by Rachel Caine
Probably not the time to ask if I could see more, huh? But I wanted to.
The bulwark groaned open, sounding like an airplane giving birth to a hovercraft. Thing One pointed through the opening. Plainly the guard didn’t intend to show us around, so I reached for Bea’s hand. She squeezed her gloved fingers around mine and we led the way into the Sliver, boldly going where no humans had before. Cheesy, I knew, but it felt right to think that. I’d seen the old vids.
Well, as far as we knew we four were the first humans here, anyway. Could be there were some delinquent, reported-dead Honors who had jumped ship as soon as they learned what the Journey was all about. If so, we might find them hiding here.
All of us clustered together, and I took my first look around.
The initial impact was . . . breathtaking.
From the silence of that entry conduit, now we were swallowed by controlled chaos. Everything about this place reminded me of the Zone—in a good way. This seemed to be the bottom of the structure, and I could see tiers above us, thronged with . . . people? Independently moving aliens, anyway. Pink lights flashed, advertising something. I couldn’t read the words but the picture next to them made me think the ad was for a tavern, three levels up. Even this bottom tier was crowded, with aliens shoving past us while we gaped like tourists; I couldn’t focus on any of them, and they were wearing bulky armored space gear—dented, scratched, patched together. The exceptions who didn’t need it were a species that floated like jellyfish in the low grav, flashing with their own bioluminescence. Beautiful and frail-looking, but when an armored form brushed up against one, it got thrown back three steps, clearly dazed.
Right. Don’t touch anything.
I straightened my shoulders and let go of Bea’s hand. “Let’s get to it. Bea? You see that kiosk they were talking about?”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for . . . wait.” Bea pointed. “That?”
I nudged her hand. “Just tilt your head and watch your gestures. We don’t know what people find offensive around here.”
She indicated a small crowd gathered around a translucent screen, displaying what had to be a map. We headed that way, and I checked to make sure no one was wandering off. They weren’t. We worked our way up to the map.
It immediately powered down.
“I guess it needs this,” Bea said, and took the crystal out. She slid it into a small slot, and it fit perfectly, and the map lit up again. I didn’t exactly know what I was looking at, though. Couldn’t read the symbols. For an irritated second I thought we’d been ripped off already by the welcoming committee, but then a net of glowing white particles shot out and encircled Bea’s head. As I reached out for her, a harsh tone came from the unit, then it said, “Analyzing cerebral matrix. Please stand by.”
I lunged for her, but a dozen tentacles restrained me. Starcurrent. I considered biting. I had to teach this Abyin Dommas about personal space.
“Engram-mapping,” Starcurrent said, like that could clear it all up. “Is fine.”
“This is incredible,” Nadim added in my ear. “She is not in distress, Zara.”
“Well, I am! Let go!”
“Please to wait,” Starcurrent said. “Is standard.”
Ze must have been correct, because in another few seconds, the map deciphered Bea’s brain. The kiosk lit up with information . . . in English. Names, mostly, which didn’t help, but when I tapped one, a callout described a list of goods and services. Okay then.
Chao-Xing said, “Marko, start over there. I’ll start here. Note any vendors that have items on your list, and I’ll take care of ours.”
It didn’t take as long as I expected, but while they were marking locations and figuring out logistics, I turned and took a visual survey. This place felt . . . understandable, which didn’t make much sense, but there it was. The lower the level, the grimier it seemed. Scrap and crap, Tier One. Salvage, Tier Two. Possibly illicit services, Tier Three. By the time it ascended to ten tiers, it was obviously clean and well organized.
Like everywhere, the rich stayed above it all.
For my part, I wanted to roam around, get a feel for the place, but I imagined C-X wouldn’t be down with such a strategy. She’d be all about making methodical progress.
“Bank,” Marko said. “We should probably put something on deposit there. Not everybody’s going to take trade, especially if there’s an established currency system.”
“Two kinds of banks,” Chao-Xing added. “This one says it deals in datamynt.”
“Mynt is Norwegian for ‘coin,’” Nadim said. “Also in Swedish and—”
“Not the point,” I cut in gently. “Marko? What about yours?”
“Something called fita. Isn’t the same, I think.”
Bea was still stuck on the first thing. “Wait, didn’t there used to be virtual currency called Bitcoin? Maybe that’s what the translator was going for.”
“Sure,” I said. “Probably. Whatever. So . . . which bank?”
The board suddenly said, “The Sliver uses two types of currency, honored newcomer. The Sliver bank accumulates fita, which is required for premium station services such as fueling, major ship repair, armament, reinforcing armor, and drive repairs. Datamynt is lesser currency, to be used for nonstation services and products. The two are separate and noninterchangeable.”
“So, selling our music would get us what, exactly?” I asked.
“Datamynt,” the board replied. “Stillsong exchanges may be made at the Bruqvisz Bank on Tier Four for datamynt.”
I was really, really hoping for a barter economy. Probably existed down here on the crap levels, but once we got above Level Three we probably needed legit currency.
Chao-Xing asked the obvious question. “And how do we get fita?”
“Several ways, honored guest. Fita may be granted for extraordinary services by Bacia Annont, owner of this station. May be earned through long service to Bacia Annont, likewise. May be accumulated through the Pit.”
Bea busted out laughing, and I shot her an inquiring look. “What?”
“The station owner is named Bacia? That means ‘bowl’ in Portuguese.”
“Let’s hope that bowl is full of something good,” Marko said.
In a place like this? I had my doubts. Time to get back on track—I addressed the screen, which had produced a list of definitions for Bacia’s name in a hundred languages. I didn’t like the look of “divine vessel,” the meaning in Abyin Dommas.
“Enough. What route is fastest for earning fita?”
“The Pit,” the board said. “Great risk for great return.” It lit up a sublevel below our feet: an amphitheater. Giant gambling hall? I wasn’t sure. “How may I further assist?”
“You can’t,” C-X said, and turned to Marko. “Got your vendors?”
“I’ve made a list.”
“Then your team can go to this Bruqvisz Bank and make exchanges for datamynt, and go about your tasks,” C-X said. She glanced at me. “Ours will be more difficult.”
Because datamynt would buy almost everything on Marko’s list.
But it would take fita to acquire what we needed for our Leviathan.
“Anyone gets in trouble, signal,” Marko said. “Let’s sync up and use our H2s for time- and position-keeping. Understood?”
“Rendezvous back here if something goes wrong with the comms,” C-X said, because she was a worst-case-scenario kind of woman, and I liked that. “Watch your backs.”
“Good,” said Starcurrent, and as always, accompanied that with a flash of upraised tentacles. Ze had been watching the crowd while we interacted with the board. “Enjoy!”
That seemed unlikely, but okay.
Chao-Xing led our two-soldier military march along the bottom level. No proper storefronts down here; these junk merchants were selling merch off hover dollies and out of half-wrecked storage containers, and though I didn’t understand the tech, I totally understood the concept of scrapping. I wondered how thi
s place smelled. The filtering helmet blocked out all that, and I really, really wanted to know.
Against C-X’s wishes, I did some browsing, and lots of cool stuff caught my eye. Eventually I bargained for a personal-force-field device. When I got done with the alien vendor, the gizmo was cheap enough, and I tested it with perfect glee.
Let’s see. You push the button, drop it, and it surrounds you in . . . I counted ten seconds before the field appeared. I could picture this being useful in any number of situations. If I wasn’t careful, I might also cut off some limbs.
“You don’t need anything else,” Chao-Xing snapped. “Let’s move. If we have to do this Pit thing, let’s find out what’s involved.”
I spotted the way down before she did, and the hair stood up on the back of my neck in pure exhilaration. Without a word, I kicked off the wall and sprinted for the platform; I didn’t hesitate before leaping into the sparkling slipstream. Hell if I knew what this was exactly—anti-gravity well, maybe—but I zipped down in what felt like freefall, only it wasn’t. There were mini-platforms to kick to indicate what tier you wanted, and I bounced off the next one down, landing on the dais with a glee so profound I couldn’t stop laughing.
How’s that for public transportation?
“I love this place,” I half sang to Nadim.
“I can tell,” he said, and I heard his shared pleasure. “It seems . . . exhilarating.”
“Ow!” I said, because C-X had caught up to me and smacked me in the back of the head. She tried it again, but I dodged that whack. “What? That was efficiency in action!”
“You could have killed yourself!”
“And you followed,” I pointed out. “Couldn’t have been that bad.”
There was another information board down the tunnel a bit, and we walked toward it. Traffic wasn’t heavy in here, and what crowd there was clustered up by the board. It was displaying characters I didn’t recognize, but as we came into range, they shifted into English. None of the others studying the board seemed to notice, so it must have only been that way for us.
Apparently, this was the signup system for the Pit. I read the instructions:
Only sponsored contestants may submit for matches. Teams preferred.
Artificial enhancements must be certified.
There are no rules in the Pit.
Death of an opponent wins, but at half pay.
Medical assistance provided for datamynt only.
Huh. This sounded like . . .
“It’s a fighting pit,” Chao-Xing said. “Betting on matches.”
“Cage matches?”
“Doesn’t sound like they have any rules, so . . . probably,” she said. “Only sponsored contestants . . .”
I stepped up to the board. “Where do we find sponsors?”
“Sponsors may be obtained through direct request,” the board replied.
“Where?”
In response, a bunch of blinking lights appeared on the board, at a variety of levels.
We both stared at them for a few seconds, then at each other. “You’re good at the sims,” Chao-Xing said. “You were good with the Phage. What do you think?”
“We don’t have a choice, if we want to get our Leviathan the starlight they need. We can’t spend years building up the social coin, can we?”
“No,” Nadim said quietly. “I’m sorry. But we need your help. Typhon is improving a little, but it will fade the longer he’s without the frequencies of light he needs. I will last longer, but to heal properly . . .”
I didn’t know if C-X could hear him until she said, “Understood, Nadim. All right. Then we should start at the top, with the most prestigious sponsors.”
“People at the top only bet on sure things,” I said. “Try Tier Three. That’s about our speed right now. We’re unknowns. From the look of most of the beings around here, we’re not very imposing. Getting someone to give us a shot could be . . . challenging.”
“I like a challenge,” C-X said.
“It didn’t say anything about weapons,” I said. “Would that be cheating?”
“Let’s find a sponsor and ask.”
I pointed to the place on Tier Three. “There,” I said. “Looks like a dive bar. Just what we need.”
This time, I let C-X go first, jumping into the upcurrent before I leapt in and followed. It felt like flying, like rocket fuel in my boots as we rose straight up past the entry level, past Levels One and Two. It would be a blast zooming around the Sliver like this; wild that none of the other travelers were turning flips or striking action poses as they zipped along. They seemed as bored as business commuters. Tensing my core, I managed one spin, dangling upside down long enough to catch a wicked smile brightening Chao-Xing’s features.
At the last moment, I righted my body and landed on Tier Three with C-X close behind.
“That’s . . . growing on me,” she admitted.
“Damn right. Just like I am.”
“Keep telling yourself that. I like your confidence.”
Tier Three was a little more organized than the prior two levels, with small shops built out from the deck walls. Some had style, while others were bare bones, make-a-deal-or-get-out types. Conde would’ve vibed with those joints. A pang went through me, thinking of him, so it was just as well that Nadim couldn’t catch my every emotional flicker; it wasn’t that I’d liked Conde so much as I’d known him, in ways that I’d known few other people. He’d taught me early on how to navigate the Zone, what to steal, when to stop. Not a father figure, but . . . something.
“Hey, Nadim?” I asked. I felt the rush of warmth from him, but it seemed muted now. Distance, eating away at our connection. “Any updates on Yusuf?”
“EMITU reports that he is keeping him in an induced coma. His life signs are steady, but another crisis may occur soon. If it does, bringing him back may be more difficult.”
More difficult than last time? That was terrifying. “Okay,” I said. “Everything good with Bea?”
“She, Marko, and Starcurrent are at the bank on the next tier from your position,” he said. “They are now arguing the merits of jazz music with a currency exchange specialist. I don’t think they’re in any danger.”
Well, we probably would be, because the place the Pit board had directed us? Was a garish bar. I nicknamed it Pinky’s, because of the hovering fuchsia spotlights swirling out front. When I shared that with Chao-Xing, she cracked a faint smile. A bot buzzed the open doorway, bleating a welcome message, I guessed. It looped in at least ten alien languages. Then I stepped into the translation matrix field, and it wasn’t so much welcoming as warning us that the management took no responsibility for crimes committed on the premises.
“Wretched hive of scum and villainy, take one,” I muttered.
From the quirk of her mouth, Chao-Xing got the reference, but she didn’t smile. “Let me do the talking in here.”
“Sure,” I said. “I was gonna suggest that, seeing as you’re such a people person.”
“Zara.” I recognized the tone of someone who was tired of my shit.
“I hear you,” I said.
“This is making me anxious,” Nadim said. “Perhaps you should try another option.”
I paused as Chao-Xing pushed through the doorway. “This is going to involve some risks, getting what we need. You understand that, right? You’re going to have to trust me.”
“I do,” he said, without any hesitation at all. “Zara, I do. But being so . . . helpless is hard. I hate for you to put yourself in danger because of me.”
“That’s what a pilot does for her ship,” I said. “And . . . you’d do the same for me, if it was necessary.”
The whisper of our connection was still there, even at this distance. I looked up. The atmosphere above was topped by a shimmering blue force barrier that dimmed the stars beyond it. I couldn’t see him up there.
But I could still feel him, and I knew he could touch me in return.
“It’s going
to be okay,” I said, and plunged into the bar after Chao-Xing.
Inside, it didn’t feel warmer or colder; my skinsuit was regulating the temp. Otherwise it would have been sweltering, because the bodies were packed tight in here. There was no central counter like you’d find in an Earth canteen, but servo-bots were hovering, basically flying drink trays, and the customers seemed to be placing orders on terminals scattered throughout, like smaller versions of the info boards. I didn’t see any signs that said FIND SPONSORS HERE. Unfortunately.
Lights splashed the room with color, fading white to yellow to green to blue and onward through the spectrum, so that it felt like the bar had a permanent filter, making wildly different patrons look vintage or melancholy by turns. Industrial-sounding noise blared from the walls; some local music, probably, but to my human ears, it sounded like a bunch of engines revving out of sync, with an army of toddlers banging pans in the background.
I processed the scene while looking for Chao-Xing. Lumpyhead alien, check. A few Abyin Dommas, which might make Starcurrent happy. I spotted a cluster that resembled what I’d glimpsed of Thing One: lizard face, pointy teeth, scaled, serpent eyes, and a ruff that flared on the back of their necks and curved up like a hood, and shifted hue, according to . . . I had no idea what.
I finally spotted Chao-Xing, who was also checking things out. “What do you think?” she asked, pointing at the lizard-faced aliens around a wide table. “They’re the same species as one of the docking bay guards. Maybe a good place to start?”
“Sounds good,” I agreed, and let her take the lead.
Given what I knew of her personality, I expected her to immediately start demanding to know their rates for sponsorship; instead she edged carefully up to their table, bowed politely, and said, “Hello. May I have a moment of your time?”
Then she waited. Eight snake eyes, varying shades of brown and gold, locked onto us. Shit, we might as well have “noobs” tattooed on our foreheads. She’s probably using some bullshit Leviathan first-contact protocol guide.
