by S. J. Higbee
Wynn propped his staff against the wall.
Our door chimed.
Face like stone, Eileen crossed the room and opened it. “What is it?”
“A thousand apologies for the intrusion at such an unsociable hour, the Captain requests the pleasure of your employers – the priests – on the bridge. There’s an… incident requiring their urgent attention,” the words poured from the watch commander’s mouth in a smooth flow.
“Right.” As I stood up, ready to go, my gaze fell on Wynn, standing stiffly beside Sarge. “Brother Brian needs to stay here to continue his prayer cycle for all the plants in Sector Two. He started—ˮ
“No,” Cerk said. “He’ll have to come, too. And they won’t be pleased at the delay.”
“That’s right, Sister,” added the watch commander, who’d taken two steps into our suite – a liberty I wouldn’t have tolerated under normal circumstances. “Our instructions were to collect all the personnel in your suite, including your security detail.”
“I’ll be lodging a strong complaint to Head Office at this disgraceful lapse in your so-called topline service!” I snapped, feeling like I’d been flung off a cliff.
“One more thing.” Cerk directed his comment to my security team, “Don’t make eye contact. You’re soldiers, so they’ll be looking to challenge you. Act as if you’re on a parade ground. Keep your face as blank as you know how. And don’t – whatever you do – don’t grin or smile. I reckon they won’t have sent anyone across who isn’t acclimatised to humans, but it’s best to be on the safe side.”
“If you’re making a supernova out’ve a sunspot,” I snarled, buzzing with fury-fuelled anger and stepping into his personal space, “you’ll need more than a sodding alien to keep you safe.”
He fixed me with that unnerving gaze. “You’ll see.”
The watch commander coughed politely. “If you could see your way to picking up the pace, Sister…”
We assembled. Cerk stepped ahead of me, ready to take the lead. Fine. He was welcome to it, right now. Wynn moved alongside me, as normal. Eileen chose to walk on his other side, which I was grateful for. Chris and Sarge brought up the rear. We were surrounded by floridly dressed security men, most of whom marched out of step with each other as we moved off down the corridor towards the bridge.
This lot are about as much use as a staled airpack. So, no help from them if it all heads Hellwards. It felt like some whacked-out dream. These monsters who had blown up Mercury and caused a refugee crisis that cost hundreds… thousands of lives were actually on board this ship and demanding to see us…
“Sorry for this,” I muttered to Wynn, while trying to drown out Jessica’s whimpering.
“Yeah…” His sigh made his veil flutter. “You’d think I’d have learnt to steer clear’ve you and your knack for staggering from one disaster to another, wouldn’t you?”
I didn’t reply. What was the point? He was right.
And suddenly we were on the bridge facing them. Easily over seven feet high, with a build to match, their mottled skin was covered with varicoloured fur, in shades of blonde, brown and black. Their bipedal, triple-jointed legs bent in odd directions as they shifted, their claws clicking on the floor. Gritting my teeth, I glared back as their fringed oval amber eyes swivelled to stare at us with implacable arrogance, but was unable to avoid flinching as a nictitating membrane flicked across their eyeballs – sideways. There were two orifices on their large flat faces where our cheeks would be, in the middle of dish-shaped depressions. I couldn’t tell if they were ears or nostrils. Sheer physical power poured off them, along with a musky, spiced smell that made me want to run away, fast. Or fall to my knees and beg for mercy.
The toy guards who’d escorted us to the bridge broke away, jostling backwards out of the door, as Cerk led us onto the bridge and started gargling a stream of unpleasant noises.
The slightly shorter Eaought between the other two hulking creatures, who could only be bodyguards, answered in a guttural, drain-clearing babble.
He speaks their language! He never said that he could do that. I resisted the temptation to tap him on the shoulder and whisper an apology for accusing him of holo-hoaxing us over how much of a danger these things were.
Cerk announced, “Cheetshzay, Eater of Wisdom and Knowledge bar None, Seer of Human Scheming and revered Thinker of the Clan Bone-Renders, among other honours too numerous to mention at this time, bids you Greetings. He wishes to understand what you are doing here.”
Before I could lick my fear-dried lips and flagellate my paralysed brain to function, he’d turned towards the Captain, who was standing with his back pressed against the mu-screen, looking as if he’d just swallowed his tongue. At least he was still on his feet. Others hadn’t fared so well. One was crouched on the floor, keening quietly, while another crew member was cowering beside a pool of vomit. I clamped my mouth shut, strongly tempted to follow suit, as my guts somersaulted, bile hitting my throat.
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, Captain? An honest explanation would be in order right now.”
“I believe there was a-a distress call—ˮ husked the Captain.
Cerk twitched – the first sign of fear he’d shown since we knew the Eaoughts were coming. “No!” Sweat suddenly beaded his forehead, “I mean it. You have to tell the truth. About those smugglers. And what you were doing. And how you stopped them taking the priests…”
The Captain blinked. “What d’you know about—?”
“Right now, if you want everyone aboard your ship to walk away from this encounter intact, you answer the Honoured Cheetshzay with the absolute truth. He hates lies. And he can smell it when we tell them.”
Is this some word-winding hoax to ensure that everyone spills their guts to the Eaoughts? If so, it’s a neat trick. Thinking about the situation stopped me panicking and was giving Jessica time to haul herself together.
The Captain looked around at his crew. He let out a long breath, his voice stripped of his In Charge snap, “It’s called the Graveyard Run. This slog out to the depths of Sector Two. The margins are shaved to the minimum, as it often doesn’t make a profit. So we miss out on any kind of bonus. And Head Office are constantly jumping all over us – their cush-dimpled butts hardly ever stirring out of their squashy chairs back on Earth to actually come out and see what it’s like. The passengers are mostly colonial flotsam – so never tip or even wear out their mouths on an occasional ‘thank you’…”
Listening to this self-pitying rant, my increasing disgust momentarily swamped my fear.
By now, he had lapsed into a full whine, “And after Hawking went up in flames, the job got a whole lot worse. Not only are we expected to ship a load of cargo and do-gooders who want to ease their prickling consciences – we’re supposed to fit in an extra trip every six weeks, so our downtime in-between has gotten squeezed. And do they pay us overtime rates? Do they Hell! We’d been approached by… a-a consortium last year wanting us to ferry some packages for them back to Earth. Every other voyage. We’d meet up in the Forbidden Zone, with the idea of the ship in distress, should there be any interest in what we were doing. And they pay us very well. Unlike the Company. So I’m doing what a good captain should – looking after my people!” As he came to a halt, he straightened his spine and had the nerve to look proud.
“You’re a disgrace!” the words fell out of my mouth. “How dare you imperil your ship and everyone in it for a handful of creds! You’re aware, no doubt, that those scum you’re aiding and abetting are probably connected to the vile dregs who wrought havoc on Hawking?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he spluttered, turning splotchy red with anger. “This is my bridgedeck, I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue—ˮ
“Your bridgedeck?” His attitude was beyond belief. “Look around you! Your reckless behaviour has put your bridgedeck, along with the rest of your ship, into the hands of creatures that could crush us all with the flick of their littlest f
inger!” My legs were shaking and no matter how I shifted, I couldn’t seem to stop them.
“The Company pushed us beyond our reasonable limits, what were we supposed to do?”
I didn’t bother to cage my utter contempt for him and his scuzzy behaviour, finding it a relief to let my fear morph into biting anger. “Explain to your superiors your difficulties and ask for help. Or resign and turn the job over to someone who can cope. Those would’ve been the honourable options.”
“How dare you—ˮ
“Don’t you understand what you’ve done? You’ve broken a treaty between Humankind and the Eaoughts by straying into their territory.” I shouted, “Territory they wanted so badly, they came into our Homespace and blew up a planet to get it!”
And finally – finally the consequences of his thieving ways penetrated his thick skull as his furious flush drained to the colour of porridge and he sagged against the bulkhead.
I belatedly realised the Captain wasn’t the only one who’d left his brains in his boot-locker. It was no longer my place to explain to errant captains and their crew the full error of their ways – I’d gone undercover. And the first rule of being undercover is, don’t draw attention to yourself. A rule I’d disregarded in front of these alpha-prime predators.
As if to underline my rashness, Cheetshzay gurgled another string of throaty syllables at Cerk, his amber gaze burning holes in me as he did so.
Cerk gargled back, before turning to me, “Honoured Cheetshzay would like you to inform him of your latest doings, Sister.”
Be very careful, Lizzy, Jessica sounded tense.
I was cravenly thankful to hear her voice – it gave me the courage to answer. “Can you please tell the Honoured and Wise Cheetshzay that I am more than willing to explain everything to him in the fullest detail. But I am unable to do so in front of a thief and possible traitor.”
The Captain’s protesting noise stopped as the Eaought swung around to face him.
And in the time it took me to turn back to the alien, he’d moved so close that he could have stretched out his arm, grabbed me by the throat and ripped my head off. His spicy smell filled my nostrils as my legs threatened to give way. The power of his presence was overwhelming.
Get a grip, Lizzy! So, this creature slices and dices you. And? In the meantime, you’re Elizabeth Sarah Jane Violet Norman, sometime Chief of the Peace and Prosperity Corps, foremost mercenary outfit in the whole of Sector Two. Show some backbone in front of the sodding alien, why don’t you? ranted Jessica, evidently recovered from her earlier terror.
I stopped leaning on my staff.
And in the blink of an eyelid, a bubble enclosed us. Me and Wynn, still at my side; Cerk. And Cheetshzay. The walls of the bubble were transparent but constantly rippling, as if clear water was running down the thin barrier, so I could see the appalled faces of those staring at us, though they were distorted by the constant movement. Not that I was paying them more than a nanosec’s attention. Because trapped inside this small space with this creature meant he had my undivided attention.
While a small part of me wanted to hammer at the rippling partition and wail for help, I watched Cerk and Cheetshzay exchange sounds more suited to drains in a recycling station. Observing their interchange, I suddenly realised what was so disconcerting about Cerk’s gaze – he hardly ever blinked.
Finally, he turned back to me. “Now no one can hear us, Cheetshzay would like to know what you are doing wearing a robe of the Gaiast. And why you think it honourable to be impersonating a priest when you do not follow their beliefs.”
I was brought up in a household where lying was a sensible survival strategy, so I’m good at it. But at that moment, I would have sooner spat in the alien’s face than have attempted to spin him any wordwind. So I took a breath and told him the whole story. Well… I say the whole story – I omitted details about the internal power struggles within the P’s – but thankfully, was able to answer with absolute honesty that I had no idea where or how General Norman got hold of the Gaiaist robes, which seemed to be Cheetshzay’s main concern.
It took a while, with Cerk translating at intervals. Although those translations stopped when I talked directly to Cheetshzay, when I realised he was perfectly capable of understanding me, anyhow.
“So you’re heading back to Earth to do – what, exactly?” asked Cerk.
I rolled my eyes – hadn’t he been listening? “To track down Eddy before he finds my family and kill him, of course. They won’t be safe until I do.”
The Eaought gargled something, while pinning me to the deck with his amber glare.
“Honoured and Wise Cheetshzay understands that humans highly prize their bonds to their family clan. He wants to know why you think it suitable to break this taboo,” translated Cerk.
I took a breath. “Sometimes… rarely – people are born who are broken. They flout rules the rest of us consider important – like torturing small brothers and killing kittens. Eddy is one of those broken people.” I gripped Wynn’s warm hand tightly as I continued, “Once… I had a chance to kill him. But I didn’t. And I have to live with that mistake. If I’d shot him then, a lot of people who died horribly would now be still alive.”
Cheetshzay emitted another stream of revolting noises.
“What makes you think that you will prevail against this bloodbrood member, if he is such an efficient killer?” asked Cerk.
“Because he is a lazy coward, who is afraid of me. Which is why he is trying so hard to hunt me down and get me murdered before I confront him. He mostly kills or hurts those weaker than himself.”
Which was when the alien’s attention switched to Wynn.
It was surprisingly difficult to keep still while he was caught in that amber glare as instinct was cut in and protect him. Fortunately, Wynn answered all the questions Cerk fired at him steadily and calmly. His story was shorter than mine, and more or less lined up with the version he’d told me.
“So you are an artist who makes objects that people like to look at,” Cerk paraphrased.
“Yes.”
“And they provide you with food and shelter so you can do this?”
Wynn hesitated, before replying, “If I go to Earth, there are enough people there who will pay me for my sculptures, so I can live while I go on working. Which is why I am travelling there.”
“Why are you assisting this woman? Are you intending to take her as your mate?” asked Cerk, his face expressionless, though the drosser must’ve known he was treading where he’d no business going.
“No.” Wynn dropped my hand.
A shame. I’d found his rough, warm skin a solid comfort.
“I trust her, though, and know her to be a good person. And she owed me a favour. Which was why I asked for her help. In return, I agreed to be part of her disguise when it became clear she would find it impossible to travel safely to Earth without it.”
“So you are open to making deals?” asked Cerk.
I had a bad feeling about where this was going.
“Oh yes. Humans regularly make deals with each other,” babbled Wynn.
I hoped the sudden burst of horrible-sounding chatter between Cerk and Cheetshzay was along the lines that humans were quaint in their funny beliefs, weren’t they?
Beyond the privacy bubble enclosing us, I could see that everyone on the bridge was staring at us – and was relieved and proud to notice my people were keeping their gaze firmly away from the two Eaought guards, even though one of them had started pacing the main walkway, evidently chafing for some action.
Cheetshzay broke off his conversation with Cerk, uttering a barking hiss which sounded remarkably like exasperation. He poked his upper body out of the privacy bubble, which parted to let him through, and though I couldn’t hear anything, I saw the guard flinch, before stomping back to his station by the door.
As he pulled himself back inside the bubble, Cheetshzay let loose a guttering stream of noise that had Cerk sniggering. He turned
to us. “Loosely translated, Cheetshzay said that he can’t get the help, these days. Though it was much ruder.” He rolled his eyes, as if he was chatting about some human.
I couldn’t decide if he was insanely courageous, or merely lacking in imagination.
Which was when he dropped his next info-bomb. “The Honourable and Wise Cheetshzay, Seer of All Human Schemes has a proposal to offer you. For a very reasonable price, he is prepared to transport you to Humanspace.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Cerk’s voice seemed to be coming from a distance, “The Eaought ship will guarantee you are able to arrive on Earth ahead of your brother.” He looked at me expectantly, evidently waiting for a torrent of gratitude to drop from my lips.
While I was scrabbling for a reason – any reason – to avoid travelling on an Eat— Eaought ship.
“What’s the catch?” asked Wynn.
“The Honoured and Wise Cheetshzay would like Elizabeth Norman to perform a small favour in return, once she has disposed of her brother to her satisfaction.”
“Yeah. And?” prompted Wynn, doing my job for me.
“Her reputation as someone who cares for justice and order in Humanspace has gone before her. Cheetshzay has, indeed, heard of her—ˮ
“’Course he has. Unless he’s been ignoring Humanspace for the last three years. Elizabeth Norman led the baddest mercenary band in Sector Two and turned them from being one more bunch of gun-swinging drossers into the only functioning police force in that part of Humanspace.”
This isn’t the spin Wynn normally puts on the P’s. Pity Sarge, Chris and Eileen can’t hear this. Wynn seemed to be doing well without my input, so I kept quiet.
“Exactly so. An achievement all the more impressive for an undersized, young female.” Cerk shot me an uneasy glance as he added, “Those were Cheetshzay’s words, by the way. And he meant them as a solid compliment.”
“And after all the compliments, what does the ‘Honourable and Wise Cheetshzay’ want?” asked Wynn.
Cerk flushed, but continued, “Cheetshzay is keen for you to look into the murder of Sladen Waller and discover who perpetrated such a terrible crime.”
