Obsidian Alliances

by Various

  Burgoyne moved across the distance between hirself and Muck, and Soleta was amazed by the silence with which s/he moved. S/he continued that animalistic crouch, every so often touching the floor with hir knuckles for balance. S/he came to within a foot of Muck and hir nostrils flared as if getting Muck’s scent. Muck simply stared at hir, not making a move.

  “You weren’t on the passenger manifest,” Burgoyne said. It almost sounded like a purr.

  “This is my servant,” Soleta told hir. “Why? His accompanying me doesn’t present a problem, does it? I find it hard to believe that the presence of one servant could be a hardship for you.”

  “No hardship at all,” Burgoyne assured her. S/he didn’t take hir eyes from Muck, however. “You’re obviously not Romulan, sir. Whence do you hail?”

  Muck said nothing at first. The silence was palpable, and Soleta stepped in. “He’s from—”

  “With respect, I did not ask you,” Burgoyne said sharply. “I asked him. And I am accustomed to having people answer questions when I ask them. Unless they are too afraid to.” S/he looked challengingly at Muck. “Do you require the woman to do your talking for you?”

  Soleta, angry, moved to intercede, but Rojan put a hand on her shoulder and, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. Against her better judgment, Soleta did nothing.

  Muck allowed the silence to build a moment more, and then said, so softly that Burgoyne had to strain to hear him, “I consider myself a man without a planet.”

  “Indeed. Not quite an answer, though.”

  “Perhaps you would care to try to beat a better one out of me.”

  The words had been spoken in that same soft, noncommittal manner, but the challenge was implicit just the same.

  Burgoyne took it in, and then replied, “Perhaps. Now, though, is certainly not the time. Welcome to you too, then, servant.” S/he turned to Rojan and Soleta. “One of my men is waiting outside to escort you to your quarters. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you,” Rojan said, bowing slightly. The three of them crossed the shuttlebay toward the exit door.

  In a low voice, Soleta said, “What the blazes was that about?”

  Muck made no reply, but Rojan did. “When someone who is in charge of protecting territory encounters new individuals, it is instinctual for them to challenge whoever they think is the most powerful warrior.” He glanced sidelong at Muck and said, with a touch of envy, “Obviously the head of security here seems to feel that would be you. You should be flattered.”

  Muck said nothing, but merely stared straight ahead, unable to escape the feeling that something was wrong. Something beyond the suspicions as to their safety, or the ulterior motives for having them brought aboard the ship, or whatever challenges Burgoyne felt s/he had to issue in order to show who was in charge.

  It was the ship itself. Something about the ship itself felt completely and utterly wrong. The ship felt…

  …he tried to think of the word, the emotion……the very atmosphere felt……despairing.

  That was it.

  A sense of despair hung over the ship like a shroud, and he didn’t know what was causing it or where it was coming from. He could sense it just the same, though. He looked over at Soleta, and his intimacy with her enabled him to read her in a way that others couldn’t. As the promised guide brought them to their quarters, Soleta was looking around, her eyebrows knit, as if she too was sensing it. Her gaze met Muck’s at one point, and the question was there in her face even though it remained unspoken: Do you feel that? Do you sense it?

  He nodded, almost feeling relieved that he was not alone in his concern.

  There was something wrong in the very air of the Stinger, and he was going to figure out exactly what it was.

  12

  T he spread of food on Si Cwan’s table was extremely impressive. Soleta wasn’t all that familiar with Thallonian delicacies, but she had to admit that they were quite palatable—much more flavorful than most Romulan food, which was relatively plain.

  Naturally she was also concerned about possibly being poisoned, but it wasn’t as if she, her father, and Muck were the only ones at the table. Joining them for the welcoming dinner that Si Cwan had arranged in the senior dining hall were his first officer, Zak Kebron, Burgoyne, whom they’d met earlier, and Cwan’s sister, Kalinda, a young female Thallonian with an ethereal air who was in charge of the ship’s engines. This fact had been of particular interest to Soleta, for she was curious as to what sort of fuel source powered the Stinger, and Kalinda seemed to be the right person to ask. But Kalinda was evasive, and it quickly became apparent that it was a topic Si Cwan preferred not be broached.

  Si Cwan, for his part, found it fascinating that Muck had joined them at the table. “As your host, I am happy to accept those things that make you happy,” he said politely, “but I find it curious that you would desire to have your servant seated with you at the table. Are you quite certain that’s all he is?”

  “Quite certain,” Soleta said firmly, taking care not to look in Muck’s direction.

  “Curious. And a potentially dangerous attitude to have,” Si Cwan said, leaning back in his chair and scratching his chin thoughtfully. “You would not want to risk giving your servants a false sense of equality.”

  “With respect, Lord Cwan, there’s no danger of that,” said Rojan. “Muck knows his place.”

  “With respect to you, Rojan, I generally find the best way to make certain a servant knows his place is to keep him in that place. Case in point…”

  He clapped his hands sharply. There were two serving girls in charge of making certain that the glasses of wine remained filled and the dirty plates were promptly removed from the table and replaced by clean ones. Their hair was unkempt and dirty, and they looked as if they desperately needed to take a long shower. They came immediately to Si Cwan’s side at his summons, standing on either side of him. They hung their heads quietly. “When I first saw your servant,” Si Cwan continued, “I thought he was Terran, like these two specimens. I was even slightly concerned that, seeing the way you treat him, it might prompt our own ‘less fortunate’ individuals”—the others at the table laughed at his phrasing—“to want better treatment for themselves. Not that it would have happened, mind you, nor do they have the fortitude to make such a thing happen. But it’s always preferable to crush dreams before they take root. Elizabeth, Robin, this individual”—and he pointed at Muck—“is not a Terran. I’m telling you that so you don’t get the wrong idea. He is a Xenexian.” Muck did not allow himself to look surprised at being identified, but Si Cwan seemed to intuit it. “Burgoyne was canny enough to run a biocheck on you while you were settling into your quarters,” he said in a conversational aside.

  Then he turned back to the women. “Not that a Xenexian is all that much higher in the grand scale of things than you…but he is higher, make no mistake. So don’t be getting any ideas, all right?” He paused and then repeated, “All right?” And he reached up toward the woman he’d called Elizabeth and cuffed her fiercely in the side of the head. Elizabeth went down like a bag of rocks. Robin automatically took a few steps back, trying to distance herself so as to avoid similar treatment. Si Cwan noticed it but did nothing except smirk and chuckle aloud.

  Robin made no move to help Elizabeth to her feet. Elizabeth finally managed to stand on her own, although she wavered slightly and touched the side of her head. There was a welt already rising from where she’d been struck.

  Hit him back, Muck thought unreasonably, furious at the casual brutality he’d just witnessed. The problem was that he knew if she did such a thing, it would likely be a death sentence. That didn’t need to stop him, though.

  As if anticipating what was going through his mind, Soleta—under the table—slid her hand over and placed it on top of Muck’s. Don’t, her mind seemed to echo faintly in his. He knew she was right. It was even patently obvious what Si Cwan was up to: He was trying to provoke a reaction from Muck.

  Bu
t why?

  Muck didn’t know, but it certainly wasn’t for any reason that was going to be of benefit to him. He forced the tension to ebb from his body.

  “I’m still waiting for an answer, Elizabeth,” Si Cwan was saying.

  “Yes, all right, Lord Cwan,” Elizabeth said quickly. A trickle of blood had seeped from the wound and stained her strawberry blond hair. She brushed it away casually, as if such abrasions were nothing new for her. Muck suspected that was very much the case.

  “Good. Clean these dishes away, the both of you.”

  Elizabeth and Robin quickly went to work. Muck watched Elizabeth as she drew near him, and as she moved to take away his plate, their eyes met briefly.

  Very subtly, he mouthed the words, I’m sorry.

  She appeared to be looking right through him, and then, ever so slightly, she nodded her head in mute acknowledgment of his sentiment. And then she was gone.

  Muck slowly shifted his attention back to Si Cwan, who was laughing over some joke that Burgoyne had just made. Muck suddenly wondered what Si Cwan would look like with a dagger buried squarely between his eyes.

  He decided that, if the opportunity arose, he might seize it so that he could satisfy his curiosity.

  13

  R obin Lefler was crying in her sleep.

  Deep in the bowels of the Stinger, where the grinding of the ship’s mechanisms could be deafening at times, and hot mist discharged from the air filtration system could leave them bathed in sweat, Robin Lefler and Elizabeth Shelby lay on their threadbare mats and tried to get some modicum of sleep. The only time Elizabeth managed it was when she was sleeping so deeply that she didn’t hear the outcries from Robin’s usual spate of nightmares.

  This was not one of those times. Robin’s cries in the night awakened Elizabeth, who had just managed to fall asleep. Elizabeth was so exhausted from her day’s activities that she sorely wanted to smother Robin with her own sleeping mat, but she contained herself. It just wasn’t fair to hold the poor woman responsible for things that she was doing while she was unconscious, but this was too much.

  She reached over and shook Lefler fiercely, ignoring the old superstitions that one should never awaken a dreamer. She knew that superstition stemmed from the notion that, when one was dreaming, the soul was off and about, exploring different realms, and waking the dreamer could result in the soul’s being stranded elsewhere. This idea held no fear for Elizabeth for two reasons: One, it was nonsense. And two, if it were true and Robin Lefler’s soul were trapped somewhere else…well, anywhere else had to be better than where it was now.

  “Robin!” she whispered sharply, and shook Lefler yet again. Robin’s arms flailed about in response, almost clipping Shelby in the face, before she snapped awake, gasping. “Robin, are you okay?”

  Robin put a hand to her chest, steadying herself, and then slumped back onto the floor. “Oh God,” she moaned. “Oh God…”

  “Another nightmare?” Elizabeth asked with a weariness that she couldn’t quite keep out of her voice.

  “I’m not sure what it was.”

  “Not sure…?”

  “It was…” She turned to Elizabeth, and even in the darkness, Shelby could see that Robin’s eyes were glittering with tears. “I was dreaming of a world where Terrans weren’t…weren’t…what we are. Where we had respect…from others. For ourselves. Where you could wake up each morning and go to sleep each night feeling good about yourself.”

  “And that made you cry out in your sleep?”

  “Of course. Because we couldn’t have it.”

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth sadly, realizing. “Yes. That would be enough to—”

  Suddenly they heard an unusual noise from one of the nearby service ducts. In their time they had come to know every sound that the Stinger might make in its day-to-day operations, and this one was nothing like any of those.

  The women were immediately on their feet, tense and uncertain. Something was coming their way, and it wasn’t as if they could summon help. Even if they tried—even if they had the capacity to do so—no one would come. Who would give a damn about a couple of Terran females in difficulty?

  Elizabeth looked around, saw a stray piece of piping, and grabbed it. The metal felt cold and comforting in her hand. She stood in front of Robin, waiting, and now she could see a shadow stretching from the service duct. She thought of shouting out a warning in hopes of keeping the intruder or intruders away, but then tossed aside the notion. Why willingly sacrifice the element of surprise?

  Every second seemed to stretch into eternity, and then there was someone crouched there, right in the mouth of the duct, surrounded by shadow. Elizabeth, without hesitation, charged forward, swinging the pipe.

  She never even saw the shadowed hand move. All she knew was that one moment she was holding the makeshift weapon, and the next it was clattering across the room and landing on the floor. She stared dumbly at her empty hand and then back at the newcomer.

  He lowered his head, and there was surprise on his face. “You’re the slaves,” he said. “From the meal.”

  “Who are…?”

  Elizabeth’s words caught in her throat as he fully emerged from the duct and stood straight. “You! You’re the…what was it? Xenexian?”

  He nodded. “Muck. They call me Muck.”

  “We’ve been called worse,” Lefler said ruefully.

  “What are you doing down here?” demanded Elizabeth, even as she stepped back to allow him room into their cramped area. “Did you…come looking for us?”

  “No,” he said, looking around. “I was just exploring. Finding ways to get around the ship that might not attract attention.”

  “Why would you be doing that?”

  “Because,” he told Elizabeth, “I wanted to see the parts of the ship they didn’t want us to see. Also, if things go wrong, I want to know where we might be able to find escape.”

  “If things go wrong, you’re dead,” Robin assured him.

  “Well, let’s hope you’re not right about that.” He paused, and then said apologetically to Elizabeth, “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything at the dinner.”

  She honestly had no idea what he was talking about at first. When she looked at him blankly, he reached up and touched the abrasion on her face, and then she comprehended. “Oh,” she said. “That. I…wasn’t even thinking about it. You get used to it.” Then, without quite understanding why, she reached up and pressed his hand against her face, holding it there. She stared into his eyes and asked, “Have we met? I mean,” she added hastily, “I’ve never been to Xenex…or Romulus…so I know it’s not likely…but you look…you look familiar to me, and I don’t know why….”

  “Maybe you met in a previous life.”

  They both stared at Robin. She shrugged. “Well…some people say we all live multiple lives and we keep running into the same lovers and enemies, except in different bodies.”

  “Some people are stupid,” Muck told her.

  Elizabeth slowly lowered his hand away from her face. “Yes. Some people really are.” She held his hand a moment longer than she really needed to and then released it.

  “How came you here?” he asked. “The both of you.”

  Elizabeth looked down. It was clear she had no desire to discuss it. Robin, however, spoke up and said, “We were taken from slave labor camps. My parents…and Elizabeth’s parents…they actually used what shreds of influence they had left to get us out of there. To ‘sell’ us to the Thallonians. They thought it would be a better life than being under the yoke of the Alliance.”

  “Were they right?”

  This time Robin said nothing. It was Elizabeth who said quietly, “My parents are dead by this point, most likely. It was years ago. I would have given anything to die with them. They hoped for better for me.”

  Robin laughed with a bleak lack of amusement. “As if ‘better’ exists in this galaxy.”

  “There are rebels fighting for better,” Elizabeth reminded
her.

  “Idiots, the lot of them. They’d do just as well to chop off their own heads and be done with it.”

  “So you’ve given up,” said Muck.

  His tone of voice caused her temper to flare, more than Elizabeth thought Robin was still capable of. “Don’t you judge me. Don’t you dare.”

  “Fine,” said Muck, who apparently didn’t consider her worth expending all that much energy upon.

  His lack of interest in pursuing the matter seemed to take some of the edge off Robin’s anger. There was an uncomfortable silence for a time, and then Elizabeth said, trying to sound casual, “So…you’re looking around? Just…exploring?”

  “He’s lying.”

  He looked over at Robin and said in a flat voice, “I can’t say I appreciate being called a liar by—”

  “A Terran woman?”

  “—anyone.”

  “I just don’t believe you,” she said with a shrug. “You strike me as someone who’s goal-oriented. Nothing you’ve said sounds remotely like a goal, that’s all. So unless you’ve got something else to say that’s at all interesting or maybe even, you know, honest…”

  “Robin,” Elizabeth scolded her, “that’s enough—”

  “She’s right,” Muck admitted. “Except…I don’t know what I’m looking for, exactly. The source of…a feeling.”

  Elizabeth and Robin exchanged glances. As if she already knew the answer to her own question, Elizabeth said, “What sort of…feeling?”

  He described to her what he had felt when he had first boarded the ship. That free-floating sense of longing, of hopelessness and despair. “I don’t know what it is, or who it is, or where it’s coming from. But I want to find out. I feel as if it may be…important somehow.” He studied the way that the women were looking at each other. “And you know something about it, don’t you.”