“Really?” Varrin said. “I guess that explains why I wasn’t invited to the annual sacrificial burning of blasphemers.” Varrin could feel all his problems sinking back into the deep recesses of his mind. Nothing cheered him more than aggravating his father.
“Do not mock me!” the emperor thundered. “You are nothing to me and nothing to the empire. You have so little concern for the imperial succession that you left your brother as my heir!” His lips twisted in disgust. “Your existence is no more than an affliction to me now! And yet you continue to contact me, begging for forgiveness.”
“I suppose demanding forgiveness would be more Rakorsian,” Varrin mused. “In any case, I’d hardly call my transmissions pleas for forgiveness. As I recall, the last one ended with me telling you to take a stroll in the Valdarik desert without a solar protection suit. I believe colorful language was involved.”
“Why do I even speak to you?” Ka’zarel roared. “You betrayed your people, your family, and your birthright. You debase yourself by running errands for petty corporations. Where is your honor?”
“If you hadn’t tried to force me to marry that Kalarian hussy, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Varrin said, sitting up straight.
The veins on Emperor Ka’zarel’s neck bulged. “Our nations are now at war prematurely thanks to your cowardice! The Psilosians are threatening to intervene!”
“Yes, well, considering how much our people love war, I’d have thought you’d be grateful for the excuse I so kindly provided you.”
His father was now turning an alarming shade of red. “I am beginning to believe the only way to rid this universe of your sorry presence is to send my Skin Slicers to deal with you.”
“I love you too,” Varrin said.
“You filthy ingrate!” Ka’zarel snarled. “Did you contact me just to goad me? Tell me the true reason for your transmission! I cannot stand the sight of your traitorous face any longer.”
“I seem to be getting that a lot,” Varrin muttered.
“Answer me!”
“I just felt like chatting with my dear father,” he replied brightly. “Say hello to Trystan for me, would you? He must be having a grand old time, reaping the benefits of all that paternal affection you used to reserve solely for me.”
Varrin cut off the transmission just as Emperor Ka’zarel surged to his feet and started yelling obscenities.
Running his fingers through his shaggy black hair, Varrin could feel the stress returning. Taunting his egomaniacal father had certainly raised his spirits, but there was an unsettled feeling in his stomach. I haven’t felt this way since—oh, since the day I stole the Nonconformity and blasted away from Rakor and my archaic, arranged marriage.
“It must be all this nonsense with the terrestrial,” he told himself, tapping his index finger distractedly against his mouth. “She’s become completely unmanageable since I sold her.” Varrin rolled his eyes. “Women.”
17
When Eris walked into the rec room the next morning, Miguri looked up from the game he was playing with Varrin at the holograph table. The Claktill’s hair spiked with concern. “What is wrong, my friend?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Your eyes are red and puffy.”
Feeling foolish, she muttered, “I was crying, all right?”
“About what?” Varrin asked, his eyes still on the game board.
Eris glared at him. “My hair, if you must know. Among other things. Obviously.”
“Your hair?” He looked up and blinked as if noticing her baldness for the first time. “What about it?”
“Um, maybe the fact that I don’t have any?”
“What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that every time I see my bald head in the mirror, it reminds me of all the horrible things they did to us at Chakra Corp. Things that happened because you sent us there, need I remind you!”
Varrin shrugged. “It will grow back, you know.”
“It shouldn’t have to grow back!” She threw her hands up in the air, at a loss for words. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.
Without warning, the Rakorsian stood up and walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Eris demanded.
“I’m going to change course,” he said.
Miguri squeaked in alarm. “Change course to where? You are going to sell us out again! I knew it!”
Varrin paused in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “I already told you, that was a one-time deal. Even if I could sell you again, I wouldn’t.”
“Because you are starting—against all odds, and contrary to your cultural upbringing—to gain a respect for beings other than yourself?” Miguri suggested.
“No. Because I wouldn’t wish you two on anyone. Kari, the pair of you! Always whining and crying and complaining …”
He continued muttering as he vanished down the hallway.
Eris twisted her fingers together uneasily. “Where do you think he’s taking us? You think he’s going to ditch us on some deserted planet?”
Miguri glanced up at the monitor, which was currently set to display a star chart of local space. “Well, we are not going to Psilos. That is for certain.”
“So he’s going to sell us after all,” Eris muttered. “He was lying again.”
“I never lied,” Varrin retorted over the intercom. “When I changed my plans, I informed you immediately.”
“I’ll call you a liar whenever I like,” Eris snapped at the loudspeaker. “And stop eavesdropping!”
“Will you at least tell us where you are taking us?” Miguri asked.
There was a pause.
“It’s a surprise,” Varrin finally declared. They heard their pilot laughing as the intercom clicked off.
Eris gave an exasperated huff. “What are we going to do, Miguri?”
He shrugged helplessly. “I have been wandering the galaxy for over a century now, and despite the knowledge I have acquired, I cannot think of a single way to outwit our contemptible captor.” He sighed, hair drooping again. “If only we had a plan. Or even a weapon.”
“I could settle for a weapon,” Eris agreed.
“Time to strap yourselves in,” Varrin announced a few minutes later. “We’re only making a short Pull, so it shouldn’t be too traumatic for certain of our passengers.”
“I can handle Pulls just fine,” Eris snapped.
“Of course you can. Pull in three, two, one …”
SHWOOP.
The stars reappeared in the black void of space, and Eris pressed a hand to her stomach as nausea threatened to overpower her. Miguri perched cross-legged on the bench beside her, taking deep breaths.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to that,” Eris said shakily, clutching the silky fabric of her robe tightly.
“Have some mlfas,” Miguri suggested. He scurried over to the rec room’s small cold-storage unit and pulled out a bottle of brownish goop.
“You never told me there was a minibar in here!”
“Minibar?”
“Never mind.”
“This is Harunian mlfas,” Miguri said. “It helps counteract Pull after-effects.”
“You could have mentioned this the last time we Pulled,” she grumbled, taking the bottle and eyeing the contents warily. “Are you sure this isn’t just mud? It looks like mud.”
“Of course it is mud. Imported from the mudflats of Harun. Drink up. It is delicious.”
It was not delicious, and Eris had to cover her mouth with her hand to force herself to swallow. “That was vile,” she said.
“Different species, different tastes.” Miguri shrugged.
“Apparently.”
Varrin appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame, a smug expression on his face. “Eris of Earth, you are an annoying, loud, wholly unappreciative person.”
“Right back at you,” Eris said sweetly.
“Nonetheless,” he continued, raising a finger,
“seeing as I still need to get you to Psilos to collect my payment, and you are absolutely miserable, whining about your hair and my so-called betrayal and whatnot, I’ve decided to remedy your problem. Well, the first one, at least. That way you can go back to being angry with me about the second one and I won’t have to listen to you sobbing anymore.”
“How thoughtful,” Miguri snorted. “We are going to Vega, then.”
“Vega?” Eris said, confused. “Isn’t that a star?”
“Correct,” Varrin said. “And orbiting the star is Vega Superior, which has an inhabited moon called Vega Minor. The moon was originally settled by the follically impaired Scalkans, but more to the point, it is now the location of the Vegan Academy of Esteemed Aestheticians. VAEA, if you prefer.”
“I don’t prefer VAEA,” Eris said. “It’s impossible to pronounce.”
“VAEA graduates,” he continued, ignoring her, “are renowned throughout the Tetrarchy for their skill in the fields of beauty and hygiene.”
“So you’re giving me a makeover?” The idea was so ridiculous that Eris couldn’t contain a laugh of disbelief.
“Something like that. We should be there in three hours, give or take. Try not to destroy anything valuable while I’m flying.”
“Three hours? Shouldn’t it take three days if you Pulled to a safe distance from the system?” Eris asked. And here I was, starting to think I understood this crazy space travel system.
Varrin raised an eyebrow. “We are talking about me, here,” he replied before sauntering off toward the cockpit.
Eris glared at his retreating back. “I loathe him.”
“Yes, that much has been made clear.” Miguri chuckled.
“Hey, you hate him as much as I do.”
“He is a Rakorsian. How could I not?”
“I didn’t see you helping me when I was yelling at him.”
“I tried that the first trip.” Miguri sniffed. “This time I am trying the noninterference, noncontact method. It is working out well so far.”
“Yes, and it’s making me homicidal.”
“He is not a human. Therefore, any murderous urge you feel cannot be homicidal,” Miguri said helpfully.
“Xenocidal, then. Hey! I made a new word.”
“Is it not amusing how aggression increases our capacity for creativity?”
“You’re speaking from experience, aren’t you?” Eris said suspiciously.
Miguri laughed.
“So this is Vega Minor,” Eris mused. She and her two shipmates were standing in the middle of a huge marketplace bustling with merchants selling everything from dried fruit to spaceship engines. Birdlike aircraft soared overhead through the pink afternoon sky while tiny robots skittered around the cobblestone streets, weaving between aliens’ legs, tails, and various other appendages.
Leaving the main market square, the trio strolled along one of the dusty streets, taking in the sights. Or at least Eris did. Varrin walked with his usual long, confident strides—she doubted the Rakorsian would ever deign to be seen gawking and gaping—and Miguri trotted along with an air of nonchalance. Her little friend claimed he had been to the moon before, which Eris didn’t doubt, considering his long life of travel since leaving Claktilla.
They had just stopped to examine the produce at a fruit vendor’s colorful stall when four large, bald humanoids swaggered by.
“A Scalkan gang,” Miguri whispered to Eris. “I suggest we avoid eye contact.”
The foursome spotted Eris before she could look away, and began leering and whistling lasciviously. Turning red with embarrassment, she tried to ignore them by picking up a large, spiky purple fruit and peering at it.
“Hey, sweet thing!” one of the aliens called out in Common. “Why don’t you ditch those pipsqueaks and come with us? We’ll show you the best time this side of Arcturus.”
As Eris puzzled over what Arcturus was, Varrin took a deliberate step forward.
“Kari, this will not end well.” Miguri sighed.
Alarmed, Eris grabbed Varrin’s arm. “What are you doing?”
He shrugged her off. “I believe you were insulting me?” he challenged the thugs.
“Looks like we’ve got a genius on our hands here, boys,” the leader of the gang crowed while his cronies hooted in the background. “Step aside, pretty boy. I want to have a chat with your girl. She’s the hottest little humanoid I’ve laid eyes on in a long time.” He eyed her head appreciatively. “That’s one sexy solar panel you got there, sweetheart.”
“Thank you very much,” Eris said politely.
Varrin threw her an astonished look.
“What?” she hissed. “They’re bald too—coming from them, it’s a compliment.”
“This loser bothering you?” the leader grunted, stepping closer to Varrin and cracking his knuckles threateningly.
“I’m not bothering her,” Varrin said. “I am escorting her. So you can either back off or spend the next month being spoonfed your meals.” When the thugs stared at him blankly, he elaborated, “Because I’ll have broken your arms. That was a threat.”
“Are you sure?” Eris asked.
The Scalkans were now flexing their muscles and affecting fighting stances. Eris surveyed them with a worried look. “Hey, Varrin, maybe we should just walk away.”
“Shut your mouth, little woman,” the leader snapped. “Don’t get involved in things you don’t understand. Keep your mind to your kitchen.” He leered at her. “Or to my bedroom.” His minions sniggered appreciatively.
“I take it back,” Eris said. “Pulverize them.”
“You really might want to rethink this,” Miguri piped up. “My associate is more dangerous than he appears.”
The Scalkan guffawed. “Him? I could squash him easier than a Kildulan dung bat.”
“Ha!” Varrin snorted. “My great grandmother could take you all on with both hands chained to a klozaj. Kari, even my little brother could kill you with his eyes closed.” He paused, reconsidering his statement. “Well no, actually, he would probably faint at the thought of bloodshed and then upon awakening compose an epic ballad on the evils of war. But my point stands.”
The leader cracked his knuckles menacingly. “Enough talk. Let’s do this!”
As he roared and charged forward, his cronies right behind, Eris and Miguri retreated to a safe distance to watch the fight.
The thugs rushed at Varrin, who stood calmly in place, arms at his side and an amused expression on his face. But when they reached Varrin, there was no impact—just a blur of black where the Rakorsian had been standing. The four Scalkans slammed into the fruit stand, scattering the neatly stacked produce in all directions. They piled up in a jumble of bodies against the side of the stand, looking almost comical amid the colorful mound of smashed fruits.
Eris heard laughter overhead. Looking up, she saw Varrin crouched on the edge of the building’s awning. He looked completely unharmed, and she realized he must have jumped straight up to avoid the attack.
“How did he do that?” she wondered aloud. Miguri shot her a confused look.
“You were there when he rescued us from the Ssrisk ship,” he said. “Do you not remember how agile he was?”
“I thought he was just having one of those super adrenaline rushes they say you get in a crisis.”
“Rakorsians are deadly combatants. That is one of the reasons they rule a quarter of the galaxy.”
The thugs had finally scrambled to their feet and were now peering around wildly, looking for their prey.
“Get down here!” the leader bellowed when he spotted Varrin. The Rakorsian responded by grabbing a tile from the roof and whipping it at the thug’s bald head. “Argh!” the Scalkan yelled.
Varrin leaped off the awning and landed catlike on his feet. He yanked one of the metal awning poles out of its socket and began spinning it around, passing it back and forth between his hands. The staff whistled angrily in the hot afternoon air.
The aliens r
ushed at Varrin for the second time. Apparently unconcerned, he stilled the makeshift polearm, held it in a ready position, and waited. The first thug to reach him sent a right hook toward Varrin’s face. It almost connected, but then Varrin’s staff was swinging up, turning the fist aside, striking the thug between the eyes. Howling in pain, the bald alien tumbled back and fell to the ground.
As the prone thug lost consciousness, two others charged in. Varrin rolled to the side and then executed another gravity-defying leap to avoid their spiked boots. The jump carried him over their heads, and he landed directly behind the charging ringleader. “Rule of combat number one,” Varrin lectured. “Never leave your back undefended.” He poked out with the metal pole and caught the leader in the lower back.
The Scalkan howled in pain, staggering sideways. Varrin circled him, dancing lightly from foot to foot. Then he ducked as the leader’s fist flew at his face. Discarding the pole, Varrin kicked out and brought the leader crashing to the ground.
The remaining two thugs jumped Varrin from behind, knocking him down as they flailed at him with their fists. Although he twisted quickly to face them and blocked their blows easily enough, Eris could see through the tangle of bodies that he was rapidly growing annoyed.
“All right, that’s enough,” Varrin declared. Using one arm to protect his face, he reached out his other hand and grabbed the discarded pole. Bringing it up in a sharp arc, he knocked the thugs away and used the momentary reprieve to regain his feet. He immediately swept the pole in a mighty arc, connecting solidly with the nearest thug’s skull. As the Scalkan fell, Varrin swung again and sent his remaining assailant into a nearby pie stand.
“I’m going to split open that hairy little head of yours and mount it on my wall!” the leader of the thugs howled, having at some point managed to haul himself back upright.
“At least I have better taste in interior decorating!” Varrin retorted. He launched himself into a spinning leap toward his opponent. The thug lunged forward to meet him, jabbing his fist toward Varrin’s stomach. The Rakorsian dodged nimbly and then cracked the pole down on the alien’s broad back. There was a sickening crunch, and the leader sprawled senseless on the ground.
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