Kizzy’s voice came through the vox. “Don’t worry, Ashby, I won’t talk at all.”
He paused, trying to find a kind way to tell her that was best. “You’re too cool for them anyway, Kiz.”
Toum sat in meditation. Or so he meant to. Across from him sat the first guard, Fol, her legs folded calmly, her eyes blank with reason. He envied her. The longer they stayed around these Commons people, the more difficult it was for him to structure his mind. No matter how hard he tried to shift his thoughts elsewhere, he returned, inevitably, to Hiul. Neither of them should have left the room alive. It was their way. The stronger belief would survive, the weaker would be erased. This was how harmony was made.
He should have killed her. Striker training or no, he’d had his mouth on her throat. He should have killed her. He had killed many out of disagreement. Why had he let her walk away?
The answer was there, in a cruel corner of his mind. He ran from it. It mocked him all the same.
“Come,” the New Mother said, entering the room. Toum and Fol extended their legs and gathered their weapons. “I am going to the carrier. The tunneling ship has arrived, and I have heard that the Harmagian has invited them aboard.”
“Have you been extended an invitation?” Fol asked. The Harmagian bureaucrat was particular about tedious matters like guest lists and protocol. Commons worries.
“I do not need one,” the New Mother said. Toum knew he could hear it in her voice, too—the waning patience, the weariness of dealing with alien ways. Why did she never speak of it? If she would just voice the frustrations he knew she felt, then he would have been in agreement with her all along, and he would no longer doubt his place as Toremi Ka. But no such relief came. “These tunnelers are making a hole in my sky,” she said, walking to the door. Fol and Toum fell into place on either side of her, staying a practiced six steps behind. “That gives me the right to see their faces.”
Rosemary was glad to be off the ship. Granted, she was on another ship, but the change in scenery was badly needed, and the small welcoming reception they’d been brought into was a nice surprise. Nothing fancy, just a table of artfully made finger food and a few low-level GC officials making casual conversation. She’d been to gatherings like this before, but tunnelers weren’t the sort you’d find on the guest list. It was a kind gesture—and a sign of how important this new tunnel was.
The room surrounding them was a stark contrast to the Wayfarer’s patchwork walls. It was a Harmagian design, spacious and colorful. A variety of species-specific chairs were scattered here and there, and long horizontal windows lined the hull wall. The filtered air was cool and crisp—Rosemary had noticed Sissix moving more slowly, as a Human with sore muscles might—and the lighting just on the edge of too bright. Her crewmates were having a good time, enjoying both the food and the attention. Ashby and Sissix were across the room, locked in conversation with some bureaucrat. Jenks had apparently made friends with one of the serving staff, a Laru, who he’d been laughing with for twenty minutes over who knew what. Ohan had remained behind, of course, and so had Corbin, who, after seeing Dr. Chef’s eyes light up at the mention of a buffet, had offered to keep an eye on the ailing Navigator in his stead. The algaeist had been rather generous with favors as of late.
“Hey, Doc,” Kizzy said. She lifted a skewer of fried vegetables from her overburdened plate. “What’s this yellow stuff?”
Dr. Chef’s cheeks fluttered. “That’s saab tesh. I cook it all the time.”
“It doesn’t look like saab, though. Or taste like it.” She pulled off one of the chunks with her teeth and chewed it thoughtfully. “Nope, not really.”
“That’s because they probably have better stasies than ours. No molecular degradation over a long haul.” His head drooped. “Lucky.”
Kizzy swallowed. “I don’t think I like it as much this way.”
“That’s how it’s supposed to taste.”
“Well, I don’t like it.” She ate another piece.
“You know,” Rosemary said. “We’ll be making a nice profit off this job. I’m not making any promises, but you and I could at least look at market prices for a new stasie once this is done. We could put together a little proposal for Ashby.”
Dr. Chef’s cheeks puffed. “I’ve always liked the way you think.”
“I cannot wait to punch,” Kizzy said, abandoning the vegetable skewer in favor of a seed-encrusted bundle of leaves. “I love all you guys, but I seriously need to get off the ship for a couple tendays. I’m all space-twitchy.”
“Jenks said he’s already got his bag packed,” Dr. Chef said.
“Oh, yes. He will not shut up about all the reasons why the beaches on Wortheg are better than anywhere else. I don’t know how we’re going to get him back.”
“No beaches for me. I’m going to go visit my old friend Drave. He just installed a new greenhouse in his homestead, and he said he’d love some help choosing seedlings.”
“Wait, wait, wait. For your vacation, you’re going to Port Coriol. A place we go all the time. So you can garden. Which you do all the time.”
“What?” His cheeks puffed. “I love gardening.”
Kizzy rolled her eyes. “What about you, Rosemary?”
“Oh. Well, I—” I have nowhere to go. “I haven’t really decided yet.” She took a sip of fizz. “I may just stay on the ship. I’ve almost got all the financial archives reorganized, and I hate to leave it unfinished.”
Kizzy quirked her eyebrows and smiled. “You want to come home with me, come stay with my dads?”
Rosemary felt her cheeks flush. “Oh… that’s very kind, but I—”
“Listen. Mudskip Notch isn’t exactly Florence, but it’s quiet, and the people are chill. There’s live music in the main square on warm nights, and the hydrofarms are actually kinda pretty once the algae crop starts to bloom. And there’s a little collective of artists and modders out along the edge. You can kick it with me, or you can do your own thing. All I’m offering is a clean bed in a sleepy colony town, in the home of two awesome gentlemen who love it when I bring houseguests. Also, three dogs who will lick your face and be your best friends forever. And my Ba makes the best fucking waffles in the galaxy.” She turned to Dr. Chef. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Dr. Chef. “I’ve never had success with waffles.”
“Well…” Rosemary said. Two quiet tendays of home cooking and fresh air were tempting, and she was curious to see more of the independent colonies, but—
“Please?” Kizzy said, bouncing. A stray pastry fell off her plate. “Please please please?”
Rosemary gave a little laugh, both embarrassed and touched. “Okay. If you’re sure it’s no trouble, I’ll come.”
“Yes!” Kizzy jammed a fist into the air. “I’ll message my dads when we get back to the ship. Or after we punch, I guess.” She rolled her eyes. “Priorities.”
Something across the room caught Dr. Chef’s eye. “Well, well,” he said. “I wasn’t sure we’d be seeing any of them.”
Through the doorway came three Toremi, strange and disconcerting. They walked on four legs with knees that bent the wrong way, and their skin looked hard and brittle. Their thin heads lolled, more like machine weights hanging from a socket than things made of soft flesh. The Toremi standing in the middle wore thick ornamental chains over her dark vestments, and a conical cap, trimmed with red. A New Mother, as Nib’s messages had described. The other two Toremi flanked her, a few steps back. They were both armed, and heavily—big rifles slung across their ridged backs.