Six Quelin entered the cargo bay, headed by the one from the sib call, Enforcer Bevel. He doled out commands to his inferiors (or so Rosemary assumed, since she didn’t speak Tellerain). Four of them left the bay, scanning devices beeping, pointed legs clicking against the metal floor.
“Line up and prepare to be scanned,” Enforcer Bevel said. So much for introductions.
The crew did as they were told. Rosemary ended up beside Sissix. They exchanged a glance. Sissix rolled her eyes and gave her head an irritated shake.
Bevel pointed a leg toward Ohan. “What’s wrong with them?” Rosemary glanced over. Ohan was shaking. Not violently so, but enough to see from a distance.
“They’re old and ill,” Dr. Chef said. “Nothing contagious. They have a degenerative nerve condition that makes it difficult for them to stand for an extended period of time.”
Bevel’s eyes were fixed on Ohan, but without eyelids or facial muscles, it was impossible to know what the Quelin was thinking. “They may sit.”
“Thank you,” Ohan said with a nod. They sank to the floor, trying to be as poised as possible. It seemed the Quelin could be reasonable after all.
Bevel shifted his gaze to Dr. Chef. “We will need to review their medical records in order to confirm your claim.” Okay, maybe not.
The other Quelin pulled a device from a bag hanging from her side. “We will now scan your blood, hemolymph, or other primary genetic fluid for contaminants, pathogens, illegal nanobots, and any other banned or dangerous substances. If you are aware of carrying any such things, let us know at this time.” She paused for a reply. No one spoke. “I will now begin the scan.” She walked over to Jenks, at the far end of the line. She stared for a few seconds. “You are unusually small.”
“And you have a shitload of legs,” Jenks said, holding out his hand.
The Quelin said nothing. She pressed the scanner against Jenks’ palm. There was a mechanical click. Rosemary heard Jenks suck air through his teeth. The Quelin studied the scanner. Apparently satisfied, she moved on to Ashby.
Jenks examined his palm. “What, no bandage, or…? No? Okay. Thanks.”
The Quelin worked her way down the line. Rosemary stuck out her hand dutifully when her time came. The jab of the scanner was unpleasant, but nothing to fuss over. Even though she knew there was nothing of interest in her blood, she couldn’t help but sigh with relief when the Quelin passed her by. Something about these sapients made her feel awfully tense.
Even though Rosemary couldn’t read the Quelin’s face, something about her changed when she scanned Corbin. Enforcer Bevel clearly saw it, too, as he beelined right for her. He looked at the scanner, and there was a brief flurry of unintelligible discussion between them.
“Artis Corbin,” Enforcer Bevel said. “Under section 17-6-4 of the Defense of Genetic Integrity Agreement, I am placing you under arrest.”
“What?!” cried Corbin. The other Quelin was already upon him, binding his hands with some sort of energy cord and pushing him toward the door. “I—I haven’t done anything!”
Ashby rushed forward. “Enforcer, what’s—”
Enforcer Bevel stopped him. “You all need to be questioned. We will hold you here. Interrogations will take place in an area of our choosing once we have completed our search of your vessel,” the Enforcer said. “Under section 35-2 of the Punitive Regulations Act, any request made for legal advice will be denied.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Ashby said. “The hell is going on?”
Rosemary tried to stay calm. None of them had done anything, not to her knowledge, and if the Quelin hadn’t figured out about her doctored ID file by now, she doubted they would at all. And as for Corbin, she couldn’t think of anyone less likely to break the law. This had to be a misunderstanding.
“You are not under arrest,” Bevel said. “Nor are any charges being made against you at this time. Failure to comply in full with your interrogation officer will result in imprisonment.”
Jenks glared. “The captain asked you a question. What did we do?”
“Jenks, don’t,” said Dr. Chef.
The other Quelin marched Corbin off the ship. “Ashby!” he cried. His feet dragged, but the Quelin pushed him forward. “Ashby, I didn’t—”
“I know, Corbin,” Ashby said. “We’ll get this sorted out.” He turned back to Bevel, fuming. Rosemary had never seen him so angry. “Where are you taking him? What did he do?”
Enforcer Bevel looked at Ashby with his flat black eyes. “He exists.”
They scanned his wristpatch, and took his clothes. He had yelled himself raw, but none of them would speak to him. None of them were even speaking in Klip. Their words clicked. Their eyes clicked. Their feet clicked when they hit the floor. It was like being in a metal insect hive—dark, hot, humid, and always clicking, clicking, clicking.
He didn’t know how far he was from the Wayfarer. They’d moved him onto a different ship. Or maybe an orbiter? He couldn’t say. There hadn’t been any windows or viewscreens (not that he’d seen, anyway). They’d shoved him into an enormous room, the size of a cargo carrier’s belly. The floor was pockmarked with smooth, deep pits, twice as deep as he was tall. If he squinted hard enough, he could see the glitter of eyes staring back at him from within their depths.
He tried to cover himself. The Quelin wore no clothes themselves, but then, they had shells. They didn’t need to be covered. They weren’t made of soft flesh and hair and lines and creases and misshapen folds you’d rather keep to yourself. He wished he had a shell. He wished that he’d been born to a species with spikes or horns or anything more imposing than the fragile sack that he was. He wished the Quelin could be the ones who were afraid.
They nudged him roughly toward an empty pit. “No,” he said, trying to force the tremble out of his voice. “Not until you’ve told me what I’ve done. I’m a GC citizen, and I have my—”
Within seconds, he wished he’d said nothing.
One of the Quelin grabbed him with its upper limbs, pinning him face-out against its plated torso. Segmented limbs closed around his body, like a wirey cage. The other Quelin lowered its face to the floor, flattening itself into a plank. Corbin hadn’t noticed how thick the plating was at the top of their heads. A curved, blackish-blue dome, worn smooth and thick with old scratches.
The Quelin charged him. The domed head rammed into his chest. Pain burst through him. He choked on his own breath, flecking the Quelin’s domed head with spit. The Quelin did not seem to care. The thing backed up, and ran forward again.
Oh, no, please, not—
He heard his ribs crack before he registered the pain. He heard himself cry out before he realized who it was. He sagged against the Quelin’s legs, but it held him upright. The second Quelin charged again.
The Quelin holding him must have let him go at some point, because he found himself on the floor, retching and shaking. He could feel the fractured ribs stab every time his stomach heaved. Low moans escaped from his mouth, but were cut short as his lungs fought for air.
They shoved him into the pit. He tumbled down the cold metal. His face hit the floor first. He felt blood spurt from his nose as it wrenched sideways. The Quelin who had broken his bones shouted to him in Klip, speaking eight angry words. In the hours ahead, they would be all he could think of.
“From now on, clone, you will be quiet.”
Ashby was the last to return from the interrogation. He joined the others at the dinner table. Everyone looked exhausted. Even Ohan was there, curled up under a blanket on a nearby bench. Dr. Chef had brought out a small batch of spring cakes. Nobody was eating them.