“That’s an awfully big might. They might not have anything.”
“Yeah, except that this planet is also a rogue planet. It’s got no star to keep it warm. That’s how Sissix noticed it in the first place, it’s got these satellites providing artificial sunlight. They’re powering it by sucking ambi right out of a nearby nebula.”
Ashby raised his eyebrows. “That’s pretty serious tech.”
“The tech itself isn’t that fancy, but what I want to know is how they calibrated their harvesters to work within a nebula. There’s a reason that ambi’s harvested around black holes. It’s concentrated there. GC techs haven’t found a way to harvest smaller pockets without going broke.” She scrunched her lips in thought. “In any case, if they can harvest ambi in a nebula, I’ll bet my boots they’ve got simpler tech on hand, too.” She gestured with the regulator.
Ashby gave a quiet nod. “Any indication of who this colony belongs to?”
“No. But not Human.”
“Why not?”
Kizzy gave him a wry look. “Fringe colony or not, if Humans had their hands on that kind of tech, there’s no way we wouldn’t have heard about it by now. They’d be so rich, it’d be gross.”
Ashby drummed his fingers on the table. “Any ships around? Any weapon arrays?”
“No. No weapons. We checked. No ships, no orbiters, no docking ports. Other than the satellites, it’s a dead sky out there.”
Ashby thought for a moment. “Okay. Let’s be smart about it, though. I don’t want to head that way until I know who’s there.” He gestured at the pixel screen to wake it up. “Hey, Lovey,” he said, “I need an open sib signal to go out to that rogue planet. Just let me know if somebody picks up.”
“Will do,” Lovey said.
Kizzy dragged her chair over next to Ashby’s and watched the screen intently. “Kizzy, nothing’s happening,” Ashby said. “They might not pick up for a while. They might not pick up at all.”
“It’s exciting! It’s like going fishing or something, waiting for someone to bite.”
Ashby looked askance at Kizzy. “When have you ever gone fishing?”
“I do it in Battle Wizards all the time.” The sib indicator on the screen lit up. Kizzy leaned across the desk, pointing. “Look! See! A bite! They bit!”
Ashby put his hand over Kizzy’s shoulder and pulled her back into her chair. “Let me do the talking, okay?” The last thing he needed was for Kizzy to rub some twitchy fringe colonist the wrong way.
He gestured to pick up the call. An alien appeared on screen. Ashby’s jaw dropped. It was a Sianat. But not a Sianat like Ohan. This Sianat had let their fur grow out. No fractals or holy patterns had been shaved in. There was something more alert about the way they held theirself, not at all like Ohan’s perpetually relaxed slump. There was a slackness in the face, a thinness to the fur, and though Ashby knew he couldn’t make any presumptions about a species he knew little about, he couldn’t shake the obvious conclusion.
This Sianat was old.
“Hello,” Ashby said, shaking himself out of his surprise. “Do you speak Klip?”
The Sianat spoke, the same bird-like coo that Ashby had heard Ohan make at times. As the Sianat opened their mouth, Ashby could see that their teeth were unfiled. It was like looking into a cave full of sharp stalagmites. The Sianat gestured something toward Ashby, still cooing as they looked around the room behind them. Unfamiliar with other Sianats as Ashby was, he could read this behavior well enough: Hang on. Let me find someone who can talk to you.
“Ashby,” Kizzy whispered.
“I know,” he whispered back.
“I’m so glad I’m here for this,” she said, resting her chin against her fists.
There was movement on screen. The first Sianat made room for another. This one’s body was about the same size, but differently shaped. There was a stockiness around the hips and shoulders, a sharp definition to the eyes and jaw. Their build varied enough from the first Sianat—and from Ohan as well—that Ashby concluded this Pair was of a different sex. As the two Sianats switched places, the first touched the second on the shoulder. They touched. Ashby thought of how Ohan slunk away from the crew when they passed in the hallway, how they barely tolerated Dr. Chef laying his handfeet on them during medical exams. Who were these people?
“Good day,” the new Sianat said. Their accent was thick as fuel. Ashby noticed that this one did have filed teeth. “My name is Mas. Forgive my words, my Klip is old.”
Ashby smiled, taking care to speak slowly. “My name is Ashby. I captain a tunneling ship. This is Kizzy, our mech tech.”
Mas cocked their head. “Tunneling? Yes, yes, I know about tunneling.” They gave a yawping laugh. “I know much about tunneling.”
I. Not us. Ashby stared. “Excuse me, Mas, I don’t mean to be rude, but… are you not a Pair?”
“No,” said Mas. There was pride in their—in her voice, unmistakable, even through the accent. “No one is here. We are a colony of Solitary.”
“Heretics,” Kizzy gasped.
Ashby glared at her, but Mas did not seem to take offense. “Heretics, yes,” Mas said. “Do you have a Pair on your ship?”
“Yes,” Ashby said. “Our Navigator.”
“I was a Navigator once, for Harmagians,” said Mas. “Before here. Before I was here. Old words. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize, I can understand you.” Ashby considered what Mas had said. He hoped he wasn’t offending Ohan just by talking to this person. “Our Navigator doesn’t know we’re talking to you. We didn’t even know who was down there when we sent out the sib.”
“Oh! I thought—no, nothing.” Mas made a trilling sound. “What is your need?”
Ashby nudged Kizzy. “I’m looking for some tech,” she said, holding up the broken regulator. “Nothing fancy, just something to fix our stasie.”
“Ah, your food! You need to fix your food.” The Sianat seemed to find this funny.
At the mention of food, Ashby thought of Ohan’s tubes of nutrient paste. “You probably don’t have stasie tech, do you?”
“We eat,” Mas said. “We do not suck down paste like Pairs. Come to us, we’ll find tech. Might have to bang it around to make it work, but techs like to bang things, yes?”
Kizzy laughed. “Yes, we do.”
“Do you have a shuttle?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Our ships are old as words.” She gestured at the screen. A set of landing coordinates popped up. “And we must talk on your Pair. Are they Waning?”
“They are,” Ashby said.
“Not for long,” Mas said. “Come down, come down, we will talk. But do not tell your Pair you come. They will… not like it.”
The screen went dark.
Rosemary had seen such little variation in Ohan’s moods—much less seeing them burst into her office—that it took her a second to realize the Pair was furious. Their eyes were wide, their breath shallow. “Where did they go?” Ohan said, their voice shrill.
Rosemary, who had been in the middle of clearing invoices, found herself tongue-tied. “Who?” she said stupidly, even though she knew who Ohan meant. Ashby had come to her two hours before, told her that he and Kizzy were flying out somewhere Ohan could not know about. Rosemary had found it odd that he’d asked for her discretion. When did Ohan ever talk to anyone? Yet here they were, standing at her desk, looking uncomfortably carnivorous. Rosemary had always thought Ohan looked cuddly, like a stuffed toy. Not now. Ohan’s shoulders were back, their neck curled, their eyes wild. Rosemary didn’t like Ohan like this.