Her ears pricked even before she reached the top of the ramp, hearing the sound of raised voices through the door. She edged closer, keeping out of range of the sensor which would open the door and announce her presence, listening carefully.
“-not saying we abandon her on the station! I’m saying she doesn’t have the mentality to travel with us! There are embassies we can leave her with, and they’ll take care of getting her back to Gao-”
“Like they did the first time?” Xiù’s scorn was plain.
“That was the Dominion. They’re inept, you know that! The situation we’re in is because of them! We’re safe and stable for the moment… but if we have to take care of her, if she can’t even be trusted not to harm herself, how can she possibly participate in this mission?”
Triymin shivered at the Mother’s words, at the frustration in her tone. The human’s groan could be heard through the door. “You just have to have some patience, Ayma! She’s broken, and-”
Drawing a horrified breath, Triymin found herself dashing through the door, which barely slid aside in time to let her through. “I am not broken!”
Both were startled, Xiù actually jumping back half a step from where she’d been standing by the table. Triymin froze as two pairs of wide eyes landed on her, and she suddenly realized that she might have done something unforgivable… but she couldn’t let them repeat what they were saying! “Broken” was another way of saying defective! Defective slaves were eaten!
Her voice shook. “I am not broken.”
The silence drew out, then Xiù pressed a hand to her mouth. She moved toward the young Gaoian, her hands held out in front of her… carefully, like she would a wild animal. “I am so sorry, Triymin.”
“I am not broken.”
“I know, I’m sorry. What I said was mean. Did… did Regaari fix your paw?” Still trembling, Triymin lifted the bandage-wrapped limb, frightened that she was offering up evidence of her own disability. Xiù didn’t comment, simply nodding sadly. She turned the trembling figure around with gentle pressure. “Come, you need to sleep.”
The human escorted her down to the sleeping room, guiding her over to the nest-bed that she’d given her. She sat Triymin down and helped her with the straps of her overalls.
“I am not broken,” she said once more, quietly.
Xiù hesitated, then crouched down to gently take Triymin’s paws in her furless hands. “No, you’re not. But you’re scarred, Triymin. That’s okay – so am I.” She turned her wrist over, showing the bare skin there. Tiny, barely-visible lines traced down the smooth skin of the human’s forearm, collecting into a thicker line at the base of the hand.
She took Triymin’s unhurt paw and laid it on the scar. Her sensitive pads could feel the smoothness of the old injury, the way the skin was slightly harder than its surroundings. “A Hunter did this to me. Ayma says that if we ever manage to return to Gao, to get proper medical attention, they can probably remove it. They can make it look like I was never in a fight. But I’ll always know. Before I was taken, I was never in a real fight. I never wanted to kill anyone. But the Hunters… they made me fight them. They made me kill them.”
Triymin’s eyes were dinner plates. “You… killed the Masters?”
One corner of Xiù’s mouth rose. “A few. Apparently there’s another human who killed a whole lot more of them, and that’s what made them so mad. And… I’m kind of glad he did.” Her face fell, looking anything but glad. “Before, I’d never killed anyone… and now I can kill them, and hear about so many of them being killed, and I feel glad. And I don’t like being the kind of person who feels glad at killing.”
She pressed lightly on Triymin’s paw, pressing it against the scar. “It hurts sometimes when I move it. But I’m careful, and I stretch it just a little more each time I exercise, and it gets easier. You’re scarred in here,” she touched her on the fluffy fur just below her ears, “and we need to remember that. Do just a little bit more each day, Triymin, and remind us not to rush you, okay?”
“O-okay,” she replied. It was so strange to have someone else make excuses for her… to ignore her failings. “I’m sorry I yelled.”
“Don’t be. You stood up for yourself, and that’s good. Besides,” she leaned in, and this time both corners of her mouth were raised, “you and I like being loud, remember?”
Triymin was startled into chittering, then blinked, confused by the sound she’d made. Xiù simply patted her paw, and like the night before, helped her get ready for sleep. She did the same, changing from her overalls and loose shirt into a softer, lighter robe… apparently humans wore clothes even when sleeping. Was it because they didn’t have fur?
Xiù stretched out into her sleeping spot on the floor, quietly commanding the lights to dim. Curling into a ball, Triymin found it much easier to fall asleep knowing her friend wasn’t far away.
She woke the next morning just as Xiù was standing from her own sleep. The human stretched, breathing deeply, and the little pops and groans from her body reminded Triymin of the sound of a starship entering atmosphere. She didn’t seem bothered by it… in fact, it seemed oddly satisfying to her.
Despite the dim light she didn’t seem to have any difficulty noticing Triymin looking up at her. “Good morning,” she said quietly.
Lifting her head, the young Gaoian noticed Regaari and Ayma still curled up into sleeping balls on their respective beds. “Good morning,” she whispered.
She expected the Sister to comment that she should sleep more, or rest her hurt paw (which didn’t even sting anymore) or otherwise be coddled. Instead her eyes glittered as she looked down at the Gaoian. “Would you like to come exercise with me?”
Triymin felt a small burst of excitement. “Yes, please.”
The two females quickly and quietly dressed, then sneaked out of the room and over to the exercise room. They didn’t speak much… instead it was a companionable silence as they stretched and “worked out” as Xiù called it. Which wasn’t to say it was quiet – almost the instant the doors to the room closed Xiù had commanded the computer to start playing her music. It was frantic and exciting and banished all tiredness from Triymin’s limbs. The Gaoian couldn’t do much more than walk on the treadmill, but she did what she could, and as soon as she began to feel too tired she stopped to sit down and watch Xiù. The human smiled at her, and Triymin felt oddly happy.
Afterward the morning was made even better as the two enjoyed a post-exercise dust bath (or shower, in Xiù’s case) and a small breakfast. Out of respect to the others they didn’t play the loud thumping music, instead opting for something quieter (“classical”, Xiù called it) but was still pleasant all the same.
Regaari was the first to wake, but unfortunately couldn’t stay, shrugging on his grey overalls and grumbling about a panicked message he’d received from his supervisor in the repair bays. Not long after he left Ayma entered the galley, looking more nervous than Triymin recalled the Mother ever being in her short stay among the three. Xiù seemed to go out of her way to ignore it, setting out some fruit and a pouring bowl of cereal for her. Triymin hunched down and tried to be invisible again, although it hadn’t worked so far.
“I… think we should move on from this station,” Ayma said hesitantly.
Xiù paused from where she was setting down the bowl for the Mother. “And go where?” she asked, her voice calm but taut.
“I don’t know. We’ll leave it up to Regaari. But I think we’ve accomplished all we can here. We’ve made enough credits to explain ourselves as pilgrims and explorers, and if we stay much longer we’ll start to work against that.”
“What about the food I made?” Xiù gestured at the stasis unit where the pizzas and bao she’d made the day before waited.
“I’ll deliver those this morning and fetch your payment from Th’tk’rk’ottk. I’ll also give him the bad news.”
“Tell him he can buy the recipe from me for… a thousand credits, maybe?”
Ayma flicked her ears. “Fifteen hundred, otherwise you’re selling yourself short. I’ve seen how much he sells your treats for.” She paused. “Triymin should come with me.”
Xiù’s face turned pink. “Ayma-”
The Mother held up a paw, but she looked nervous rather than angry. “If… if Triymin is going to stay with us, then she needs clothing. A bed of her own. She can’t be constantly borrowing yours or mine. She can help me order both.”
Xiù hesitated, then sighed. She looked at the younger Gaoian. “Triymin, did you want to do that?”
She desperately wanted to say no – she had no desire to go anywhere with Ayma. But… a nest-bed of her own? Ayma wouldn’t offer that if she intended to put her off the ship, would she? She glanced at the Mother, who was actually looking at her this time, nervous and tired. “I-I can help.”
Ayma nodded. “We’ll go as soon as we’ve finished our morning meals.”
“The male has left,” Astim commented. He and the two Locayl stood in a berth located a few away from the one that housed their target. The area was empty except for the trash that littered almost all the bays… Astim’s ship was located four levels above and nearly halfway around the station. The only reason he’d rented the empty bay was to be near the one holding the Gaoians and their human companion.
He’d set up a private camera on the wall outside the berth long before, and now he monitored the output of that device using the personal data tablet strapped to his thin grey arm. The two Locayl watched with him, the pair practically needing to crouch to bring their beady eyes (or cybernetic equivalents) close enough to the display. It’d already shown the lone Gaoian male leaving the berth… Astim had arranged for a broken piece of Gaoian equipment – a kinetic barrier, the species’ most-known innovation in the Dominion – to be submitted to the mechanical shop for repair, along with a promise of a healthy bonus if it was repaired quickly. As predicted, the owner had called in his primary resource for Gaoian technology.
“Good,” Voyrag rumbled. “And the female?”
“If she keeps to her normal schedule, she should be departing shortly. Then we can enter their berth and await their return.”
“Then we catch the human!” Muntib crowed.
“No,” Astim snapped, losing patience with the brain-damaged mercenary. “The human is inside the Guvnuragnaguvendrugun shuttle. It’s a premiere-class diplomatic shuttle, and its security protocols were designed by my people. Even I can’t hack that. So we gain entrance to their berth, and then we `catch’ the Gaoians as they return. Then we use them to lure the human out.”
“Why don’t we just grab them as they come out?” Voyrag asked.
“Because I don’t want to risk whatever signals they might have set up between themselves. You know how Gaoians are – the males will sacrifice themselves for the females, and the females will sacrifice themselves for each other. We need them both, and we need them both out of the shuttle before we strike.”
“Fine, but this is getting boring.” The smarter brother flapped a mechanical hand.
“You get paid the same whether you find it boring or not,” Astim sneered. “Considering your profession, I’d think you should prefer the quiet. Do you have the tranquilizer gun?” The big alien hefted the weapon he’d been given, its tubular barrel the length of his forearm. “Good. Make sure you hold that as if your life depends on it. Because it does.” His tablet beeped. “Ah, there’s the female now-… eh?”
“I know I’m not as smart as a Corti,” Voyrag said dryly, “but I think I count two females there.”
“Yeah! One… two! Two hairballs! Hah ah ah ah!”
Astim was too distracted to even respond to Muntib’s idiocy. “Did the human… no, those are both actual Gaoians! This… is unexpected.”
Voyrag stood tall, crossing both pairs of arms. He stared down his flat, broad nose at the diminutive Corti. “You said you’d checked, Astim. I told you-”
“There is a human on board that ship!” he nearly screeched. The impulse to childishly slam his tablet against the decking washed over him, but he restrained himself at the last instant. “I know what my sensors told me! This third Gaoian is new! I don’t know where she came from, but-… Wait!”
He flicked aside the camera output and instead accessed the main network for the station. It was the work of just a few moments to access the general notifications and bulletins, and there… “Yes! A vagrancy complaint! A Gaoian has been spotted sleeping in some of the abandoned corridors. She arrived on a trade freighter a few ten-days ago. Of course the others would take her in!”
“And how does this change things?”
Astim paused, actually thinking it over instead of simply dismissing the Locayl’s question as he normally would. “It doesn’t. One female or two, it changes nothing. We take them, and we use them to force the human to surrender herself to us.”
Triymin was not looking forward to travelling the station with Ayma, but if the Mother wasn’t going to start an argument, she had no reason to refuse. So after they finished their bowls – which were swiftly whisked away by Xiù before Triymin could do so – the three helped stack the food onto a small hovering cart. Ayma didn’t let her push the cart, but there was no way to tell if it was because she didn’t want Triymin exerting herself or because she didn’t think the younger Gaoian could do it properly.
Xiù looked as nervous as Triymin felt as the two left through the rear doors of the yacht, but she lifted one hand to wave. After a moment Triymin imitated the gesture, and the human’s lips curled upward.
She followed the Mother through the corridors of the station to the central axis, where the markets and other services were kept. The station was amazingly tall, and she felt small among the other sapients there, but Ayma lead the way, pushing the cart full of prepared food. Occasionally the Mother had to snap at a creature that looked dangerously close to bumping the cart, but for the most part they managed to travel without a problem.
The station was busy, full of sapients walking here and there at the beginning of the main shift. The center of the axis was open space, and one could peek over the protective barrier and see the levels stretching out far below and above. The guests of the station – Triymin was trying hard not to think of them as “prey” any longer – milled about, talking and sometimes shouting, each with a purpose that was urgent and rushing to and fro. The crowd made her nervous, but the noise thrilled her, and twice she very nearly lost track of Ayma in the rush and had to dash to catch up.
The two made their way to a lounge located on a middle deck, where Ayma boldly pushed past the few sapients who were present at the early time and pushed the cart into the rear area where a few Vzk’tk cooks were preparing food ingredients or feeding them into the automated chef. There they met a Rrrrtktktkp’ch (not a “white stick-legs”, she reminded herself) who spoke with Ayma quietly while Triymin waited near the door.
Whatever Ayma told him didn’t please him, and the two argued in hushed voices for a long while. Eventually the Rrrrtktktkp’ch grumbled an assent and pulled out his data tablet, where he tapped a few buttons in annoyance. Ayma did the same, and after a moment she nodded at him. The Rrrrtktktkp’ch just waved a hand in annoyed dismissal.
The elder Gaoian walked toward her. “That’s done. Let’s get your clothing and bed now.”
They left the eatery and took an elevator up three levels, where Ayma lead them both to a small shop where arranging to have a Gaoian nest-bed fabricated and delivered to their berth took barely a moment and a dozen words. Then they walked to the opposite side of the level, where down one corridor was another shop – barely deserving of the term, as it was merely an alcove – where sapients could request plain, ordinary clothing be fabricated. The shop was operated by a lone, bored-looking Vzk’tk, who would do little more than take the request and payment and feed it into the fabricator.
“Hello, I’d like to request a few standard Gaoian overalls, please,” Ayma said as they entered.
The Vzk’tk perked up. “Certainly. No special design or decoration? What size?”
“No special design, just the ordinary every-day type,” she answered even as Triymin opened her mouth to ask what choices there were. She swallowed her annoyance as Ayma turned to look her up and down, sizing her. “I think… mediums will suffice.”
“Do you have a preference as to colour?” the clerk asked Triymin, apparently realizing who would be receiving the clothing. She blinked, surprised at the question.
“Light brown will be fine,” Ayma said before she could answer.
A strange feeling settled into Triymin’s stomach. “N-no. I want red.” She paused, remembering. “Please.”
The elder female looked at her, scowling. “If your clothes are red they’ll get mixed up with Shoo’s. We’ll take brown,” she said to the clerk.
The feeling was crawling its way up her throat. It was strange and new, and she almost didn’t know what it meant. She realized she was angry, an emotion it’d never been safe to feel before. “No! I want red!”
Ayma spun towards her, and the Mother was incensed as well. “You can’t have red!”
“Then I don’t want anything!”
“Stop being ridiculous. I’m Mother here-”
“Why?”
She blinked, shocked at the question. “Why what?”
Triymin’s paws were clenched, and her tiny claws poked out, pressing against her pads. The mostly-healed blister from the day before stung slightly, but she didn’t even notice. “Why are you Mother to me? You don’t even like me!”
Ayma took a step back as if struck. “What?”
“You don’t want to listen! You don’t want to talk to me unless it’s to tell me to do things or because you’re angry when I don’t understand! You don’t even want to teach me so I can do things right! So why are you Mother?” Though she knew she wouldn’t be tortured and eaten, the ingrained terror had set her shivering. Still, the words wouldn’t stop. “Shoo wants to listen! Shoo doesn’t get mad if I get scared or confused, and she teaches me so I won’t be scared so much! Why are you Mother and Shoo isn’t? You hate me!”
The older Gaoian stared at her, wide-eyed. “Triymin-” The younger female spun and started to walk away, stomping her feet and only barely resisting the urge to run. “Triymin, stop.” Despite herself, the clear order caused her to freeze where she was, her head down and her body shaking. She didn’t turn.
At least, not until she heard Ayma’s unsteady voice speak again, but not to her. “We’ll take them in red. Thank you.”
Triymin turned slowly, still shaking, only just catching a glimpse as the clerk – who was only too happy to escape the awkward situation – retreated into the back to feed the order to the fabricators. Ayma didn’t look at her – instead, the older Gaoian’s attention seemed fixed on her paws. The silence drew out, and Triymin had no idea what she was supposed to be doing.
She twitched when Ayma spoke, although the Mother’s voice was quiet and sad. “I’m sorry, Triymin. I didn’t mean to make you think I hated you. I don’t hate you, please believe me.” She paused, swallowing. “I’m scared of you.”
Of all the possible explanations, that was one she could never have expected. Her astonishment must have shown; Ayma chittered quietly, though her ears were down and her expression morose. “There are things we count on to always be true: the galaxy spins, the stars burn… and Mothers will always die before letting the cubs in their care be hurt. I thought it was in our blood, a line we could never cross. Your story upset me because it showed that we can defy that part of us… and even worse, I could see myself doing it. Worse than that, you didn’t understand why it was awful… you’d never learned what a Mother is supposed to do.”
Ayma moved closer, speaking carefully… but for the first time not speaking down to the younger female. “Triymin, if the Hunters caught me and tried to breed me, I’d make them kill me. No matter what they did, there would be no way I’d allow them to use me to bring cubs into the galaxy and straight into their claws. But… you! What I thought was instinctive isn’t, and you don’t know what I know. If they told you to bear cubs, would you defy them? Do you understand why I’m scared? Scared of what you represent?”
She did understand. If the Masters had instructed her to bear cubs… even now, she wasn’t sure she had the courage to defy them. Suddenly Ayma’s anger seemed far more justified, and her ears drooped as her anger and frustration turned to shame. She made a quiet, miserable sound. “I don’t want to be a bad Mother.”
Ayma had a strange expression… a mix of sadness and pride and helplessness. Finally she reached out and stroked the younger female just below her ears. “No, you don’t, and that’s why what I’ve been doing is shameful. It’s not your fault if you don’t know… it is my fault if I refuse to teach you. I’m sorry, Triymin.”
Triymin looked at the other female, the alien feeling of hope – never a close friend – making itself known. “Will you teach me how to be a good Sister?”
She sighed, though there was humor in it this time. “I think Shoo has been doing a very good job of it so far. But I’ll help, if you want me to.”
Her ears perked. “Yes, please.”
Regaari dashed through the corridors of the station, drawing a few curious stares as he cut through the central axis and the markets there. Every now and then he had to slow to a mere jog to recover his breath, and he cursed himself as he did… he obviously hadn’t been making enough use of the treadmill. Oh, to have Sister Xiù’s endurance!
He should have known. He’d wanted to offer the females some brief stability – Xiù’s disguise had worked so well! So well that he himself had been fooled! He’d gotten complacent. He’d thought it would be safe to settle on the station for a few ten-days, to let them enjoy their odd jobs and the ability to leave the yacht every now and then. Too long. Xiù’s disguise had worked well but obviously not well enough. Someone had figured it out. Someone had taken some effort to lure him away.
He’d known the very instant he’d opened the Gaoian kinetic barrier and found the defect that prevented its operation: a cut crystal nanoprocessor. Subtle enough that the Vzk’tk technicians and perhaps even a Rrrrtktktkp’ch would have difficulty spotting the issue, and they wouldn’t realize what Regaari had immediately known: crystal processors did not accidentally snap in such a way – they would shatter instead. The flaw was deliberate, and it would require the shop manager to call in his lone expert on Gaoian technology.
He was so stupid!
He pelted through the broad corridors that lead to the Gaoians’ berth, the same corridors that had been home to Sister Triymin not three sleep cycles beforehand. Soon he was in the long, broad hallway that circled the exterior of the station, dotted along its entire length by the wide doors that opened into each berth. The hall was as dingy as the berths themselves… he’d once tried to count the number of light bars that needed replacing, but gave up after losing count twice.
Skidding to a halt outside the wide doors that lead their ship, he paused, forcing his breathing to even out… if anything was to occur, he didn’t want to be panting before it even began. He reached into the front pocket of his overalls, briefly grasping the kinetic pistol hidden there – a weapon that was quickly becoming obsolete with the arrival of the humans, but still more than enough to deal with most races of the galaxy. It was as much to help calm himself as to insure it was there… he always felt better with a weapon at hand.
When he was sure he looked calm again, he forced his empty paws to his sides and stepped forward, the doors sliding open at his approach. The yacht sat where it had remained for ten-days unmolested. The rear doors were closed – good. Nothing appeared amiss in the berth at all.
He made for the rear of the ship calmly, exactly as he might have any other day after his shift was completed. He didn’t turn his head, but his eyes scanned back and forth, looking for shadows out of place or the subtle hint of motion. Likewise his ears took in every stray sound that echoed through the berth.
He saw nothing. But he heard the soft thump on the decking. Not a human, but something large.
The Whitecrests were considered some of the most lauded special agents on Gao. They weren’t as subtle as the Ebony Paws, nor as straight combat-oriented as the Redtails, but their skills had more than earned them the right to be considered the premiere clan when it came to commando operations and guarding high officials. Every Whitecrest member began training hard almost the moment he was accepted into the clan. Their training methods were kept secret… and it was a certainty that if the Clan of Females knew what the adolescent cubs were stepping into when they joined, there would be a horrified outcry. But there was no doubting the effectiveness.
Because of that training, where most Gaoians would have stopped to think or investigate the strange whirring noise that suddenly appeared from behind them, Regaari was already diving into a roll. Humans may retain the ability to train their muscle-memory and reactions for far longer, but the Whitecrests made sure that their members knew how to react instinctively to an attack before anything else. The cybernetic arms that had tried to grab him instead whistled through empty air.
His paw was in his pocket and pulling the pistol from it even as he rolled to his feet. His attacker – Locayl, heavily prosthetic, this is going to be a problem – was blinking stupidly in surprise at its empty hands. Regaari lifted the pistol and pressed the firing stud. The small blast of kinetic energy glanced off the creature’s upper left arm – more than enough to break a bone had the arm been flesh, but instead the only result was a slapping sound. The hurried shot only surprised the Locayl, who bared his teeth in feral threat.
A second aimed shot was blocked again as the creature charged forward, using his three cybernetic arms as shields. Regaari wished he had his rifle, which would have been far more effective, then discarded the thought as useless. Then he was diving aside again as an arm fell like a hammer where he’d been standing, a blow that would have crushed his skull had it landed. He didn’t even get a chance to fire another shot, ducking as those arms swung horizontally at his head. Gaoians were stronger than Locayl proportionately, but the bigger species was stronger absolutely, and taking a hit would likely end the fight on the spot.
Big, but slow. Experienced, judging from how he blocks. The thug was careful to keep his flesh shielded by his prosthetics. Regaari managed a glancing shot off its head; the creature staggered, but did not fall. That should have dropped him!
He was getting tired. In a moment he’d have to abandon the fight and rush toward the yacht – the rear door would take too long to open, but he wasn’t going to offer this attacker free access to the ship anyway. He’d have a moment to use the exterior panel, to warn Sister Xiù that they were under assault. With any luck Mother Ayma was with them, and the two could remote-open the berth doors and escape-
Another sound behind him. He didn’t get a chance to dodge; instead he was struck from behind with a small low-velocity ball, and he had a brief moment of alarm before voltage coursed through his body. He was frozen, stiff and in agony as the electricity seized all his muscles. He didn’t fall, but it held him long enough for the Locayl in front of him to catch him across the face with a fist. He was lifted clear off his feet and hurled to the decking.
His vision swam. He tasted blood – his lips had split against his teeth. His body shook from the electrocution, but he still tried to clamber to all fours, tried to bring up the pistol again. A foot shoved him roughly onto his back, pinning him down as a metal-and-polymer fist clamped around the wrist holding the pistol, wrenching it away.
A rumbling voice spoke above him in ro’Locayl, the dominant Locayl tongue. “Damn it, Muntib… I hope you didn’t kill him.”
“I didn’t kill him!” another voice responded, sounding offended and excited at the same time. “You said not to kill him, so I didn’t kill him. He tried to kill me, though! He fought real good!”
“Yeah, real good,” the first voice responded, annoyed. Through his blurry vision, Regaari saw the second Locayl turn to question a third figure. “Are all the hairballs on this ship going to fight like this?”
“The Gaoians are trying to make nice with the humans. Did you expect them to send a janitor to guard their ward?” Regaari’s eyes went wide, realizing that the words he was hearing had shifted to Gaori. A translator… and underneath the translated words, he could just barely make out the sound of a Corti. “The other is just the female. Not even one of the ones who seeks a common career, just a youngling-caretaker. She won’t offer you any challenge.”
“That’s good, because we’ll have plenty of challenge with the human,” the second Locayl growled.
“Only if you kill the Gaoians and cost us our leverage.” Hearing this, Regaari began to struggle against the foot pinning him down, spitting with fury. “Oh, for… would you mind rendering him unconscious, please? What am I paying you for?”
A fist – a natural one – crashed against Regaari’s head. Blackness took him.
Triymin couldn’t remember ever being eager to be someplace before. Now, as the two females walked through the corridors of the station, it was all she could do not to dash ahead. Dash ahead to the yacht, to the nest-bed that would soon be hers, to Xiù’s tasty food and Ayma’s lessons on how to be a proper Gaoian Sister. She wanted to tell Xiù all about it – to tell her that she and Ayma had made peace, that she had stood up for herself, and everything was better.
By way of apology Ayma had brought Triymin to a small vendor near the dining area of the station, and purchased both of them a “joviik on a stick”. It was a fat, black-shelled insect the size of Triymin’s paw, skewered on a wooden stick, coated in a sweet syrup and then roasted. It looked and tasted utterly delicious, and she loved how the shell crunched noisily between her teeth.
As the Rauwryhr vendor had handed them the treats, Ayma had leaned in, her voice low. “Shoo never wants to come here with me. She hates insects. I think she’s scared of them.”
“Really?” She couldn’t imagine Xiù being scared of anything.
“Really. Humans can be very strange.”
They ate while they walked slowly through the corridors of the station, Triymin’s new clothing (wonderfully red) carried in a satchel on her arm. Ayma had offered to carry it for her, but she’d insisted she was strong enough… though she promised that if she became tired, she would say so. She didn’t… there was something about the bag, something about the fact that the clothes inside were hers, that made it light.
They’d just opened the doors to the berth when her good mood was torn away… replaced with fright that wafted through her as easily as the odor in the air.
Ayma saw that her companion hadn’t followed her beyond the doorway. “Triymin, what is it?”
“I… I smell blood,” she replied in a near-whisper. It was very faint, but it wasn’t a smell she would ever forget. And she had other senses, senses made raw by her time among the Masters. She heard… cybernetics. The click of mechanical muscles, air moved more by machinery than flesh. Terror crawled up her back, setting the fur on end… had the Masters come to take her back? “There are… others inside here.”
Ayma’s first instinct was to tell her that she was wrong, that she was overreacting – Triymin could see it in her face. Then the Mother really looked at her and saw the way the younger female was shaking, and her scepticism changed to worry. “Stay here,” she commanded. “Stay hidden. I’ll come and get you.”
Triymin bobbed her head in a nervous, jerking motion. She was still terrified, but the order was comforting. She stepped to the side, away from the pathetic light of the bay, slipping into the shadows. Another skill perfected as a slave: staying unnoticed.
She admired Ayma’s bravery as the Mother moved toward the shuttle cautiously. “Regaari?” she called, but received no response. When she reached the side of the yacht, rather than activate the control panel on its side, she reached into her overalls and drew out her data tablet. Her paw was poised over the remote communications application when a voice rang from the other side of the yacht, near the nose of the ship.
“Please don’t do that.”
Triymin’s eyes went wide as an egg-head – a Corti – stepped out from where the slender figure had been nearly invisible behind the front landing struts of the ship. His arm was extended, and even the former slave knew the object he held was a weapon. A weapon that was pointed at Ayma.
“What… what in the stars are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice fearless in a way Triymin admired. “This is a private berth!”
“Yes, it is. I’m here to collect something – don’t worry, it isn’t you. Not directly, anyway. Don’t do that!” he snapped, interrupting Ayma’s subtle attempt to tap open her communicator on her tablet. “I may be Corti, but I’m not a poor shot. I can harm you without killing you, if you force me. Drop the tablet. Just drop it, right there. Good.”
Ayma hissed, her teeth bared as she opened her paw and let the tablet clatter to the decking. Behind her two hulking shapes emerged from behind the yacht. Triymin recognized them as the “fat prey” – Locayl, she thought they were called – but these ones resembled the Masters in that they were heavily prosthetic. Both had artificial legs and one had an artificial eye. One had two mechanical arms on one side, while the other retained only one of his natural arms! Their bulbous torsos were covered with polymer plates, and the one with the three prosthetic arms even had a majority of his head covered.