thank you.” She touched her fists to her mouth the way she’d seen Ayr do with the first tlict this morning, hoping it was remotely appropriate to the situation. “Is there something I owe you for doing me this service?”
“Worry. Answer.” The tlict bobbed twice on its multijointed legs. “Answer. Worry.”
Rahel took another blind stab at the alien’s meaning. “I’ll answer your question if I can.”
“Not-tlict you. Not-tlict this.” It tickled at the boy’s midsection with one hind leg. “Difference. Yes? Difference. No?”
This was perhaps the clearest thought she’d heard come out of a tlict so far. “Difference no. The merchandise is a human being, just like me.” She angled a look at the prone figure beyond the tlict, and frowned beneath an unexpected stab of pity. “He’s just had a harder time than most of us up to now.” How to explain feral children to an alien? And was it even worth really trying?
Hard-bladed toes clattered on the decking as the tlict sidled toward the airlock door, chewing on its translator. “Worry. Worry. Larry touches. Gertrude breathes.” It poked a hind foot at the airlock controls without turning to see what it was doing. Or maybe it had spatial sensors beyond the obvious eyes. When the hatch slid open, the tlict scampered inside, still facing Rahel and the boy. “Good breathing. Wise air.” It opened the outside hatch the same way as before, then tumbled out into the docking bay at what for a tlict must have been a dead run. “Worry. Worry. Goodbye.”
Rahel brought her arm down to peek under the now-darkened gauze pad as the hatch hissed shut behind the larry. “Are tlict always this arbitrary?” she asked the mazhet.
Ayr’s skirts rang in what might have been a mazhet shrug. “Tlict are tlict.”
Both a definition and the question, but no doubt the best any of them could expect. Rahel sighed and went back to her first aid.
“Well, I’d say your delivery of this merchandise is accomplished.” Satisfied that the bite still oozed somewhat prodigiously, she slapped a clean wad of padding over the wound and raised her arm to chest-height again. “You can get the agreed upon fee from Noah’s Ark—they’re good for it. Just tell Saiah Innis that I—”
The dhaktu interrupted her with a delicate clearing of his throat.
Rahel glanced up at the three quiet mazhet, thought about what she’d just said, and smiled thinly. “Oh, yeah. Forgot about that. Here…” She trotted into the cockpit to fetch her notebook off the console. Keeping her left hand clamped firmly over her forearm, she scribbled, “Saiah—it’s a boy! Attached is quote of fee promised mazhet. Pay, but don’t ask questions. Will explain once I’m off-station.” She didn’t bother signing it. He’d know who it was from.
She popped the data chip and carried it back down to the mazhet. “Transmit this to the address at the front of the message.” Ayr tipped its head in acknowledgment when she passed across the chip. “The funds ought to show up in your accounts within twenty-four hours of the Ark receiving the transmission.”
All three mazhet swarmed into a knot to slip the chip from hand to hand. It finally vanished into the event horizon of green-and-aqua’s robes, and one of them announced with a clatter, “This is equitable.” They swept into the airlock in a single cloud of silks and bells and ribbons. The four errant duacs jogged after them a moment later, as though only just realizing their masters were leaving. From far off down the hall, Rahel heard Toad wail with grief at the loss of her alien playmates.
“I guess that means there’s just you and me.”
Small and fragile in his unnatural sleep, the boy curled up with a whimper and covered his face with his hands.
She didn’t really want to, but she snoozed him again before the first shot had a chance to wear off. A boy wasn’t like other animals, she reasoned. He had wants and imagination, not just thoughtless genetic imperatives—he would know her handling of him was indelicate, would recognize himself as powerless, would never forget the details of what she did to him, just as he would never understand the whys. Better to take care of as much as possible with his fears and emotions safely tucked away in slumber. Maybe then he’d view the indignities she wrought as mysterious acts of providence, and not specifically something Rahel had done.
Before touching him, though, she finished cleaning and sealing her bitten arm, adding a broad-base antibiotic and a rabies booster just to say she’d thought of everything. Then she ran to the lab and gathered enough tools, handling equipment, and sampling gear for everything she could possibly want to do. On the way back, she stopped by her quarters long enough to quick-step around Toad and dig a T-shirt out of her clothes locker. Once she’d filled a shallow laboratory bucket with water and rags, she headed back for the main compartment with Toad prancing behind her with a mouthful of extra towels.
Toad’s contributions to the proceedings only slowed things down a little. “Get away from there.” Rahel elbowed the puppy back from the boy’s face when Toad abandoned the towels so she could explore him. Complaining, Toad circled Rahel to find a less obstructed position, then resumed her cheerful licking. “He doesn’t want your kisses. Now get over here.” Rahel, however, hadn’t yet enjoyed much success convincing Toad that normal, conscious people didn’t exist just to be her undying friends. She didn’t sustain much hope of having any better luck with a snoozed-out feral boy.