“What’s this called again? A transmitter?” came a familiar voice. Just before he high-tailed it in the other direction, Valerian recognized the distinctive voice and bright red hair of the female half of the tourist couple he’d seen earlier.
“A transmatter,” the checkout person said. He was human, angular and tired-looking, with thinning hair and a forced smile. He’d probably had to repeat the words a thousand times a day. Valerian wished him well with the thousand and first.
“Oh, a transmatter, sorry,” apologized the red-headed human female. She and her husband were among the throngs of shoppers that Laureline passed, scanning the crowd for Valerian.
“It allows any object to be sent from one world to another,” the checkout person said in a monotone. “Please punch in the code you were issued with your ticket, and it’ll be waiting for you safe and sound upon your return after your exciting visit to the magnificent Big Market, the premier place for galaxy-sized bargains.”
The male tourist punched his code into the machine, and the object disappeared, dispatched to Earth, or Alpha, or wherever else the couple called “home.”
“Amazing!” cried the woman. “And so practical!”
The man did not look as enthusiastic as his wife. His face was red and sweating beneath the visor of his yellow and black helmet. “So useless, you mean,” he grumbled. “You don’t even know what you’ll do with the darn thing!”
“Oh, don’t be such a grouch, honey! It’s…” the female fumbled for a word, “…decorative. Try to be civilized for once!”
Her husband looked around. Briefly caught by the domestic drama, Laureline noticed his gaze fastened on one group of aliens, then another, then a third.
“Civilized?” he sneered arrogantly, his lip curling in barely concealed disgust. “Yeah, sure.”
Major Gibson’s voice sounded in Laureline’s ear. It was a diversion from the unpalatable display of bigotry she’d just witnessed, but the instructions were not welcome.
“Sergeant?” Gibson snapped. “Back to base, Sergeant. Immediately.”
“I can’t abandon my partner out here,” Laureline replied, still scanning the crowd.
“That’s an order, Sergeant.”
Laureline bit her lip in frustrated annoyance and concern. Her gaze traveled back to the outer wall. Reluctantly, she started heading in that direction. But as she maneuvered through the press of satisfied, and most likely broke, tourists, she asked, “Valerian? Do you copy? Answer me!”
“I hear you loud and clear,” came a welcome voice. Laureline let out the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.
“There you are!” she exclaimed with equal parts annoyance and relief. “It’s about time! What the hell are you doing?”
Laureline headed back toward the outer wall, casually taking a gun off one of the Siirt guards so smoothly he didn’t even notice.
“Shopping,” came Valerian’s voice.
Laureline glanced at the gun she’d just filched and thought it more likely that she was the one doing the “shopping.”
“Are you safe and sound?”
There was a long pause—long enough for Laureline’s heart to resume its previous position in her throat.
“…Almost!” His voice wasn’t quite a squeak, but it was definitely higher than usual. The words were immediately followed by gunfire.
Without breaking stride, Laureline immediately turned around and headed back to help.
But Gibson had, of course, been monitoring her, and her abrupt U-turn had not gone unnoticed. His voice came to her, clipped and angry.
“Turn around, Sergeant. The mission takes priority. We need the converter!”
Laureline lowered her chin in a gesture of stubbornness her wayward partner would have immediately recognized, had he not been, it seemed, in dire need of rescue, and kept going.
“Agent Laureline! What are you doing?”
“I won’t be a minute,” she promised.
“Sergeant! Back to base—it’s an order!”
Agonized, she obeyed. Valerian was close; he’d said so. But she’d be ready to spring into action if she heard anything more from him that warranted it.
“On my way!” she replied, trotting back to the wall, thinking, I hope I just haven’t made a terrible mistake…
Valerian raced to the end of a street that led to a wall that was wonderfully, magnificently solid. Not just any wall— the wall, the outer wall of the compound. He had never thought chunks of rocks piled atop one another could be so beautiful. He almost wanted to kiss it.
He perused the wall, wondering if he could get over it in time. It was old and weatherworn, if thick, so he could easily find footholds…
And then he thought of the oversized shoebox attached to his arm and realized it would be impossible to climb with just his right hand. He swore, colorfully. Nonetheless, he gave it a try. He had no other option. He extended his left arm and pulled himself up, scrabbling for toeholds and bracing himself with the Sleeve-encased arm while attempting to cling and release with the other. It was every bit as frustrating as he had anticipated.
Frustrating, and potentially deadly. Could he reach the gate? He turned, intending to start following the wall, to see how far away it was, and his eyes widened.
The bright sunlight that marked the end of the street was blocked by two familiar silhouettes: the tall, angular shapes of the Kodhar’Khans, and the shorter, compact, scampering ones that meant Pit-Ghors. Even as Valerian stared at them, they saw him, too. They lifted their weapons and began to fire.
Desperately, Valerian turned back to the wall, and his eye fell on something dark. A shadow… in the wall.
A hole.
A beautiful, glorious square hole where someone had removed one of the carved stone bricks. And with a little luck…
He crouched down beside it. Yes! He wriggled inside it. For an instant, he used his free hand to help maneuver, and immediately realized he’d lost the pearl. As if in slow motion he watched it roll back toward the entrance. Swearing under his breath, Valerian lunged forward, his fingers closing around it. He yanked his hand back, feeling hot breath on it as a Pit-Ghor’s gargantuan teeth snapped a bare inch away. Just then he heard a voice next to his ear.
“Need some help?”
Laureline!
She slid down next to him and they pressed tightly together in the hole. Normally, that would be a pleasant thing, but at the moment he had something a bit more important to worry about. “Just want my arm back, thanks.”
The Pit-Ghors made horrible sounds as they were unleashed and hurtled toward Valerian. He squeezed the trigger and a volley of bullets sped toward the creatures. They gave the Pit-Ghor equivalent of a whimper and fled back the way they had come.
Laureline opened a small flap in the side of the Sleeve. A bunch of fibers spilled out. She hunkered down and took hold of the jumble of wires and immediately began to repair them.
She was smiling as she said, “I suppose if you’re going to ask for my hand, you’d better get your own hand back first.”
He’d been peering down the various avenues of attack, but now his head whipped back to look at her, a hopeful smile on his face. “Is that a yes?”
Laureline looked up at him with those eyes and said only, “Don’t move.”
He attempted to oblige, but then he realized that the Pit-Ghors hadn’t actually retreated. They had simply run around the block and were now charging at the object they could see—the Sleeve—from the other side. Valerian swiveled his arm and fired at them.