by Steve Perry
“No, just remarking; however, I remember that facial expression, Brother. You know something of which you are not speaking.”
“I do not know, but I have a suspicion.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“Our sister the Shadow.”
“What of her?”
“She applies the law.”
“And what does . . . ? Ah. Yes. I see.”
“Good to know that your wits haven’t completely evaporated during your association with the humans.”
There was really no need to say it, but Kay said it anyway: “You think our sister has let it be known that she will be especially rigorous in her application of the law regarding prigovor in my case.”
“If I had to gamble on the premise? Indeed. Even though you and I know that Leeth would not knowingly break the law, she might . . . ah . . . bend it a bit. And if she would not do that much? There are more than a few among The People who believe that Sena abuse their power and adjudicate matters to their own ends when it serves them.
“Someone who might consider challenging you, just to see if they could win, might think that a Shadow peering over their shoulder for the slightest error is a matter of some concern. I would; even a careful person can misstep in matters of protocol. Were Leeth to hint at taking special care in investigating such, it would not be illegal, merely suggestive. Word would get around quickly.”
Yes. A Shadow looking at you with interest was to be avoided.
Kay nodded. “Family first.”
“Of course. ‘My sister and I against my cousin; my cousin and I against the pack; my pack and I against the world.’ Are your humans so different that you have forgotten this?”
“Not at all. If anything, they are much like us in that regard.”
“For their own kind, you mean.”
“It depends on how you define that. They have become in many ways my pack.”
“Made you an honorary human, have they?”
She whickered. “No, but Cutter’s tribe behaves as family, regardless of blood. There are more than a few of my cousins and a couple of sibs I would trust less than I do my humans.”
“Sister! I am shocked to hear this!” He smiled to give that the lie.
She shook her head. She had put all this behind her when the orbital ship took her aloft those long years ago. Now and again, memories of how it had been surfaced, but sitting here, talking to her brother, knowing her sister had her back? It was a powerful draw. Family did matter. Was it possible that enough time had passed so that the idea of being here at home was not totally unrealistic?
Probably best not to consider that option now.
“How goes the investigation?”
“Slowly. There are many people to whom I must speak, to gather information before I find a scent I can follow.”
He glanced away, and his thoughts were, of a moment, so easy to read as Leeth’s had been that he could have spoken aloud.
She said, “Yes, and Jak is among them.”
“Did I mention his name?”
“Might as well have; I had no trouble hearing your thoughts.”
“Hear these, then. He is offal,” Droc allowed. “Dried white dung is worth ten times more, and probably tastes better.”
“You never cared for him.”
“With demonstrably good reason.”
“Nonetheless, he has a direct familial connection. If I am to investigate, I must go where I must to find answers.”
“The only answer Jak will provide is how worthless a Vastalimi can be and still retain the ability to breathe.”
She shook her head. She had come to realize that herself . . .
_ _ _ _ _ _
Wink sat in the rear of the cafeteria, eating what was the least-bloody-looking thing they had to offer. A lot of what was on the menu was still alive when you selected it. It would be killed and butchered to order as you watch. Is it fresh? Observe . . .
There were a score of Vastalimi in the place, and most of them had seen him here often enough over the last few days so that they didn’t just sit and stare at him anymore. Nobody had initiated a conversation, which was fine by him.
There were a lot of fascinating things here, and their medicine was more advanced than humans’ in some areas and less so in others. Much more trauma than pathogens, which went along with his own skill set.
He looked at his food, some kind of rootlike thing, it had a consistency of a half-baked yam and the color of meconium. It didn’t taste too bad, more umami than anything. He had eaten worse. He hadn’t asked what it was; better to not know . . .
So far, he had read tons of material and was probably getting an education on Vastalimi healing superior to that of all but a handful of nonlocal doctors in the galaxy. Not why he had come, but hey, take what you could get. Never know when it might come in handy.
There were a pair of Vastalimi seated at a table nearby, and with his earbud hidden and the translator’s gain turned up a bit, he was able to overhear their conversation easily. He felt no guilt about listening since a lot of the time, he was the subject.
He had gotten pretty good filling in the blank spots the translator left in the conversations though it still wasn’t perfect. What he overheard the two Vastalimi talking about was fascinating, as much for their attitude as the content.
The taller one said, “Did you hear about the Rel?”
Rel were pear-shaped bipedal herbivores, about the height of an average human but half again as heavy. They were hairless, had a spongelike grayish flesh, and they liked to decorate their skin with bright paint or dye.
“Only thing I know about Rel is that they taste like hide glue.”
“This one sneaked into a bog freighter and managed to get into Northport undetected.”
“Came to Vast deliberately? Scat you say!”
“Raeel’s Own Truth.”
“Why would it do that? That’s crazy.”
“So it was determined to be later. Mad as a stoned sackfly.”
“Continue.”
“It had been altered. Augmented.”
“A Rel.” The translator didn’t catch the disbelief in the shorter one’s voice, but Wink heard it clearly enough. He was getting better at that, too.
“Sped up, increased strength, and drugged to make it brave.”
The shorter one didn’t speak to that, only waited.
“Steel claws had been grafted onto its paws.”
The shorter one finally got the direction of the story. “You pull my fur.”
“Not even a single hair. It came here to fight. Prey.”
“Fuck your father!”
“Exactly what I said when Karsh told it to me.”
“What happened to this Rel?”
“It tried to challenge the first person it saw. You recall Svark, the freight handler?”
“The fem who likes fems?”
“That’s her. The Rel stepped up, blathered something about claw-to-claw combat. Waved its arms about.
“Svark killed it before it finished its speech.”
The shorter one nodded. “Of course. Probably had to shower the rest of the morning to wash the stink from her fur.”
“Armed, belligerent, altered prey. Here. On Vast.”
“Perhaps the End of Days approaches.”
“You jest, but it may be you speak more truth than you know. There is the Scourge that kills and no cause for it. Kluth is returned, with that furless Terran over there in tow. And now, prey with fake claws and an obvious death wish? Strange times indeed. Best you make your peace with Raeel.”
“Too late for that.”
They both whickered loudly.
Wink wondered what they would think if they knew that furless Terran was listening. He was not, however, tempted to tell them
and find out . . .
_ _ _ _ _ _
Jak’s place of residence had changed. It was upscale, in the richer side of the district, and while many of The People did not care for things, Jak had always had a fondness for toys. Anything that made him feel better or look better or create a deeper impression on those around him? He would have it, could he get it.
Back when they had been a pair, that had seemed somehow amusing. Part of his charm.
The corridor was wide, with windows that gave a view of cultivated grounds, and the room in which she found him had tall ceilings, an entire wall open to the outside save for an air-curtain, and art objects carefully placed around the room. Jak sat on a couch—well, more like he posed upon the couch—of what looked to be a mottled, white-and-black alien animal hide she didn’t recognize, and he came to his feet immediately when she stepped into the room. His in-command stance, as she recalled it.
JakMasc looked much as Kay remembered him—tall, lean, fit, insouciantly at ease in his own fur. As handsome a male as any, more so than most, and very much aware of it. He’d had his claws enameled in what looked like matte-finished platinum. His fur had been brushed until it gleamed.
Obvious his fortunes had risen. Plating and hand-brushing like that weren’t cheap, and he hadn’t done those himself. And this place?
She had wondered what it would be like to see Jak again; what he might say if somehow such a meeting, however slim the chance, ever took place.
How are you? How have you been? I’m happy to see you.
I’ve missed you . . .
His words, now that the moment had come, were not among those she had imagined:
“How stupid are you, fem, to be here?” The edge of anger was a cold razor in his voice.
She had, over the years she had been away from Vast, reconsidered the actions that caused her to leave more than a few times. Jak had been a major part of her motivation.
In this moment, her actions seemed far less compelling than they had been at the time.
Far less compelling.
She said, “Droc asked me to come back to help him deal with a medical problem. It was my duty to do so.” She paused a moment. Before she had spent time among the aliens, it never would have occurred to her to finish her thought the way she did: “What would you have done in my place?”
The question surprised him, she could tell. The Kluth he had known would not have gone down that path. “I would have found a compelling reason to stay away. It’s too dangerous.”
Her sister had tried to warn her, she realized in that moment: His alignment has changed. I have never heard him speak of you . . .
The brief, tiny spark of hope that he might be concerned for her safety was quickly extinguished. “Your presence will likely roil mud long settled. It would have been best for all that you never returned.”
Best for all?
No. Best for Jak . . .
There had been a time when that thought would never have blossomed in her mind, either.
Well. Things change. Worlds move.
How low do the young and foolish fall . . .
That self-centered arrogance that once she had taken for decisive confidence was painfully evident. Hard to believe she had failed to identify it. It had taken being away for years before the truth finally visited her, creeping in like a caterpillar on hair-fine feet as she lay waiting for sleep . . .
How on Vast could she have ever considered becoming life-mates with Jak? How could a fem ever have been so densely oblivious?
Desire, she realized, was a thick fog that could completely obscure reality. Thinking with one’s ruta was not thinking at all . . .
It had taken a long time to percolate through her, the realization of her mistake. Even moments ago, some part of her had held out a minuscule hope that she had been wrong. That Jak would rush to her, embrace her, lick her face in joy at seeing her.
Desire breeds hope. But hope was, finally, snuffed out with his words.
She had left her home, given up her life, in no small part to protect a male, who, in the end, wasn’t worth her sacrifice. He hadn’t been the only reason, but she had counted him high on the list.
Stupid. She had been stone-headed stupid. No getting around that. He was what he was, evident for all to see, and she had missed it. Her family had tried to tell her, and she had ignored them.
No fem so blind as one who will not see.
Well. Live and learn and survive. Sometimes a hard lesson.
“I was sorry to hear about your family, but—why have you come to see me? You put me at risk by doing so.”
Self-centered, arrogant, and a coward. She had realized that, too, else he never would have let her leave. He would have stepped in front of her, to shield her. He had not.
It was embarrassing, how thick she had been.
It made her want to spit. Instead, she said, “Your uncle was among the first who died of the malady. I need to know about his activities before the illness manifested.”
“Why?”
“That is not your concern.”
“If you want my help, it is.”
“No, it is not. My brother’s status is much higher than it was when I left Vast. He is in charge of the investigation into the cause of this malady, which has now affected hundreds of The People, including our family. He has been given great leeway and full authority to conduct his inquiries, and I am his agent. You can help willingly, or I can call the Sena, who will compel you to it.”
“You would do that to me?”
Once, the look he now gave her, the throaty jebati-me trill in his voice, those would have melted her into mindless lust. Not now. “The choice is yours. And save the growl for a fem who just left the den, Jak. It won’t work on me anymore.”
He sat quietly for a moment, no doubt considering his options, deciding which would serve him best. He did not look comfortable.
Kay enjoyed watching him squirm. Revenge was as much a part of her makeup as any other Vastalimi’s. He deserved to suffer, and even a small amount was better than none.
“Very well. What do you want to know?”
“I need your uncle’s movements before his death.”
“I have already given that report.”
“And you and I both know it was less than complete. Unless Uncle Teb had a major change of philosophy since I left Vast, he was not a person to spend his time walking the path of Right Action. He was rich and he was crooked and he would not pour water to douse a newborn cub on fire unless he was paid for both water and his effort. That he had enemies is a given, and your sanitized report is fiction by omission.”
Jak said nothing.
“I will know what illegal and immoral activities he was involved in. You can tell me, or—”
“—Yes, yes, you will call the Shadows. How is your dear sister these days?”
“Probably salivating at the chance to prod you with her swand and listen to you scream. She never liked you to begin with and likes you less now. Tell it to me or sob it to her.”
She heard his teeth clash. It was quite satisfying.
“I will tell you,” he said.
She smiled.
SEVEN
In the dojo behind the mess hall, Gunny shook her head at Singh. “But what if you lose your knife? Or break it?”
“I find it hard to believe either might happen. My great-uncle made the chhuri well, and in the field, I wear it always.”
“But you remember your bare-handed match against Gramps?”
“I could hardly forget it. ‘Old and treacherous beats young and strong every time.’ I learned.”
“Absolutely. You take showers?”
He looked at her as if she had sprouted a second head.
Before he could speak, she said, “It was rhetorical. You carry your kni
fe in there with you?”
He gave her a look. “No.”
“So if you are attacked in a shower, what do you do? Wave your willie at them?”
“That would probably terrify them.”
Gunny grinned. Give the kid credit, he kept trying.
“Or maybe they from Long Dong village, and they’d die laughin’.”
She hefted the zap. This was a training weapon that looked like a regular knife, save that the dull, but electrified blade delivered a shock if it touched you. Gunny had once had a combat teacher who used live steel and had the cuts statbonded as you went along—she still hated the burned-pecan smell of that nasty spray glue, and it had been messy; but, sometimes a sharp enough edge? You got ratcheted up and didn’t even feel it, you just looked down and noticed your blood welling. Not to mention when somebody got overenthusiastic and sliced a tendon or poked out an eye, and you had to spend some quality time in rehab.
In training, you wanted the student to know instantly he or she had been tagged, and the electric blade made the point, left no doubt. It called forth “Motherfucker!” in a hurry.
Gunny was more of a shooter than a cutter—Wink was their precision guy when it came to knife work—but her philosophy was simple: When the tool you had was a knife, then you’d cut or stick somebody enough so they’d bleed out, and the party would be over. Insert point or edge, repeat until hostility ceases, wipe off, go home.
If you were close, within six or seven meters, and if you started first, you could tag most humans with your blade before they could draw a sidearm to stop you. You needed to know that on both sides of the equation, and you needed to know how to use or defend against a knife.
She flipped the zap around so that the handle jutted from her hand toward Singh.
“Squeeze the handle three times, that lights it,” she said. “Come at me.”
“How should I attack? High, low, left, right?”
“Up to you. Since Ah won’t know what is comin’ in a real attack, knowin’ what is comin’ in advance isn’t a fair test.”
Not strictly true, she knew. He might not tell her what he had in mind, but his stance, the way he held himself and the weapon, his balance, all of those she could get if she were paying attention. She should know what he was going to do anyway.
