Votana pushed Mike aside and entered a string of commands into the pilot's console. “I've lost most of our relative velocity with the station—enough that my lifepod should be able to get us there.” Votana took a bracelet off his wrist. “This control bracelet contains my family's codes. Wearing it will give you access to the lifepod. Go prepare it."
Mike knew better than to wait for a “please” from a Sobrenian. He took the bracelet and went to the rear of the ship, grabbing his jacket that held his stunner and a few emergency rations.
The pod hatchway opened at his touch. He squeezed into the pod, which would barely hold two Sobrenians in comfort, let alone one Sobrenian and a taller human. He checked out the pod with the knowledge of Sobrenian systems Votana had imparted to him over the past few days.
Nothing he saw gave him confidence in the pod's ability to save them. He laid in a course to the station anyway. Then Votana arrived, carrying a container that looked like an overly wide suitcase. Mike recognized it as a stasis case, nearly a meter square and eight centimeters thick. He asked Votana, “When's the last time this pod saw some maintenance?"
As Votana squeezed into the pod, Mike had to position himself into a seat much too small for him. The Sobrenian said, “You needn't concern yourself with my maintenance schedule,” and wedged the bulky case against one side of the pod.
"What the hell's in there?” Mike asked.
"Also none of your concern."
"It's something alive, isn't it? Is that why someone's after you?"
"Human, I'm allowing you in this pod because I promised you safe passage to your home craft. If you wish to ask too many questions, you may stay aboard the Atir."
Fine, Mike thought.
Votana strapped himself in. “We're ready for ejection. Give me back the control bracelet."
Mike returned the bracelet to Votana and pulled on his own safety straps. Though Sobrenians were shorter than humans, their torsos were considerably bigger, and the straps hung loosely around his middle. “Great,” he muttered, as Votana punched the eject button.
* * * *
Mike's back was pressed against the side of the pod with a force that nearly took his breath away. In the next moment, the pod was in freefall, and it was all Mike could do to keep his lunch down. “Votana,” he gasped, “You'll have to guide us to the station. I don't ... feel so good."
"I never realized humans were so fragile."
"Let someone kick you in the ass, then churn up your stomach contents, and we'll see how you feel."
Mike watched Votana check the pod's minimal instrumentation, then check them again. Uh-oh, he thought.
Votana said, “Two thrusters are out. Did you not see this before we launched?"
"I saw a lot of problems, but no, that one I didn't catch. And we'd have been far past the station by the time we'd have fixed it."
Votana busied himself with the pod's controls again, which Mike translated as yes, Human, thank you very much for pointing that out. He asked, “So what's that mean? Can't we make it to the station?"
"We can, but only to the wrong end."
"What does that mean, the ‘wrong end?’”
Votana looked at Mike. “I told you of the port at the southern end. Our vector is a narrow one, and without those thrusters we cannot aim there. We must dock at the northern end and travel through the length of the station to the safe port."
"I don't suppose there's a convenient transport tube that'll take us there in a couple of minutes."
"Any transport tubes are purely local, when they function at all. And the various Galactic species on the station are very fond of protecting their perceived territorial rights."
Mike asked, “And how big is the station?"
"Approximately ten and a half kilometers long and five wide. Much of it is densely populated. Some areas have seen outsiders enter, but have never seen one leave."
Mike looked out a port. His first impression of the Station of the Lost was of its immensity. Votana had told him how big it was, but Mike had imagined a smooth exterior of the kind you'd see on a human space station, with the occasional sensor cluster, viewport, or docking bay the only break in an efficient, ordered design.
This, however—was something of a different order. The station's exterior was festooned with add-ons—equipment pods, life-support modules, even former lifepods apparently being used as living quarters. Layer after layer, kilometer after kilometer, Mike couldn't see anything he recognized as the skin of the station itself. The wealth of detail was unfathomable. No wonder it's called the Station of the Lost, Mike thought. And it's a place of mystery—no one even knows what species built it centuries ago, then abandoned it.
The station grew larger and larger, and Mike realized their pod wasn't slowing. “Hold on,” Votana said. “This could be a hard dock."
It was. Mike got the worst of it, tangled in his loose harness that simultaneously threatened to choke the life out of him as it wrapped around his neck, yet failed to fasten him securely enough to keep his body from bouncing around in the close quarters of the shuttle.
Then things settled down. At least the pod's secure, Mike thought, or my lifesuit would've snapped on. He was hurting at the back of his head and in both arms and legs, but Votana was doing all the complaining: “Get your feet out of my face, Earther! Has your translator broken? Pay attention to me."
Mike's hands reached out, found purchase, and he guided himself around so he and Votana were facing one another. The Sobrenian said, “We're getting out of this pod as quickly as possible."
"We don't know what kind of reception we're likely to have out there. Shouldn't we—"
"I've done business here before, though seldom in the wild areas. But I know that even presentients such as humans and other galactic species can be more dangerous than you might think. Our biggest advantage is speed."
Votana popped the hatch, and Mike's ears popped as well from a slight change in air pressure. Votana grabbed his stasis case, held it close, and jumped through the opening.
Mike pulled himself to the hatch. “Hey, Votana, I'm glad you can do that, but I'm relegated more to squeezing than springing, here. Could you wait just a minute?"
Mike finally extracted his larger human form from the pod and tumbled onto the deck. He was relieved to be free of the musty Sobrenian smell, but the station's atmosphere wasn't much better, having a metallic tinge to it that he hoped wasn't toxic.
He saw Votana's feet just in front of his face, and the stasis case next to them. “Hey, Votana, why are you just standing there—” Mike fell silent as he saw four more Sobrenian feet just past Votana's, along with what looked to be a pair of human boots. He looked up.
Two Sobrenians, clothed in rags rather than robes, and one human stood there, holding long metal pipes. Mike expected just threats and bluster from them, but instead the three rushed him and Votana.
Mike was just struggling to his feet and fumbling for his stunner when Votana pulled a disruptor from his robes and fired three quick shots. The two Sobrenians’ and the human's death agonies were cut off midscream.
Mike could only stare as Votana pulled on Mike's sleeve. “Follow, Human. We must move quickly."
"What the hell was that about?” Mike demanded as he stepped quickly to keep up with Votana, who was heading down a narrow corridor crowded with abandoned air-recirculation modules, replicator units, twisted lengths of rusty pipes, tangled cables, and any number of devices whose function he couldn't fathom. The station's grav, at least in this area, was just a little under one G.
"We were in danger,” Votana said as he holstered his disruptor and picked up his stasis case. “I defended us. You notice I killed the Sobrenians as readily as the human."
"You might've given them a chance to run away."
Votana paused at an intersecting corridor, then went left. He said, “Those three wouldn't have given us a similar chance."
"If they have any friends, they're liable to be pretty p
issed off!"
* * * *
Moments later, they discovered an access tube to a lower level. It was more of the same, dirt and debris, twists and tangles of cables and crumpled metal. Votana told Mike, “Those three would have been the only Sobrenians or humans in the area. Like species claim like species, for whoever has the first opportunity to rob, or rape, or kill."
Mike said, “Then maybe I need to thank you."
"Have you ever killed before?"
Mike held his breath. This was the last conversation he wanted to have right now. “Just once."
"A fellow human?"
"No. A Jenregar queen.” He remembered: The queen's carapace flamed and she emitted a sharp scream in the half second it took for her to die. That scream shot through Mike's nervous system like a lightning bolt.
Votana emitted a soft hiss, dismissing Mike's concerns. “A species even farther away from sentience than Humanity. You were defending yourself?"
"The Jenregar was trying to take over a human habitat."
"You killed nothing, then."
I'm an explorer, Mike thought. I never got into this to become a killer.
He pushed those memories away as he trotted to keep up with Votana. “Will you slow down just a little? I think I deserve to know what going on here. Who the hell's following us?"
Votana halted and put down the heavy stasis case. Mike said, “That's getting heavy, isn't it? Tell me what's going on and I'll help carry it."
Votana looked all around. Mike fought that compulsion—he was determined to keep his attention, and this conversation's focus, on Votana.
Finally the Sobrenian said, “It's my ... former employer, Urtogen. He's pursuing me from the Sobrenian colony Pride of Artonoran, on a personal matter."
Mike shook his head in exasperation. “Votana, I've bailed out of a starship, damn near been pummeled to death in that pod, had to watch you kill three beings in cold blood—and ended up deciding you did the right thing. So this has become pretty damn personal to me too!"
Votana picked up the stasis case and held it out to Mike. “Carry it awhile, then perhaps I'll tell you more."
Mike grasped at the case, only to have Votana pull it out of his reach. “Gently,” the Sobrenian said.
"All right,” Mike muttered, and took the case from Votana. He stalked off, a protesting Votana right behind him.
"Human, I—"
"Mike. You can call me Mike."
"I will refer to you as I wish."
Mike held up the stasis case and shook it, ever so slightly.
Votana said, “I will refer to you as ‘Mike.’”
"Fine,” Mike said, and ducked down beneath a twisted mass of coolant tubes. He squatted as far down as he could at first, then went to hands and knees. His head brushed a frighteningly sharp piece of metal that connected to some sort of module he couldn't identify.
Mike moved forward. He glanced back and saw an impatient Votana, who was clearing the debris easily just by ducking his head.
Mike's stomach growled. He was just about to dig into his jacket for a ration bar when a sharp skittering sound came from directly above. He flattened himself on the deck. When he looked upward, he saw nearly a dozen beings, all with slender arms and legs, and less than half a meter tall, scurrying away in all directions into the depths of the debris. “Garotethans,” he muttered.
Votana huffed moist air from his snout. “Parasites."
Mike suppressed an urge to snap back at Votana. Sobrenians had conquered the Garotethan home world nearly two centuries earlier and used its inhabitants as menial labor, all but slaves. The Sobrenians referred to the Garotethans as their “ancillaries.” The idea that many Garotethans appeared to enjoy the arrangement didn't make it any more agreeable to Mike.
And didn't explain what they were doing here, apparently unattached to any Sobrenians. Mike crept forward, but kept glancing around. Who knew what other beings might be lurking within this mass of metal?
That was when another thought occurred to him—Why doesn't Votana have a Garotethan companion? He referred to them as “parasites.” Does he believe it's immoral to treat such beings as other Sobrenians do?
Or does he denigrate them because he can't afford them?
No time to think about such things. Mike was past the debris. Votana, his plain blue robes rustling as he walked, led the way down the corridor, which was relatively free of debris now. Mike followed and, without thinking, his right hand patted the stunner at his side. Grateful as he'd become that Votana's reaction at the port had been quick and merciless, he hoped the rest of their journey wouldn't entail any more deaths. Especially mine or his, he thought.
They went past a series of steaming vents, each emitting a different odor—a whiff of what smelled like sewage, and Mike gagged. Another combined lemons and the pages of old books; yet another, pineapple and dirty feet.
"Damn,” Mike said. “This is a much more roundabout route than I ever expected to take just to get home."
Votana said, “Your worries are typical of lesser beings. And I thought you were bound for a rendezvous with your starcraft. This is not the route to Earth."
"The Asaph Hall is my home. When you're an artificial human, many people on Earth aren't very friendly."
"I see. Class or race prejudice. You are an outsider. Then perhaps we have that much in common."
Mike didn't even want to think about that. He realized this corridor was about to open up into a much wider and brighter area. He heard the bustling of crowds, the metallic sounds of machinery, and the whooshing of vehicles. He rushed up behind Votana and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Where the hell are we going?"
Votana raised his head toward Mike and looked down his snout with hooded eyes. “This is the marketplace in the center of the station. We may be able to lose ourselves here as we find a way to the southern port."
"A disturbing percentage of the people we've met here want to kill us!"
Votana wriggled his shoulder from Mike's grasp. “We must appear confident and stride right through the mass of beings here. Many of them are transients; the fact that no one has seen us before will not be unusual."
"Listen, you had me thinking all that was on this station was kilometers of wrecked corridors. You mean there's something like civilization here? What other surprises do you have in store?"
"I have no way of telling, Mike, because I do not know the extent of your ignorance regarding this place."
Mike could only groan in frustration.
* * * *
Mike followed Votana into the marketplace. All his senses were assaulted: He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright light; he grimaced and covered his ears as a human fruit vendor's loudspeaker blasted its exhortations to buy; he nearly choked at a whiff of some noxious odor as he passed a methane-breathing Drodusarel who only came knee-high to him wearing a well-worn, leaky lifesuit; he groaned as members of every galactic species he was familiar with nudged him or stepped on his feet or pushed him aside.
As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, Mike made out more detail. He estimated the marketplace was nearly five K across, the width of the station itself. The vendors were inevitably well armed, or had conspicuous bodyguards, and weapons seemed to be the merchandise of choice. A tripedal Kanandran's booth featured dozens of Earth Unity energy rifles that couldn't have been obtained legally. A Sobrenian customer was showing some interest in those rifles, and the Kanandran was demonstrating their use, with his major arms holding the rifle and the shorter minor arm jutting from his chest gesturing enthusiastically. The Kanandran had three eyes arranged equidistantly around his cranial bulge. The two eyes facing his Sobrenian customer stared intently at him, while the third covered his back.
Two Relajem shared the booth next to the Kanandran, but they had no wares. They were beings that were superficially snakelike, about two and a half meters long. They not only bore their young alive, as many Earthly snakes did, but the females suckled their young. And
their bodies were covered with a fine fur, usually in a mottled pattern of brown and black. Mike wondered what these particular Relajem were selling. Perhaps they had violent or stealthy skills they were promoting.
Mike thought, I'm pretty sure that Cetronen paired symbiont in the next booth over would be prohibited from selling those disruptor grenades on most civilized worlds. A human woman approached the Cetronen and spoke to him, but her words were swept away in the overall din. The Cetronen minor, the smaller being who was held in the larger major's arms, touched a scanning wand to the woman's forearm and handed over three of the grenades.
Votana was headed toward the center of the marketplace. Mike's eyes widened at the sight of small shuttlecraft that appeared to burst from within the middle of the marketplace itself, headed toward the station's northern levels. There must be some kind of transit area in the middle of the station, Mike thought. Though the way some of those shuttles and skimmers are flying back and forth, it doesn't look as if there's any kind of traffic control. “Votana, you don't have any idea where you're going, do you?"
Votana only looked back at Mike for an instant, saying, “That is no concern of yours, Human."
I've had enough, Mike thought. He stopped cold, letting the flow of beings go around him. He grunted as a Cetronen pair ran into him from behind. The major towered over Mike, but it was the minor, carried in the major's arms, who spoke, as Mike's datalink translated: “You should be more careful, Human. The Station of the Lost is no place to make enemies."
All of Mike's muscles tensed, and he braced himself in case the Cetronen tried to assault him, but thankfully the pair went on. “I think that's all I've done since I got here,” Mike muttered.
Mike had sudden second thoughts. Votana wasn't great company, but he was as close to an ally as he was likely to have here. He stood on tiptoe to try to spot him. Damn, he thought. Why did I have to partner up with someone from a short species? I can't see Votana for all the humans, Cetronen, and Kanandra.
He held the stasis case as high over his head as he could. Maybe this'll catch his attention.
Analog SFF, May 2008 Page 9
