She knows where we are going, he sent back.
“Very good,” Ben said.
Through the window he could see them approaching what looked like a multi-colored river of dots flowing between the buildings. As the seconds passed, he started to make out the bright colors of individual merchant kiosks and tents among the crowd. They were arranged in rows up and down the kilometers-long market. Above the street a wide, catwalk-like structure with metal ramps descending throughout its length protruded from the buildings. On it was parked a multitude of air-cars and hover trucks of all shapes, colors, and sizes. The noise of the hundreds of thousands within the bazaar, even from this far away, drowned out the pulse of the air-limo’s dark energy field.
Ben set them down on one of the parking trestles. Cylus could feel the vibration from the masses of sentient beings moving about the street below the moment the limo touched down. Even before the door swung open, the spice-heavy air from the food kiosks assailed his nose.
“Might I offer my services?” Ben took Pasqualina’s hand and helped her out of the car.
“Where we’re going, I don’t think you’d be very welcome, Ben. I’m sorry,” she said.
“Quite all right, Heiress Olivaar. I thought to make the offer, nothing more.”
“You are a sweetheart.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“Stay with the car,” Cylus said once he was clear of the vehicle.
Ben bowed.
“This way.” Pasqualina led them down the nearest ramp and they joined the flow of the crowd. Blue-white Cleebians, bronze scaled Achinoi with high scalp spines, and the host of other races from the Confederation pressed in so that no one could raise their arms without touching someone. From the moment Cylus was among them he felt his chest draw tight and he struggled for breath. Within seconds his feet refused to obey his mind’s command to move.
Pasqualina dodged through the narrow gaps in the crowd and was lost to him in moments. His heart pounded so loud it drowned out the din around him. The edges of his vision grew dark, and his chest constricted even further. The sound of his frantic gasps sounded like the call of some bizarre forest creature.
He swayed on his feet.
From out of the surging crowd Pasqualina reappeared.
“Cylus, are you all right?”
He stared at her, wide-eyed.
“Shit.” She looked around. “This way. Take my hand. You’ll be okay, I promise. Move with me.”
She half-dragged him under the shadow of the trestle and into a dark space between a square tent made from gray polymer, and a round one made from a blood-colored fabric. The ground was slippery with grime, and the fastcrete wall behind the tents had a banner of yellow-brown fungi growing down it. A strong, fishy smell in the air mixed with the odor of spices and an unpleasant, damp stink. A hundred phantom insects crawled over Cylus’ skin at the sight of the filth, but at least they were out of the flow of the crowd. Despite the surroundings he found the constriction in his chest easing. Pasqualina stood in front of him with both of her hands on his shoulders until he appeared to be breathing normally again.
“Thank you. I don’t like crowds but I had no idea that would happen.” He felt a blush creep up his neck and cheeks.
“It’s okay as long as you’re all right.”
“I will be.” He felt completely worn out. If it wasn’t so dirty he thought he would lie down and take a nap right on the street.
“I’ve got to go talk to someone. I’ll be back soon, okay? You’ll be all right here,” she said. “I’ll call Ben down to keep you company.”
He shook his head. “No, don’t. I can stand on a street for a little while without a babysitter.”
She frowned. “This place is a little rough.”
“I’ll be okay. I have to be more independent anyway, right? Can’t let a crowd defeat me.” He managed a half-smile.
“Okay, be careful. I’ll be quick.” She smiled back at him before heading into the hordes of early-evening shoppers.
He watched her vanish among the many and felt like he made a mistake the moment she disappeared. Cylus took several deep breaths, tasting the foul air like oily fur on his tongue, then settled in to wait.
It was fortunate that he hadn’t thought to change out of his casual clothes before going to see Sophi, as his fancier ensemble would not have withstood the chill and may have attracted unsavory attention. With nothing to do, he almost checked his messages on the Cyberweb before remembering that if Sophi had monitoring software watching him, as she probably did, it would signal her where he was. There was no way he could explain being here in any rational kind of way—she knew him too well—so he refrained and had to settle for watching the crowd to pass the time. Despite his earlier panic, looking at the crowd from a few meters away was different. His chest still got tight, but not so much that he couldn’t look at the spectacle of so many sentient beings shuffling past.
There was a steady flow of patrons in and out of both tents on either side of him. They would break off from the crowd, move like tributaries of a great river into the fabric enclosures, then emerge after varying time intervals. The square tent with the gray fabric was about three meters on a side and larger than the red one, which was only about half that in diameter. He noted a brown and blue skinned Galaenean, a green Isinari with a low skull crest, and a short Nyangari with veiny, parchment-like skin and a long snout enter the red tent. Each patron emerged within minutes with a small, translucent plastic box held in one hand. Though he could not quite make out what was in the box, he could tell it was something dark and mushy looking. The same Nyangari he saw go in caught him staring as it exited and turned a set of red eyes on him. The bones of its lower jaw opened in opposite directions revealing a huge mouth filled with backward curving fangs. Cylus leapt back with his hands up when it hissed at him.
“Sorry,” he muttered. The Nyangari turned and vanished into the crowd.
He was relieved, and after a moment to calm himself, resumed his people-watching.
The gray tent had a slow, but steady flow of Cleebians, Relaen, and Solans. Each carried something different out and some left with nothing at all. Puzzled, he put his head close to the tent wall and tried to listen over the din of the crowded street, but it was no use. Whatever was going on inside the tent remained a total mystery. After twenty minutes of trying to figure it out, he decided to brave the fringe of the crowd and look into the tents. He stared at the pulsing, chaotic horde of people before him and took a deep breath.
I can do this, he told himself.
Cautiously, he moved up to the edge of the crowd—close enough where he only needed to reach a quarter of the length of his arm forward to touch someone. With his chest pounding, he turned around.
The red one had the words “Re-Hydrated Fish Stew” written in Solan above an arched entrance. Within, a thick human woman wearing a dirty white apron labored among the tubes of her portable rehydrater, filling plastic containers with the dark green mush. He crinkled his nose.
The gray tent had Isinari glyphs over its square entrance, but he dared not connect to the Cyberweb to translate them. The double flap was open, but not far enough for him to see inside. He tried looking around a Relaen with reddish-brown hair going in, but failed to see past him. When the Relaen noticed, his ears twitched and he shot Cylus a nasty look. Attempting to see around a Solan man exiting the tent moments later resulted in an angry glare and furious blushing. Cylus muttered an apology and averted his eyes. He was about to head into the tent to see what was within for himself when Pasqualina emerged from the crowd looking florid and sweaty like she just ran a marathon. Behind her a man with dark skin peered over her shoulder. He caught a glimpse of crazy, thick hair laced with some kind of seashells, and then he was gone.
Her expression was grim, but she brightened a moment later.
“Um, Cylus?” Her sky-blue eyes darted to the sign above the tent, then back to him, and widened.
“Ah, I was curio
us about what was going on inside,” he said.
She cocked her head to the side, and giggled.
“What?” he asked, feeling embarrassed without knowing why.
“You don’t read Isinaru, do you?” She tamed her chuckles and her face settled into a tight grin.
“No.”
She stepped forward and took him by the arm. She put her lips at his ear; her breath sent tingles down his spine.
“You were about to step into an Isinari Lhazurat,” she whispered.
“A what?”
“Um, it’s a kind of mobile relief station,” she said.
“Relief from what?” He had never heard of such a thing.
She barked out a laugh. “Never mind. Come on, I have to tell you what happened and I need you to take it seriously.”
He took one last look at the tent before she pulled him to the edge of the crowd and back up the catwalk ramp. Ben helped them into the limo.
“Ben, what’s a Lhakarat?” He asked before Ben shut the door.
“A what, master?”
“He means a Lhazurat.” The amusement was less pronounced in Pasqualina’s voice now.
“Oh, a Lhazurat is an Isinari portable massage parlor specializing in what the Isinari call ‘the sacred duty.’ I believe Solan culture euphemistically calls it ‘the happy ending.’”
“Huh?”
“Cy, it’s a kind of brothel,” Pasqualina said.
“Oh.” He blushed.
“Home, master?” Ben asked.
“Yes, home.”
Ben closed the door, and moments later the engines whined and the air-car lifted up into the sky.
“I’ve got bad news.” Pasqualina said.
“What?”
The mirth faded from her face.
“What?”
“My contacts told me that Premier Dorsky declared the entire Sasstossan sector a war zone the same day Zalor left for Helix. There’s no civilian traffic permitted in.” Her tone wavered.
“So we won’t be able to go to Calemni?” He slumped against the plush leather seat.
“Not by public transport, at least. My original idea was to go to Sasstossa and charter one of the free merchants, or a mercenary ship, but it seems getting even that far is going to be difficult.” She turned her face away from him.
“It’s just not fair, is it?” He rolled his head towards the window.
“I’m not giving up. My baron has given me a command, after all,” she whispered.
“Begging your pardon, but I may have a solution for you,” Ben transmitted.
“Yes?” Cylus sat up.
“Yes, master. I happen to have overheard a conversation between the late Baron Mitsugawa Yoji and Heiress Aurora Cronus at the memorial party on 69:9:44 CST. I believe that they were discussing a prototype drive system on an FTL vessel that they used to arrive in Sol.
“I did not hear the entire conversation, but I believe they intended to take it to Kosfanter after your party. It seems reasonable they did, and it is likely in this system, provided the new Baron Mitsugawa did not take it when he left. As flight records show that the present Baron Mitsugawa left the system in his family’s FTL ship, I believe Heiress Aurora Cronus may be able to solve your difficulty.”
Aurora has a prototype FTL ship in-system? Cylus sent.
“That’s good news, isn’t it?” Pasqualina asked, listening in on the exchange with her implant.
“Not entirely. The last time I saw Aurora, well, we didn’t part on good terms.” He sighed.
“Apologize,” she said in a stern voice.
“It’s not that simple. Sophi insisted we defect to the Mercantile Party. Hagus said it was a requirement, so we did. Aurora claimed that we destroyed her career by doing so. I don’t think she’s likely to want to help me.” He drew in a ragged breath, thinking about the night Sophi and Aurora stormed into his tower.
“I understand that this could be difficult, but if she can give us an FTL ship, especially one with a fast drive system, we have to try. It’s the only way we’re going to get to Calemni. I suppose we could stay on Kosfanter, but we just told Sophi we were leaving. There will be consequences if we don’t at least go to Anilon.”
“I know. You’re right. I guess I’ll have to face Aurora. I just don’t want to.” He sighed.
“I know you don’t, but I also know you will succeed,” she said.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“Because you are my Cylus, and I know you can do it.” She smiled, her eyes aglow.
After a moment, he smiled too.
Chapter Nineteen
Ikuzlu City, Kosfanter
41:2:24 (J2400:3151)
The breeze off the bay was colder than normal, giving Cygni’s skin a clammy, sticky feeling. It reminded her of standing on the southern shores of Avanus when she was a kid. Her mother took her to the Grand Beaches to watch the volcanoes cry once. Cygni could barely reach her mother’s hip with the top of her head, but she thought she could get closer to the spectacle than anyone else on the boat. They had to fish her out of the sea when she slipped through the bars of the railing. Her mother was furious, but for a few bone-chilling minutes she watched the famous Weeping Volcanoes of Avanus shed ice melt tears from all of three meters closer than anyone else. It was beautiful, and though her mother screamed herself hoarse after, she couldn’t take that moment away from her. Thinking about it now she realized that was the start of her need to be in the action, to be the person with the front-row seat. The insatiable desire drove her to become a journalist, and then an investigative reporter—and look where you are now, Cygni. Out in the cold, half-scared to death, and trying to take down a baron. She shook her head, watching crowds of people come and go through the Kosfantari Biodome entrance.
As she hoped they might, Biren and Boa showed up at the end of the line of people departing after lunch-time services. There was something she needed now that only one of them could do, and Cygni decided this morning that she would force them to break their silence to get it.
Nearly a third of the people coming from the biodome were Isinari, mostly green-skinned workers like the ones she saw at Elthroa. There were no familiar faces, but their presence reminded her of Ila. She liked Ila, but now the cheerful, hard worker was a worry for her. The serious part of the conversation at the baths five days ago was held through direct transmission, but niu knew who was involved, so Cygni had to assume Clearach’Kul’Tearae, and therefore Baroness Sophiathena, did despite niu promise to the contrary. If the baroness were working with Baron Revenant this whole thing would blow up in her face. It was too late to pull back, though. She had too much invested, and now it was more than just herself involved.
Once the line dissipated brother and sister appeared to have a bit of a discussion with each other. She watched, confident neither would recognize her. She had her chameleon implant operating. Her black hair was now a red-brown, and her skin was darker than Biren’s. A facial tattoo in the glowing red ink reminiscent of Ila’s topped off her new look. She barely recognized herself, and was sure this would work for tailing one of the siblings. All she had to do was watch and see if today was her lucky day.
It took a while for them to finish the conversation. When they did, Boa turned back into the dome, and Biren headed into the midday foot traffic. There were few pedestrians in the Terran Ghetto at this time of day, and Biren’s dreadlocks made him easy to follow, even from a distance. He was tall for a human, so all she had to look for was the bobbing, furry mess above the other heads.
A wind cut down the fastcrete avenue. Her smartfabric jumpsuit thickened and its surface smoothed out, closing pours to block the press of air. Biren turned his collar up and ducked into the circular mouth of an auto-sub built into the side of a building. She counted three seconds and followed him down the long descending tube to a broad platform beneath a corrugated fastcrete ceiling. A broad, metal rail in a meter-deep trench connected a rectangular portal at either end
of the chamber.
The platform was sparsely populated, making it hard to remain unnoticed. Though she doubted he would know her at a glance, she paused by the platform entrance. Seven Solans, two Achinoi, and five Isinari waited near the trench. Two of the Solans and an Isinari were juveniles appearing to be in their teen years. Staying close together, and dressed in smartfabric with wild-looking fractal patterns, they stared at Biren with open contempt as he swayed on his heels by the platform’s edge. Oblivious to his audience, he held his svelte, broad-shouldered form in a state of alert relaxation. She could feel her heartbeat as she watched him. It had been the same on Minlea IV, as she recalled. He had the same cocky-looking self-assurance then, too.
A gust of wind blew down the ramp from the outside and he tilted his head up, sniffing at it as a chime announced the car approaching. She moved out onto the platform and a message popped up at the top of her vision indicating her account was just charged for the ride. Choosing a spot a few meters from Biren, she was careful to keep her gaze straight ahead but held him in her sight. He didn’t move a centimeter when the car—a capsule with polyglass walls—slid down the rail and came to rest at the platform’s center. Three doors hissed and parted to allow passengers into the burgundy-carpeted compartment within. She chose a seat near the back as the smell of disinfectant and machine-oil filled her nostrils. Biren took his at the center beside an older man with gray hair and glazed eyes whose attention was probably on some feed going through his implant. After a moment a chime sounded, the doors closed, and the car plunged forward spilling light on the tunnel walls ahead. The motion pressed her back into the cushion of her seat. Only the faint hiss of compressed air penetrated the car’s walls as it raced along floating on a magnetic field.
Biren sat with his head back against the glass and the hint of a smile on his face. Several of the car’s occupants, including the teens from the platform, were staring at him. They must not have been used to seeing the primitive look the Gaians sported. Still a relatively small sect, they competed for the religious attentions of the populace with the Daewonists, the Progenitorists, and half a dozen other beliefs from many of the Confederation’s worlds. Living in the Solan Ghetto, where they dominated both the religiously and ecologically inclined, it was an easy thing to forget.
Keltan's Gambit: Chronicles of the Orion Spur Book 2 Page 37
